Page 126 of Soft Flannel Hank

The morning after the big fight, Jory had left town to go “treasure hunting” in New Mexico, saying she needed some sunshine and to look at a vintage jewelry collection that a contact had informed her was going up in an estate sale. She’d been gone for two weeks but had gotten back late last night. Esther looked forward to seeing her at the Yule bonfire she and Hank were hosting in the backyard later.

It was December 21, which marked the beginning of Hank’s first Yule celebrations.

“I’ve only ever done Christmas,” he’d said sheepishly the other day when she talked about making plans.

“We can have it all,” she’d replied. And she hadn’t been talking only about holidays.

Esther walked around the side of the house to double-check the firepit, which was wholly unnecessary. Hank had stacked the wood carefully in the stone circle, something he’d built from scratch in the span of three days for just this purpose. Esther smiled at the neatly piled wood nearby and remembered what she’d said when he finished it.

“Hank, I’m gonna have to be careful what I say I want because I’m afraid that you’ll never tell me no.”

“Sure, I will,” he had replied gruffly.

“About what?”

He’d prowled around the circle toward her, tossed her over his shoulder, and as he smacked her ass hard with his free hand, making her shriek, had said, “Ask me to stop loving you.”

She’d gasped as he squeezed where he’d just spanked her and in a breathy moan, said, “Stop loving me.”

“No,” he’d replied and then had his way with her on top of the dryer.

Hank was at his weekly therapy session now. The sun was setting, and their friends would be arriving soon. Esther climbed the steps to the mudroom and took off her boots, coat, and hat. The cookies were baked. The drinks were ready. Her little handmade gifts for everyone sat wrapped on the kitchen table.

The clock on the microwave read 5:30. Hank’s therapy had started at four, and it was only a ten-minute drive. He should be home by now. Esther sat at the kitchen table, shuffling her tarot cards and trying to tamp down her growing impatience. Where the hell was he?

Finally, at ten after six, she heard his truck pull into the driveway. Esther jumped to her feet and ran to the mudroom door. The automatic floodlight shone brightly on the now-dark driveway. Hank climbed out of the truck and walked toward her, holding something close to his chest. Esther squinted to see better. He climbed the stairs, and Esther saw two tiny ears peeking out from between his fingers.

He nudged the door closed behind him with a foot and held his cupped hands away from his chest to reveal a tiny black kitten with white markings on its mouth and feet. The kitten had enormous blue eyes and meowed pitifully at Esther as she reached out to take him, cuddling him under her chin.

“What’s this?” she laughed, feeling the kittens tiny claws digging into her sweater.

“It’s your Christmas gift. Uh, Yule gift. Sorry. That’ll take some getting used to.”

“Where did he come from?” Esther said, unable to stop smiling as she tried to wrangle the tiny, squirming kitten that weighed nothing at all.

“Niamh found a litter of kittens and was able to catch them and the mom. She’s got them at Nat’s. I remembered you saying you had a cat once, and I just… thought you might like it.”

“Hank,” Esther said, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung him on you. I can take him back if you don’t want him. I just—“

“Don’t you dare!” she scolded lightly, sniffing.

“But you’re crying. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said hoarsely.

“I’m crying because you remembered my cat when I know I only mentioned him once.”

Hank grunted.

“Does he have a name?” Esther asked, stroking the kitten’s tiny head just between his ears.

Hank huffed a laugh. “Well, Niamh’s apparently discovered nostalgia television in the last two weeks and named all of the kittens after characters she likes. So she’s been calling this one Hawkeye, but you can change it.”

“I love it,” she said with a laugh. And she did.

An hour later, Hawkeye was sleeping in the pocket of Hank’s coat, where he’d crawled and refused to leave. Esther stood next to Niamh and Jory, who were talking about knitting and wool. Hank was standing further from the fire, talking to Nat. Suddenly, they both turned their gazes to the dark side yard, where Esther noticed a shadowy figure standing just beyond the reach of the fire’s light.

Esther stopped listening to Jory and Niamh, her heart in her throat, as Hank and Nat walked over to the shadow. She could see them talking. Hank’s arms were crossed over his chest and his stance wide. Nat, on the other hand, had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his canvas coat, slouched and relaxed.