The Night Before Christmas Read Free Page A

doesn’t sound like you. I mean, the fancy clothes, and the tiered cake and the sit-­down dinner—­is that really your kind of thing? I thought if you got married again you two would do something like, you know . . .”
    â€œFly to Las Vegas?”
    â€œNo, not that. But something smaller. Something . . . I don’t know, intimate. And, and not casual, maybe. But not fancy, either.”
    â€œI’m not sure you can call this wedding ‘fancy.’ ”
    â€œWell, by Butternut standards it is.”
    â€œMaybe,” Jack allowed. “But that’s not saying much. Besides, it’s not like we’re breaking the bank here. You’d be amazed how much less a reception costs when you’re not serving alcohol.”
    â€œI don’t mean the money, though, Dad. I mean . . . what do you want?”
    â€œI want to be married to your mother.”
    â€œNo, what kind of wedding do you want?”
    â€œOh, that’s easy,” he said. “I want whatever kind of wedding your mom wants.”
    â€œSo this is about Mom being happy?”
    â€œWell, yes, to a point. But it’s about more than that, too. It’s about rewriting history. Which is something you don’t get to do very often in life.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” she asked, turning toward him.
    He hesitated. “When your mom and I got married the first time, it wasn’t exactly her dream wedding. Her parents hated me, for one thing, so there was no happy family to celebrate with us. And we were broke, for another. Neither of us had any savings yet, and her parents didn’t want to spend any of their money because . . . well, as I said, they hated me. So we put something together. Your mom bought a dress on sale, and her family’s minister married us in a small ser­vice at Lutheran Redeemer. At the last minute, your great-­grandmother relented, a little, and made some iced tea and finger sandwiches for guests to have in the church basement after the ceremony.” (Jack didn’t mention here that in a twist of fate this was the same church basement where he now attended his AA meetings.)
    â€œAnyway,” he continued, “is it so surprising that your mom wanted something different this time around? Something that felt more . . . special, I guess. More permanent.”
    His mind caught on that word now. Permanent . The marriage that had followed that wedding, of course, had been anything but. And if Caroline wanted something else this time around, how could he blame her? Because while he might not feel that strongly about the details of the wedding, he felt very strongly about the marriage that came after it. “Permanent” was what he had in mind now. And while the whole “till death do us part” thing had always seemed unnecessarily morbid to him, it didn’t seem that way anymore.
    â€œAren’t you forgetting something, Dad?”
    â€œWhat?” he asked, slowing down on the highway to let another car pass them. He always drove conservatively when Daisy was in the pickup with him.
    â€œAren’t you leaving something out of the whole first wedding story? You know, the part about Mom already being pregnant with me?”
    The truck swerved so slightly it was barely noticeable. “I . . . didn’t think you knew about that.”
    â€œWell, I do,” she said, looking amused.
    â€œYour mom doesn’t think you know, either.”
    â€œDon’t worry,” Daisy said. “I won’t tell her.”
    â€œWhen did you, umm . . .”
    â€œAs soon as I was old enough to count,” Daisy said, archly. “No, not really. When I was about twelve, I think, I was helping Mom organize some papers and I came across your marriage certificate. I realized it was dated six months before I was born. But she’d never told me, so I figured she didn’t want me to