Harper and Noah are both bundled up- Noah because he can’t keep his body temperature up very well, and Harper because she’s small- in contrast to Crockett’s blue coat with his hands in his pockets. It’s getting chilly in Chicago, the first snow of the season threatening at the sky any day now, and of course they have to pick out a tree for their first Christmas as a family.
Noah is having a good day, one of the reasons they were able to come out. He has his cane with him, just for extra stability, but his other arm is around Harper’s small body. She prefers it when Noah carries her.
(“Papa,” she has begun to call him in earnest, making grabby hands for Noah to hold her while he smiles and says “Just a minute, let me move my tank, baby.” Harper is his baby as much as she’s Crockett’s little girl. It feels like they were meant to be a family.)
“Big,” Harper suggests, pointing at a nine foot noble fir that’s both too large for their low ceilings and too expensive coming off of a hospital visit for Noah. “Daddy, big!”
“Too big,” he says gently, and places a hand on the small of Noah’s back while they walk toward an area with trees a little closer to their preferred size. There’s a slight strain appearing in Noah’s muscles from trying to walk and carry Harper when he’s still weak, so Crockett wordlessly pulls their toddler onto his hip instead. Harper pouts, but she’s long since realized that sometimes Noah can’t hold her but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love her. “How about some of these, Princess? They up to muster for you?”
She points at a tree and Crockett comes closer, inspecting the branches for any bugs or signs of rot. It seems to pass his standards, and Noah is smiling at him with this indecipherable softness, so really it just matters if Harper thinks this is the one. Her speech is still short, clipped words that don’t really string together. She’s still so young. But she seems older every day.
It hits Crockett, out of the blue, that he never thought she’d be well enough to come pick out a tree and make a face at being told no. He spent a long time grieving for his living daughter in anticipation of the unimaginable. Despite it all, however, she’s alive and in remission, grabbing onto the tree’s needles and turning puppy dog eyes on Crockett and Noah. He sets Harper down- mindful of her slight unsteadiness on her feet, and waits for Noah to take her little hand before he picks up their chosen tree to bring to the front.
“I know,” he hears Noah stage-whisper to Harper, “he’s like the strongest man in the universe.”
Crockett’s heart is full.
