She clasped his hand, squeezed. “I’m so sorry, Dirk.”
“Yeah, me, too.” He looked toward her, met her gaze, and possibly saw her, although she still wasn’t sure he wasn’t too far lost in the past. “I’d rather have had my wife and daughter than anything any store sold.”
“I know you would.” Beyond caring about protecting her heart, she moved to where she could wrap her arms around him, hold him close. “Of course, you would.”
He remained stiff in her embrace, not relaxing, not making any move to take her into his arms or acknowledge that she held him.
“There was a Christmas tree in the emergency department’s office where they put me after…Christmas music played.” His face twisted. “I felt as if Christmas mocked me. The best part of my life was being ripped away when the world was celebrating peace, love and happiness. It didn’t seem right.”
“What happened was an accident. A tragic accident.” She reached up, brushed her fingers over his face, smoothing the tension lines at his temples. “But Sandra and Shelby wouldn’t have wanted you to be unhappy, to lose the spirit of Christmas, the spirit of life.”
He blinked. “You don’t know that.”
“Your wife was on her way to purchase a gift for you. Not because of whatever that gift was, but because she wanted to buy you something special. That doesn’t sound like a woman who would want her husband to be lonely and miserable at the holidays.”
But it wasn’t just at the holidays, she realized. Dirk had closed off his heart. Permanently.
“As if my family would let me be lonely at the holidays,” he snorted.
He’d never mentioned a family. Only Sandra and Shelby. “Your family?”
Why had Dirk mentioned his family? Just because his mother had called repeatedly over the past week wan
ting to know if he was coming home for Christmas, attempting to change his mind when he repeatedly said no.
Apparently, she’d also put his brother and sister on the task as well, as both had been using various technologies to insist he come home so the family could all be together for the holidays.
As if he’d want to set himself up for another miserable confrontation. As if he’d want to give them the opportunity to force him down memory lane with photos and movies like they had the year before until he’d had enough and walked out.
A Christmas intervention. Who ever heard of anything so foolish? Anything so humiliating and embarrassing? Anything so hurtful? He’d been emotionally ambushed and, no matter how well intentioned, they’d ripped away what little balm he’d coated his raw heart with.
They just didn’t understand the ache inside him.
No one did.
How could they when they still lived inside their safe little world? Sure, they’d mourned Sandra and Shelby, but they’d moved on, forgotten. Only his mother seemed to have some understanding. She put up Christmas ornaments in honor of Shelby. A baby’s first Christmas ornament that had his precious little girl’s photo inside.
As much as he wanted his mother to keep Shelby’s memory alive, being surrounded by family only brought home just how much he’d once had. How much he’d lost.
Why had he brought up this subject? He didn’t talk about Sandra and Shelby. Neither did he discuss why he didn’t like Christmas. Not with anyone. Ever.
He’d never told anyone the details of his wife and daughter’s deaths. His family knew, of course. Sandra’s sister had shared that they’d planned to meet early at the department store. So early another car had crashed into her head-on when the driver had fallen asleep behind the wheel. A driver who’d also been on her way to an early-morning Christmas sale. All for a few sale-priced items that the recipient hadn’t needed to begin with.
If Christmas never came again, Dirk wouldn’t care, would be glad to not have to face all the reminders, would be glad not to have his family put so much pressure on him to “live life.” What did they think he was doing?
“Dirk?” Abby touched his face, pulling him to the present. Her palm was warm against his face. “Do you have a large family?”
Closing his eyes, trying to focus on the present, he sighed. “Huge.”
When he opened his eyes, Abby’s had widened with delight. “Really?”
His stomach ached. “Unfortunately, yes.”
She blinked, clearly confused. “Unfortunately?”
“Obviously you’ve never had a big family.”
Looking a little sad, she shook her head. “No, my parents were both only children of older parents. I sort of remember my grandmother, but she died when I was five and the others had passed before her. When my parents died, I went to live with my great-aunt. She died while I was in college. I always wanted a big family.”