Comfort & Joy

“Sure. ”

We settle into the comfortable cushions together and open the book.

“I . . . am . . . Sam. Sam . . . I . . . am. ” Bobby has memorized this part of the book, so he runs through it quickly. By the time he gets to page sixteen, he has slowed down and begun to sound out the words. “I . . . w . . . ou . . . l . . . d would not like th . . . em them h . . . ere here or th . . . ere there. ”

I tighten my hold on him.

By the time he finishes the book, his smile is so big it’s like a storm wave breaking over the beach. Uncontainable.

“This is the best present you could give your dad. ”

“Arnie Holtzner won’t call me stupid now. ” He twists around to look up at me. “Thanks. ” He says it quietly, but it still hits me hard.

“You’re welcome. ” I lean toward him and gently kiss his forehead. It should be a perfect moment, a memory to take away with me, but when I feel the velvet of his warm skin and breathe in the sweet citrus scent of his hair, all I can think about is how it will feel to say good-bye.

I ease back from him, trying to smile. “We’ve got a few more minutes before your dad is expecting you. Will you help me with something?”

“Sure. ”

“I need a piece of paper and something to write with. ”

Bobby slides eel-like off the sofa and runs to the registration desk. He is back in mere moments, holding a yellow legal pad and a red crayon.

I can’t help smiling. I haven’t written with a crayon in years. “Okay. Let’s go to the card table. ”

We clear the game and take our seats, side by side, tucking in close. I hand Bobby the crayon and position the pad in front of him. “You’re going to write a list out for me. It’s your dad’s Christmas present from me. ”

“I can’t . . . ”

“Yes, you can. It’s good practice. I’ll tell you the words and you sound them out and write them down. It’ll make my present extra special. ”

He looks so scared I want to hug him. Instead, I don my best teacher’s face and say, “The first word is ideas. I . . . d . . . e . . . a . . . s. ” I help him sound it out but let him spell it himself.

The crayon quivers in his hand. He holds it tightly, fisting it, and bends over the paper. “Go slow,” he says, frowning in concentration.

It takes almost fifteen minutes of working together, but in the end, we have a list that looks like this:

Ibeas.

chng nme/rmantic

pant trm

flwrs

fix cbns

websit

no crpt flr

“Wow,” Bobby says when we’re done. “My mom wanted to do some of these things. You think he’ll do it? I wish—”

“I know. ” I don’t want him to say his hope out loud. Some things need to be simply planted in the soft dirt of possibility. “But you remember this, Bobby: What matters is you and your dad being together. You guys are a team now. A family. ”

Bobby looks up at me. “You’ll come back someday, won’t you, Joy?”

“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away. Now, let’s wrap this present up and put it under the tree. ”