Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 71688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“Yes, we are.”
He asked, “Where are you going to put those?”
“Everywhere! Unless you’re planning to put up a tree, in which case I’ll concentrate my efforts there.”
“I usually don’t, but I wouldn’t be opposed to it. I’m just not really a fan of the plastic ones.”
“We’re heading to a nursery after this, so what about a live tree? You could put it in the yard after Christmas, then bring it in every year.”
His face lit up, and he said, “I like that idea.”
“Great! Then pick out some ornaments.”
There were several collections in different color schemes, and he reached for a big box of traditional red, green, and white ones as he asked, “Is that boring? I just can’t quite get into the trendy pink and purple look, or the funky neon one.”
“Nope, it’s not boring. In fact, it’s the one I would have chosen. I’m getting these for Yolanda and her girlfriend though, because they’re perfect for them.” I added three boxes of rainbow-striped heart ornaments to the cart. Then I spotted a gift section across the aisle and said, “Hey, that’s a good price for stuffed animals.”
I wheeled the cart over and began tossing plush toys into the cart. Theo picked up a stuffed goat and raised a brow as he asked, “What are you going to do with these?”
“I’m going to play Santa on Christmas at the hospital, obviously. Toss that goat in the cart, and see if they have another one. I seem to recall two of my roommates saying something about liking goats, and I want to get gifts for them, too.”
He dug through the mountain of stuffed animals and teased, “You own your own Santa suit, don’t you?”
“Of course! If you play your cards right, I might let you sit on my lap and convince me you’re naughty.”
“I thought naughty kids don’t get anything.”
I winked at him. “That’s the other Santa. This one definitely rewards naughty behavior.”
He chuckled and said, “Good to know.”
Eventually, we made our way to the part of the craft store that actually contained crafts. I stuck a cardmaking kit in the cart, along with a pack of glue sticks and a pair of scissors. As we wandered down the aisles, I said, “All this glitter looks fun, but that’s just not going to work for a kid in a hospital bed, is it?”
“Definitely not.” As we rounded a corner, he picked up something and showed it to me. “This will, though.”
The loom kit contained an idea book and three round, plastic forms in different sizes, each lined with pegs. The box said they could be used for making hats or scarves without knitting needles, and I exclaimed, “That’s perfect! Let’s grab some yarn to go with it.”
An entire aisle of the large store was dedicated to yarn. I was surprised by the way Theo’s eyes lit up. He wandered down the aisle, touching everything, and I asked, “Do you knit?”
“I used to crochet, but it’s been a long time.” He paused at a pretty, multicolored skein in shades of blue and purple and ran his fingers over it.
“Would you like to start doing it again?” When he nodded, I picked up a set of crochet hooks, then grabbed a few skeins of the wool that had caught his attention. “I’m going to get these for you. Do you need anything besides this?”
I held up the hooks and the yarn, and he seemed so innocent and childlike when he met my gaze. “No, that’s all I need,” he said softly.
“Is this enough yarn for whatever you want to make?”
He shrugged. “It’s been so long that I probably shouldn’t try for more than a scarf.”
As I put everything in the cart, I asked, “When did you start crocheting?”
His quiet answer startled me. “About two or three months after my twin brother died.” I turned to look at him, and his eyes were bright with tears. “I melted down after I lost Freddie. My foster parents couldn’t handle me anymore, so I got sent to a group home. I actually ended up staying there until I aged out at eighteen. But soon after I arrived, my case manager taught me to crochet. She was big on channeling my energy into things that were constructive, instead of self-destructive. I found it soothing, at a time when almost nothing else was.”
My heart was in my throat, and I whispered, “How old were you when he died?”
“Eleven. Same age as Oscar. I think that’s part of the reason I’m so invested in that boy. I see both myself and Freddie in him.”
A tear tumbled down his cheek, and I grabbed him in an embrace and said, “I’m so sorry about your brother.”
The craft store was crowded, since it was a Saturday and just two weeks before Christmas. A few people squeezed past us as we stood there in the yarn aisle, but I just went right on holding him, and he clung to me. It must have seemed odd, but I didn’t care what anyone thought. All that mattered was Theo.