One Christmas Knight

Funny thing-he never once thought it had anything to do with her maybe just not feeling the same way about him that he did about her. Somehow, he knew she did. It was just a feeling he had, something to do with the way she looked at him, the way her lips clung to his when he kissed her, the way she trembled when he touched her. And then, she’d named her baby Amy.

“Jimmy Joe,” Mirabella whispered, “I can’t.” The ache inside her was so vast that she wondered as she gazed down at her daughter’s fat, contented little cheek, how she could not feel it, too.

“You say that a lot,” he said matter-of-factly. “So far you’ve been wrong every time.”

Since normally there was nothing Mirabella hated more than being told she was wrong, that should have been enough to launch her headlong into an argument with no holds barred. But now, since deep in her heart she wanted nothing more than to be wrong, all she could do was snap, “It wouldn’t work,” then clamp her mouth shut again and glare at him in stubbornness and confusion.

He took a deep breath and for a moment didn’t say anything, while she watched his eyes roam the room, touching briefly on her, on the baby at her breast, the rain-streaked window, the bassinet, as if searching for something that lay just…there-so near but always beyond his grasp.

Then his gaze came back to his hands, clasped between his knees, and he cleared his throat, lifted his eyes to hers and smiled his sweet, Jimmy Joe smile and said, “I’ve never been much good with words. I mean, I know a lot of words. I read-my mama tells me too much-and the words are all up there in my head, and I hear them sometimes when I’m drivin’ and I don’t feel like listenin’ to the radio or one of my books- on-tape. Words just flow along so easy, then, like a river. But when there’s something important I want to say, I don’t know, it’s like somebody throws up a dam, or somethin’, and all those words back up inside me, and the only ones that come through is just my usual trickle.”

He paused to grin, then shake his head and look down at his hands again. “See, I knew you’d have to argue with me. And I had about a thousand miles to think how I’d answer you. All the good reasons why, different as we are and crazy as it seems, I think I could make you happy. Now that I’m here, though…” He looked up at her, his smile slipping awry. “The minute I saw you, I knew I wasn’t gonna have the words. So I figure the best way is just to show you. So…Marybell, that’s why I’m askin’ you to come home with me to Georgia. So you can see for yourself who I am and what I’ve got to offer you. And then you can decide if it’s anything you want, or not. It’s up to you. So…what do you say? Will you come with me?”

Come with me… It’s up to you. Oh, God, what was happening to her nice, controllable, well-planned world? It was as if he’d suddenly come to her and said, “Hey, you want to fly to the moon? Here are the tickets-we leave in an hour!” The wild, the crazy, the impossible, was suddenly there within her reach-and she felt confused, terrified, paralyzed, her heart racing and her mouth as dry as sandpaper. She opened it, but no sound came out. The silence grew tense and viscous. And then…

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Bella,” her mother said, “don’t be an idiot.”

They both turned to see her standing there, Amy’s infant carrier car-seat in one hand, the diaper bag slung over her shoulder. Jimmy Joe rose instantly, mumbling, “Ma’am,” as good manners dictated. Mirabella simply sat, dumbstruck, as Ginger dumped the baggage onto the rug and advanced with arms outstretched.

“Here-I’ll take that baby. You go get your coat.”

“But…she hasn’t been burped-”

“I’ll do it. Go and get yourself ready-now. This instant.”

Mirabella drew a sharp, reflexive breath as she saw her baby lifted from her arms, an instinctive preparation for battle. Then she caught Jimmy Joe’s quiet gaze and the exhalation sighed softly from her lips. “Yes, ma’am,” she murmured humbly.

They rolled into the front yard of Jimmy Joe’s mama’s place late in the evening, long past the usual suppertime. He’d thought about whether he should take her home, first, but then he’d figured that might not be fair to her, and that he couldn’t really expect her to make a decision until she’d had a chance to see what she was getting into. And that meant his whole family-at least the part of it he lived with on a regular basis, which was to say, Mama and Granny Calhoun, Jess and Sammi June, and of course, J.J.

His heart did a little double-skip when he thought about Mirabella and his son meeting for the first time. He wasn’t worried so much about J.J. liking Mirabella right off the bat-how could he not?-and even growing to love her like the mama he’d never had.

On the other hand, he had to face the fact that his son had pretty much outgrown the cute-and-adorable stage, and that he could be a real pistol, sometimes. He knew it was asking a lot of a woman with a brand-new baby of her own to take on someone else’s eight-year-old kid, besides.

But whichever way it was going to go, he knew he wouldn’t have to be in suspense for long, because the minute J.J. heard the rumble of his diesel and the hiss of those air brakes, he would be out that front door like a shot, just like he always was.

With one ear tuned to the slamming of the door and the familiar cry, “Hey, Dad!” he turned to Mirabella, who’d come quietly to stand between the seats and was peering through the cab windows at the house, which for some reason was all lit up like Christmas. “We’ll stop here a minute, if that’s okay,” he said, just a little out of breath. “Just want to pick up J.J., have you meet my mama. My place is just down the road.”

She didn’t say anything, but nodded and began to unbuckle the belt that held Amy’s infant carrier securely in place in the passenger seat. He got out and went around to open the door and lift the carrier down for her. Then he offered her his hand to help her down the steps, remembering what a climb it had been for her before, wondering if her independent nature would let her accept. When she gave him a look but took his hand anyway, he thought it was a good sign.

They were standing together beside the truck, sort of straightening themselves out and shaking the road stiffness out of their legs, when he finally heard the door. Not a slam, though, and without the exuberant shout of welcome that usually went with it. He turned and saw that his son had come onto the porch. But instead of running on out to meet him as he always did, he was just standing there with the light from the windows behind him shining in his hair, so he looked like he was wearing a halo.

Jimmy Joe touched Mirabella’s elbow and they started across the yard, last fall’s dead leaves crackling and crunching underfoot. When they reached the front walk, J.J. started slowly down the steps and came toward them, holding himself straight and tall, as if he was walking down the aisle of a church, fixing to light the candles on the altar. Wondering what had gotten into his son, Jimmy Joe set the baby carrier carefully on the ground, cleared his throat and said, “Hey, son, there’s somebody here I’d like you to meet.”

That was when he got his first look at Mirabella, who had stopped dead-still in the middle of the walk. He didn’t know how to describe her expression, except to say she looked…stunned. Then as he watched, her face began to take on a kind of glow, as if she was witnessing a miracle. She glanced up at him, and her eyes-again there was only one way to say it-her eyes were dancing.

“God does have a sense of humor,” she murmured as she moved up beside him, her hand going out toward the boy standing so tall and stiff before her. Thinking she meant to ruffle his hair, Jimmy Joe held his breath, knowing how J.J. hated that sort of thing, but she stopped just short of it and instead said briskly, “Hey, how are you doing? I’m Mirabella.”

Then, while J.J. solemnly shook her hand, his father let his breath out in silent thanksgiving, knowing it was going to be all right. He’d seen that look on Mirabella’s face before, as she watched her baby while she slept.

“You’re a lot prettier in person than you are on TV,” J.J. said, studying her with his head cocked to one side.

“Thanks-I think,” said Mirabella, laughing shakily. She still felt jangled after the shock of seeing her fantasy child in the flesh, right there before her eyes.

In the boneless way of all eight-year-olds, J.J. dropped to his knees beside Amy’s carrier. “Boy,” he said in an awed voice, “she sure is little.”

“Can I hold her?” asked a tall, slender girl with long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, who had just joined them.

“This is J.J.’s cousin, Sammi June,” Jimmy Joe said. “Sammi June, say hey to Mirabella.”

“Hey,” said Sammi June dutifully. “Can I hold the baby?”

“Well-” Mirabella looked over at Jimmy Joe and caught his reassuring nod “-sure, you can. As soon as we get inside.”