Chapter Text
Phee had offered to help with cleanup after the Logan family Christmas dinner at Mellie’s, but Clyde and Mellie would have none of it. Clyde had pronounced that she needed to put her feet up, in his grumpily protective way. She was too tired to argue, and truth be told she liked when he got a little bossy like that, the way it meant that he was taking care of her.
She let him shuffle her into the living room, where he proceeded to tuck her in on the couch with one of the family heirloom quilts she loved so much—this one featuring the Logan family tartan and part of a matching set made years ago by their Nan for each of the Logan siblings—then he pressed a kiss to her forehead and headed back to the kitchen to help Sylvia with the washing up.
The house was calmer now, everyone growing a little more mellow once their bellies were full with turkey dinner and all the fixings. A familiar 80’s compilation Christmas album played quietly on Mellie’s record player. A couple of beeswax candles (purchased at the Danville Crafters’ Market and gifted to Mellie from Phee) flickered on the coffee table and soft white lights shone from the tree, and she could hear the faint sounds of Jimmy and Joe and his brothers out in the backyard starting a fire in the firepit with help from Sadie. Phee let herself drift off for a few minutes.
Mellie soon joined Phee on the couch. She had a couple of old photo albums in her hands.
“Gotta show you somethin’, seeing as how you’re family now.”
Phee felt her cheeks heat and her stomach twist at Mellie’s words—a reflex left over from before. This Christmas, and the way the Logans and Bangs had accepted her so readily in the months since she moved to Danville—it was all so different from the stuffy, fancy, lifeless celebrations she had to endure with her own family and then with Hamlet’s. It was a little overwhelming at times—the energy, the chaos, the love—but she was just so thankful to have found her way here.
Phee watched as Mellie flipped through the photos—birthday cakes and bad haircuts, fishing trips to the river, first cars, lots of smiling faces. One from the day Clyde left to join the military.
Mellie opened the next album, which from the tree and angels decorating the cover, seemed to be dedicated to Christmas photos. She pointed out one featuring a young woman in a poinsettia-patterned wool Christmas sweater, her teased-up hair the same dark shade as Clyde’s, a familiar kindness sparkling in her eyes as she smiled at the camera. A little boy with the sweetest big ears, wearing a red and green bow tie, grinned up at her from her lap. They were reading a Christmas picture book together.
“This was one of Mama’s favourite photos. She would have loved you, you know. She loved books, just like you and Clyde. Took us to the library every Saturday morning. Always forced me to sign out at least one book, but she never cared that all I wanted were the books about cars.” Mellie paused and smoothed her hand over the photo protector sheet. “She always said Clyde had too much love inside of him, but she hoped one day he would find someone who would need all that he had to give. Who would give him all the love he needed in return. I’m really glad you found him. Mama would be too.”
Phee could feel tears threaten to fall, but they quickly turned to laughter as Mellie flipped the page to another photo of that same sweet little boy, messy mop of dark hair sticking out from under a Santa hat, clad only in underoos emblazoned with the Star Wars logo. He was proudly holding two drumsticks with a little drum around his neck, this time a very serious and endearing look of concentration on his face.
“If Clyde asks, I never showed you this. It was before I was born, but Mama loved to talk about when he went through a stage where he would walk around the house like that, drumming and singing ‘Little Drummer Boy’ at the top of his lungs. It’s been his favourite Christmas carol for years, probably the first Bob Seger song he loved, too. And that old drum set might just be wrapped under the tree for your little one as a gift from Auntie Mellie next Christmas.”
Phee couldn’t help imagining a little drummer child singing carols and playing that drum with all of their heart, in much the same way as little Clyde had, in the years to come.
Clyde came into the living room then, drawn by the sound of Mellie and Phee’s laughter. He had a little plate with an assortment of Phee’s favourite cookies in his hand. “Whatcha got there, Mel?”
Mellie quickly flipped the album shut. “Mind your own business, Clyde.”
“Seeing as how those are my baby photos, I do believe this is my business.”
Phee smiled as he handed her the cookies. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she mock-whispered. “I think you were cute. Those little underoos!”
Phee and Mellie dissolved into giggles, and Clyde blushed as he rubbed his big hand on the swell of her belly, in the way that had become his habit.
“Baby giving you a little break from her soccer practice?” he asks, trying to change the subject.
“Maybe she just wants to play the drums?” She gave him her best innocent look.
He grumbled in return. “Don’t need the both of you ganging up to tease me. Reckon it’s just about time to get you home and in bed, darlin’. Gonna pack up our things and get the truck warming up. You eat those cookies, and then we’ll get you bundled up. Snow’s starting to come down.”
There wasn’t much that sounded better to Phee at that moment than getting home to their own bed, where Clyde would curl around her and hold her close as they drifted off.
She may have been lost when she came to Boone County, but she’d found her way home.
🥁🎄
Unfortunately for Phee, she didn’t get to curl up in bed with Clyde that Christmas night like she imagined. Her water broke the moment she stepped onto the porch of their trailer, two weeks before her due date. Phee started to panic, but Clyde was calm under pressure—he grabbed the emergency bag they had started to pack and a few other essentials they hadn’t had time to pack yet, then he drove her through the snow to the Boone County Hospital. He sang Christmas carols the whole way to help her stay calm, including “Little Drummer Boy.”
Little Elizabeth Rose Logan—to be called “Betsy Rose” by all who loved her—was born the next day.