LITMIR.BIZ

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entire drive to the house he’d purchased a few short months ago. The place had seemed the right decision then, but on days like this he wondered about all his choices.

      Michael struggled to engage Tati in their nightly bubble war. Though she was up to her eyebrows in the iridescent globes and only too willing to douse him as well, she wasn’t entirely happy about something. He didn’t press. She wouldn’t tell him until she was good and ready anyway. At least he’d learned that much about her.

      His attention strayed too long. The bubble bottle slipped and it took ages to clean up the slippery mess. Another half hour to clean Tati off, get her into pajamas and dry her hair.

      But once she was tucked in bed, pressed against his shoulder as he read her a favorite story, Michael couldn’t begrudge her one second. This was worth everything.

      “Wanda says daddies and mommies are supposed to live together. Is that right, Daddy?”

      “That’s the way God planned it, sweetheart. But sometimes things don’t work out like that.”

      “Because my mommy is in heaven?”

      “Uh-huh.” He so did not want to get into this tonight.

      “Well, I don’t like it. I want a mommy to do things with me like Wanda has. Do you know her mommy made her a pretty dress for her birthday? I want to have a pretty dress, Daddy. One that’s white with frills and lots of ribbons. Just like Cinderella’s.”

      Tati wouldn’t last two minutes in frilly white, but Michael only smiled and nodded. “Very pretty, honey.”

      “Can I have a dress like that, Daddy?”

      He studied the picture she indicated, wondering what the right answer was.

      “Those dresses are for special occasions. Like Christmas and stuff. They’re not very good for finger painting, or for playing in Granny’s sandbox.”

      “I know.” She flipped through the pages until she found the one she wanted. “Can I have a dress like this for Christmas, Daddy?”

      He stared at Snow White’s layered organza perfection and wondered if children’s clothiers even made such a thing anymore.

      “Tell you what, Tati, we’ll have a look in the store when they get their Christmas clothes in. But that’s a long time away. You might change your mind. How about if we think about it till then?”

      “I guess.” She tilted her head back to study him. “Wanda says ‘We’ll think about it’ means her mommy won’t do it.”

      “I’m not Wanda’s mommy,” he told her wishing the four-year-old fount of wisdom his daughter played with would, just once, run out of answers. “We’ll both think about it. And when it gets nearer Christmas we’ll talk about it again. Okay?”

      “Okay, Daddy. I love you.” She reached up to encircle his neck with her arms and squeezed as tight as she could. “This much,” she grunted as used all her strength to show him.

      Michael closed his eyes and breathed in as he wrapped his own arms around her tiny body. “I love you more, Tatiana,” he whispered.

      They outdid each other in hugs for a few minutes until he caught her yawning. She said her prayers then hugged him once more.

      “Goodnight, sweetie. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

      She gave him one of her old lady looks. “Wanda says there are no bed bugs in Serenity Bay.”

      “Oh, yeah? What’s this then?” He gently pinched her leg under the covers, grinned at her squeal. “You tell Wanda she better watch out.”

      “You’re silly, Daddy.”

      Michael leaned down, brushed his lips against her forehead. “I love you.”

      “G’night.” She yawned, then curled into a ball under the pink bedspread covered with ballerinas. “Tomorrow for dress-up I’m going to be a lifesaver,” she murmured just before her eyelids dropped closed.

      “You already are.” He flicked off the lamp so the nightlight shed its pale glow. He checked the window, made sure it was locked, cleared a path in case she got up in the night. Then Michael left the room, pulling the door almost closed, so he could hear if she called out.

      He reached out to get the monitor from the dining room table, realized he’d left it in his studio. Again.

      Michael unlocked the workroom door, pushed it open and flicked on the light. He paused for a moment, studying his work.

      His critical focus rested on the last two carvings he’d done. These faces were his best. It had taken more than four years to get comfortable with his own particular style, but it had been worth the effort and time he’d spent to perfect his craft. His carvings now were nothing like those from his New York days, ones his mockers had called kindling.

      He’d need another six or seven months to get enough of them to mount a showing in the city. Of course he had no idea how to go about something like that, but Ashley Adams might. Maybe that’s why God had sent her here, put her into his path—so he was one step closer to make his dream of working as a full-time carver come true.

      The telephone rang.

      He hurried to answer it, praying it wouldn’t wake Tati and regretting the intrusion, but happy to hear Piper Langley’s voice.

      “Hello, Piper. It’s nice to hear from you. I enjoyed the fireworks display you organized for Labor Day. You received high praise from my daughter, too.”

      He listened as she spoke, outlining a plan that, even for her, was big.

      “Sounds like fun,” he agreed when she’d finished describing her winter festival ideas.

      “I’m hoping I can persuade you to get more involved.”

      “Me? How?”

      “I’m using the history book of the area as a resource guide to organize some of the events. It was done several years ago and though we don’t have many trappers or woodsmen around anymore, I’m bringing in some people who can show folks what it was like.”

      “Sounds like a lot of work.”

      “Eventually we want to have dogsled races, trapper contests, the whole thing. For this first year, though, we’re counting on a few big names, maybe make some spectator events like snow sculptures and dogsled pulls for kids.”

      “Okay.” He still didn’t get how it involved him.

      “As a windup for the week of the festival, we plan to have a live theater event in the school auditorium on the last night.”

      “Piper, I can’t act worth a hoot. And when it comes to costumes—”

      “We need a set builder,” she interrupted. “For the play. There aren’t a lot of sets to be built and the hardest work will be painting them, for which I’ve already found volunteers. But we need someone to put them together. Jason and I thought that since you’re the shop teacher and already at the school, you might be able to help.”

      “Harmon McTaggert would be a lot better at it than me,” he muttered.

      “He’s willing to help you whenever he can, but a recent health scare has him taking things easy.”

      “Morley French?”

      “He’s organizing two of the events. And Steve Garner is working the publicity end.” She sounded apologetic. “I’ve exhausted my list, Michael. The only person I haven’t asked is you.”

      “It’s a great idea, Piper, and I’d really love to help.”

      “Great!”

      “But I’m going to have to refuse,” he added quickly, before she got started thanking him. “I’m sorry, I wish I could take it on but it’s just not possible.”

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