Selena Kitt: Grace

Leah held back a sob, knowing that feeling so well she lived it every minute. She had lived it for months at the maternity home, missing him with every breath she took like having razor blades in her lungs, and now she had him back, but her baby was gone. She closed her eyes, remembering her wish, feeling tears fall.

“I know you wanted a miracle,” he whispered. “On this day of all days, I wanted to give you one. I wanted to bring her home for you today.”

Leah nodded, opening her eyes, seeing him through prisms, and tried to speak, but nothing came out.

“I promise you, Leah. I promise I will stop at nothing to find Grace and bring her home.”

Rob fumbled with the box, opening it, and Leah saw the Tiffany’s logo on the white satin top, and the platinum band with the diamond solitaire framed in velvet sitting in the bottom.

“Will you marry me?” he asked, meeting her eyes, his so serious, like he thought she might say no. Leah shook her head, unable to speak, tears choking her throat. “So when our little girl comes home, she’ll have her family waiting for her?”

Leah sobbed, throwing her arms around his neck, whispering her assent. “Yes, yes!”

Rob held her close, kissing her deeply before presenting the ring to her, this time out of its box, sliding it onto her trembling ring finger. She looked at it in the dawning early morning light now streaming in through the skylight. It fit perfectly.

“I told him your ring size,” Erica said through a mouth full of Bit O’Honey she’d gotten in her stocking.

“You knew?” Leah blinked at her.

“He bought the ring months ago.” Erica revealed this secret with glee, seeing her father’s face flush.

“I knew you’d come back to me.” He met Leah’s eyes and she saw how his glistened in the light. “Just like I know we’ll get Grace back.”

Leah let him sweep her into his arms, standing and twirling her around in front of the Christmas tree, pulling her close so he could kiss her properly, if a little reticently, in front of Erica.

“I hope so,” she murmured against his chest as he held her, stroking her hair, and she met Erica’s eyes, remembering their crazy, spontaneous walk through the snow, their impromptu snow-angels, their wish on the morning star. They weren’t little girls anymore. They didn’t believe in magic. There was no Santa Claus. There were no Christmas miracles.

“Congratulations.” Erica came over, still chewing her candy, and put an arm around Leah’s neck, giving her a long hug. Rob watched them, smiling. “Now we get to plan a wedding!”

Rob groaned. “Can’t we elope?”

“Are you kidding?” Both girls looked at him, aghast, and then they looked at each other and burst out laughing. Maybe there were no fairy godmothers or magic wands, but they had each other, and for the first time in weeks, Leah felt almost like her old self again.

Erica would never have met Clay if Father Michael hadn’t volunteered her for the part of Virgin Mary in the Christmas Eve Nativity Scene. It was all Father Michael’s idea, a live-action nativity to replace the wooden carved figures that usually adorned the sanctuary. She only agreed because there were no lines, like a play. She just had to stand there holding a baby and put it in the manger and look serene. Considering the roles she’d played for the church in the past few months-although those had been much darker, and far more secret-she knew she could do this one with her eyes closed.

Besides, it was Father Michael who was asking, with those big blue eyes and that sweetly appearing smile, and how was she supposed to resist that? Father Michael said he wanted a young couple to play Mary and Joseph, and so one of the boys from St. Casimir had been brought in. Erica didn’t know Clayton Marshall Webber III from Adam, but they’d spent three weeks wearing scratchy wool costumes, chewing gum and having bubble-blowing contests-Clay carried Beech Nut Spearmint wherever he went-while Father Michael directed the wise men and argued with Father Patrick, who was completely against the whole shenanigans.

Father Patrick won the argument about the livestock-two lambs, a donkey, and a goat were sent back to the Eastern Market where they’d come from-but Father Michael had gotten his way with the concept of a “live” nativity, including Mary, Joseph, three wise men, and an angel. The angel was just Alice Kernighan dressed up in white robes, wearing a halo and standing on a pedestal behind them.

And of course, a baby Jesus.

“Whose baby is it?” Erica had asked, looking down at the sleeping newborn as Father Michael handed it over.

“Foster child,” he’d explained, tucking the swaddling blankets in around the baby’s face. “She’s just on loan.”

“She?” Erica had smirked, raising her eyebrows at him. “Jesus is a girl?”

“Don’t tell anyone.” Father Michael winked. “I picked this one because she’s so quiet. She has to sleep through the service.”

“Hmm.” Erica had looked at the sleeping infant. It was a cute baby with lots of dark hair, and Clay glanced over her shoulder at it.

“Hey, maybe Jesus was a girl,” Clay had speculated as Father Michael left them to go talk to Father Patrick about the last minute details of the Christmas Eve service. “Don’t they always show him with long hair? And those robes… could have been hiding anything under there.”

Erica had laughed in spite of herself and the baby in her arms had stirred but didn’t wake. In fact, she stayed quiet through the whole thing-quieter than Clay, who kept whispering all sorts of horribly sacrilegious things into Erica’s ear to make her laugh. She tried to just smile serenely and not meet his eyes, or she was bound to crack up. His last joke almost did her in- What’s the difference between Jesus and Picasso? Only takes one nail to hang a Picasso -but thankfully it was time for her to put the baby in the manger, and she could hide her stifled giggles as she bent over and tucked the baby in.

Really, it was Father Michael’s fault she ended up sneaking out of the warehouse after her father and Leah had gone to bed, on Christmas Eve no less. She never would have taken Clay up on his offer if it hadn’t been for the way Father Michael frowned whenever she laughed at one of Clay’s jokes, and found a reason to separate them whenever Clay got too close. Once, Clay had been teaching her to Lindy Hop, and although Erica was about as graceful as a turtle in a tutu, he’d managed to get her to do the basics before Father Michael discovered they were tripping the light fantastic while he was chasing a goat down the hallway and called rehearsal off for the day.

She blamed Father Michael-and, as always, her incessant curiosity. Yes, she’d been trying to make him jealous, flirting with Clay. But she was also intrigued when Clay asked her to meet him, saying he had something interesting to show her.

It was Father Michael’s fault she agreed to meet Clay around the block from her house at two in the morning, slipping into his 1955 Chevy Sedan and messing with the radio while he drove them through the streets of Detroit, getting on the freeway and then off again, taking them for a long, uneventful drive into the country. And it was Father Michael she was still thinking about when Clay parked on a back road and turned to kiss her.

He smelled like Beech Nut spearmint and Aqua Velva, a heady combination, but he took his gum out before he kissed her, pressing it with his thumb against the dashboard when he leaned in to touch his lips to hers. It was a pleasant sensation and Erica let him gather her up, enjoying all his hard angles against her soft curves.

His tongue found its way into her mouth and she let that happen too, letting things take their natural course, the heat of their bodies, the fast pant of their breath steaming up the windows of his Chevy. Erica even dared to put her hand on his leg, sliding it up his jean-clad thigh until she found his erection, smiling when she heard his sharp intake of breath.