I startle at her sudden reappearance. “Just trying my best.”
Her smile is full of pride. “You’re really good at it.”
“Thanks, kiddo. Where’ve you been?”
She glances at her dad and he offers an encouraging nod. It’s only then I realize she’s holding something behind her back. When she reveals the item, I’m not sure what to think.
“Every Christmas, we look at pictures of my mommy. Her memory lives within us always”—she taps her heart—“but this is our… umm…”
“Tradition,” Byron fills in for her.
“Yeah! It’s something we do lots, but especially on Christmas. It’s almost like she’s celebrating with us.”
There’s an undeniable quiver in my bottom lip. Ohhhhh, no. I’m too unhinged for this. A lump forms in my throat and I can’t pull in a decent breath.
At my prolonged silence, Ronnie shuffles closer. “Will you look at the pictures with us?”
As if I could ever say no. Although, speaking is a challenge while I’m struggling to compose myself. “Of course, kiddo. Thanks for including me in your tradition.”
She scoffs as if I’m ridiculous. “We want you here for all the things. You’re part of our family now.”
And I’m crying again. Tears trickle down my cheeks faster than I can wipe them away. The hormones are out of control.
“Don’t be sad. She’s always with us. Even if we can’t see her. I’ll show you, ‘kay?”
My head bobs obediently. I accept her hand when she offers it, allowing her to lead me to the couch. The cushions absorb my collapse when the significance of this scenario bears down on me. It’s personal and intimate and not meant for me.
But Ronnie’s smile soothes my frayed edges. “Can I sit on your lap?”
I press my quivering lips into a firm line and pat my thighs. “Hop on.”
She gets settled, reclining against me like this is a daily occurrence. The thick album creaks as she opens it. I can almost hear the whispers of memories seeping out.
Her tiny index finger taps the first picture. “This is when my mommy and daddy first met. They went to school together. Mommy didn’t give Daddy the time of day until they were seventeen. He was so super excited when she finally let him take her out on a date. They went out to dinner and a movie. Isn’t that romantic?”
“Mhmm,” I croak.
Ronnie’s grin spreads as she turns the page. “Look! It’s their junior prom. Daddy rented a limo and bought Mommy flowers. They danced a lot. At the end of the night, Mommy told Daddy that she loves him. It was the first time she’d said it.”
“Did he say it back?” I find myself asking, completely engrossed in her retelling.
“Uh-huh, Daddy loved Mommy before Mommy loved Daddy.”
“That’s the way it should be.”
She hums in agreement before moving on. I can feel Byron’s gaze burning into me, but I avoid his stare. If I look at him, I’ll crack and the damage might be irreparable. This moment is too vulnerable.
Instead, I listen to Ronnie and get swept up by the past. Her delivery is beyond impressive. The way she describes each photoin vivid detail reveals how often Byron has explained them. She’s memorized her parents’ history as if she was there to witness it.
Each page highlights a major milestone, special occasion, or cherished moment. When Byron got down on one knee and Nina said yes. Their wedding. The day they bought their first house. Holidays and birthdays. Their horses and dogs. Byron’s promotion at Benson Farmstead. Nina’s round belly. Ronnie’s nursery in phases.
I’m getting lost in the sea of memories. The torrential downpour of tears drowns me and I fight against the storm thrashing in my chest. Ronnie’s gentle tone doesn’t skip a beat as she treasures her mother’s life. I can’t be envious of a dead woman. That’s low, even for me. But I’ve never seen a person loved so loudly. My heart clenches painfully at what Nina is missing. It’s breathtaking and tragic and has me ripped apart. She should be here, wrapped in unconditional devotion. Not me.
“This is the last picture Daddy ever took of my mommy. It was right before I was born,” the little girl chirps. There’s not a hint of sorrow in her voice.
“She looks so happy,” I murmur softly.
“Yep,” Ronnie giggles. “That’s ’cause she was about to meet her miracle.”