Story Notes:
The Carpenter Family belongs to Jim Butcher. He needs to take better care of his things!
Thanks to my beta, Kat, for tolerating a full month of "Is it April yet? I want you to read my drabble series!"
Molly:
The doctors advised against it, of course, but he insisted. He insisted so vehemently that they eventually conceded to keep him from injuring himself further in his protests. It took six nurses to wheel his bed, the small forest of I.V.s, and the phalanx of beeping, whirring electronic devices into the long hallway, but at last he was there.
The girl at the opposite end choked out a sob at the sight, but managed to twist her expression into a smile for his benefit. "Hi, Papa," she said, projecting her tremulous voice across the distance. "I missed you so much."
Daniel:
When the letter from the insurance company came, it was Daniel who opened it. He’d volunteered to manage the family’s finances while his father was in traction, so his mother wouldn’t have to worry. He steeled himself and looked at the bottom line, only to find… they would be covered. In fact, they didn't owe the hospital a cent. And the disability insurance he didn't even realize they owned would provide the family with a healthy stipend for some time. Miraculously, they would be protected.
A surge of anger coursed through him. He glared skyward and muttered, "You’re too late."
Matthew:
Matthew is used to being in the middle. Sometimes it’s rewarding, but sometimes it’s frustrating, like it is now. He’s not old enough to shoulder real family responsibility or young enough that he can be satisfied doing nothing.
So he decides to do the little things. Before anyone even raises the issue of the inevitable renovations, Matthew packs up the contents of Charity’s sewing room and totes it to Michael’s workshop, freeing it up as a downstairs bedroom.
It’s not a grand, sweeping gesture or even a permanent solution. It’s not nothing. Matthew is used to being in the middle.
Charity:
His right eye is gone, as is his left kidney. It will be months before he can walk without assistance. The smile she loves is rarer, more strained. But as she curls into his maimed body, feeling every beat of his bone-scarred heart against her breast, tears of guilty emotion threaten to spill from her eyes.
Holy Knights aren't supposed to die of old age, but hers might. She would give anything to restore him to his former strength, but she can’t help the feeling of glorious, overwhelming joy as she wonders, Does this mean I get to keep him?
Amanda:
Her knock went unanswered, so Amanda let herself in. Molly didn’t look up from her book.
"Hobbit says you’re a boogerhead."
No reaction. "Does she."
"Why didn’t you come to dinner?"
"I told Mama. I’m not hungry."
"Is this homework for Bill?"
"I finished Harry’s assignment. This is for me."
Amanda eyed the book’s title: Binding Magical Energies. "Does Bill know you’re reading this?"
Molly’s lower lip trembled. "I can’t... What if he needs a pacemaker someday? I could never…"
Amanda hugged her tightly. "Talk to Harry. You’ll figure something out."
Molly managed a weak smile. "Don’t you mean Bill?"
Hope:
Charity was distantly aware of the garlands going up around the hospital, but they didn’t really register—that is, until Hope climbed up on Michael’s bed with a book nearly falling apart at the seams. She knew that book. It had belonged to Michael when he was Hope’s age. And that meant… she glanced at the date. Oh. So it is.
She knew his eye tired easily, but he didn’t need to see the words. He knew them all by heart. He put an arm around his daughter and recited:
"Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house…"
Harry:
"So," Charity said, "the children were to draw their families, and Harry drew my husband as…"
"A knight," Mrs. Watkins said, handing her the picture. Charity fought not to smile. He must have used every color in the box on Molly’s hair. "I understood Michael is a carpenter, and he was injured in a drive-by shooting. Harry claims he was fighting demons."
"Thank you," said Charity, standing. "I’ll speak to him."
Once outside, she knelt and kissed her son’s forehead. "We know. They can’t." When he continued to frown, she ruffled his hair. "This is going on the fridge."
Alicia:
The following spring, the scenario borders on the absurd: bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, full count, and up by a single run. Alicia grips the ball and fixes her attention on the batter. There’s the wind-up, the pitch… and a satisfying smack in the catcher’s glove.
The crowd erupts, and Michael determinedly rises to his feet, gripping Daniel’s shoulder. As her teammates mob the mound in an exultant thousand-armed hug, she catches his eye, and her joyous smile is for him alone. He shakes his head as he beams back. Thank you, he marvels. I could have missed this.
Michael:
The sound of laughter and thundering sneakers filled the air. Michael and Charity sat together, watching the horde of children race down the sidewalk in orbit around Harry and his new bike. When the boy hesitated, Michael called out, "Keep pedaling, son! Head up, eyes forward." His balance improved noticeably.
"I’m letting go," Daniel warned.
"No, don’t--" Harry began, then let out a delighted squeal when he remained upright. "I’m doing it! Daddy, lookit!"
Michael felt his heart expand with fierce, paternal pride. It wasn’t quite the way he’d pictured it years ago, but it was every bit as miraculous.