LITMIR.BIZ

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general, I mean.”

      “That you can’t figure out yoga. You don’t like corn. You don’t like horror movies.”

      She smiled. “What did I do when I wasn’t working?”

      “Well, the past few months you started volunteering for the town’s Holiday Happymakers program. You devoted quite a few hours a day to it.”

      “Holiday Happymakers? What’s that?”

      “A group that plans ways the town can help those who can’t afford Christmas or can’t do much in the way of celebrating because of illness or other issues. You started an adopt-a-family program to provide holiday decorations and gifts for each family member. Anyone can leave a letter on the Christmas tree in the community center with a wish list for the family or a relative.”

      “I sound kind!” she said. “Glad to hear it.”

      “You are. Very.”

      “What was Christmas like when you were growing up?” she asked.

      He frowned at the thought. “I spent every Christmas at your house. My dad didn’t always have his act together, or he disappeared to a girlfriend’s. Your parents always hung a stocking for me—stuffed it too. And there were always presents for me under the tree. I got them gifts, too, and always wished I could have afforded better than a scented candle for your parents. But that’s what I got them every year.”

      “Aw,” she said. “I’ll bet they loved it.”

      “Your mom always made a show of sniffing it and lighting it and setting it right on the mantel.” He’d never forget her mother’s kindness. Ever.

      “My sister told me the basics of your childhood,” she said. “I hope that’s all right. She figured because it was something we all knew, it wasn’t telling tales or talking about your personal business, which she refused to do.”

      “I don’t mind your family filling in holes,” he said. “The truth is the truth. And I’m not interested in hiding anything from you. Our marriage was rocky two days ago when you got into the accident and months before that. Very rocky.”

      “I’m glad I don’t remember,” she said, tears poking again. “I guess that’s wrong. But all I know is that I’m not unhappy or sad or anxious or wanting anything. I don’t know who I am, but I feel safe because of you and the MacLeods. So if I’m in limbo, at least it’s a nice limbo. A Christmas limbo, at that.”

      He smiled. “That’s a nice way to look at it.”

      She tightened her hold on his arm, and again he felt like they had a chance. Even if it was just this limbo chance. This Christmas limbo chance. Right now, she was his again.

      At the house, Sawyer let out Moose, who raced around the yard, which still held a good covering of snow. Maddie threw his favorite squeaky ball at least twenty times, and he chased it over and over, dropping it by her foot.

      “Sorry, Moose, I think my arm is going to give out,” she said, kneeling down to give the German shepherd a rub and a pat.

      The phone was ringing, so they headed inside, Moose going over to his big red fluffy dog bed by the fireplace in the living room. They missed the call, and about twenty others, from Maddie’s parents and sister, checking in, and friends and fellow volunteers on the Holiday Happymakers committee.

      “That’s really nice,” Maddie said after she listened to all the messages.

      Sawyer nodded. “Everyone likes you. Well, I’m gonna go get dinner ready. Want a glass of wine?”

      “I have a craving for a little eggnog. Do we have any?”

      “Of course. You love eggnog.” He was back in half a minute with two glasses of eggnog. He handed her one, then clinked hers.

      “Yum,” she said. “You don’t want help with dinner?”

      “My job is reheating,” he said. “So no. You relax. It’ll be ready in fifteen minutes, per your mother’s very specific instructions.”

      She flashed him a smile and sank onto the couch, Moose coming over and sitting in front of her, his head on her knee. Sawyer watched her give the dog a warm hug, wanting more than anything to pull her into his arms and hold her. But he was afraid to overwhelm her, and he had a feeling he should let her make any physical moves.

      Over dinner they talked more about what they liked and didn’t, laughing more in twenty minutes than they had in the past three months. After dinner and cleaning up the kitchen together, they bundled up and took Moose on a long walk around the neighborhood, enjoying the holiday lights. Back home they watched a singing competition on TV, Maddie sitting very close beside him on the couch as she drank a little more eggnog. Then she yawned—twice—and they realized she’d better get to bed. It had been a long day for her, busier than either expected it’d be once she was discharged, and she could probably use the rest.

      He followed her up the stairs, Moose trailing them. In their bedroom, she poked around her dresser drawers and pulled out blue flannel pj bottoms with little Woodstocks all over and a long-sleeved pink T-shirt.

      “So...I’ll just change in the bathroom,” she said. “Is that weird?”

      “Not at all. We just met this morning.”

      She laughed. “It really does feel that way.”

      It did feel that way. And not—at the same time. All their history was front and center in his head and heart, weighing heavily. He was taking a T-shirt and pair of sweats from the dresser when she came out of the bathroom. Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail so her goose egg was even more prominent, the scratch beside it too.

      “Which side of the bed is mine?” she asked.

      “Window side. I’m the door side.”

      “Ah,” she said, “so the robbers get you first.”

      He smiled. “Exactly. And so I can roll out of bed and rush out if an emergency call comes in.”

      She picked up the mystery on her bedside table and looked at the cover. “Am I reading this?”

      “I think you just plucked it off the bookcase to pick up whenever I’d come in the bedroom—to avoid talking,” he said. “When you weren’t pretending to be sleeping.”

      “Yeesh. That bad, huh?”

      He looked at his wife, his beautiful Maddie, wishing he could say otherwise. “Yeah. There were recent moments, though, that even our stalemate couldn’t ruin. When I plugged in the Christmas tree for the first time. When Moose ate a stick that required a trip to the vet, and we were both so worried about him that we actually held hands in the vet’s office for the first time in forever.”

      “Was Moose okay?” she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and turning toward him.

      “Yeah.”

      “But we weren’t. We’re not,” she amended. “I’m not sure I want to remember that, Sawyer.”

      “Well, like I said, I’m prepared to give you ten kids. So, once your memory is back, we’re all set. We’ll start a family.”

      She frowned. “But, Sawyer, you don’t want a baby. You’re only agreeing because you made a spiritual pact.”

      “But I meant it. I’m prepared to have a baby.”

      “Well, that’s not what Maddie-who-I-don’t-remember would want. That Maddie would want you to want to have a baby, a family of your own.”

      He let out a breath, exhausted. “I don’t know that there should be conditions. A yes is a yes, right?”

      “No. The yes was about something else. Having your wife back. Giving her what she wanted so badly because you made a bargain with the heavens. It’s not actually about what

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