The McRae Series 01 - Twelve Days Sam and Rachel

Memorial Day. Fourth of July. Labor Day. Thanksgiving. Christmas again. Rachel's family loves to celebrate."
    "They're all so nice," she said.
    "Yes, they are."
    "They... they all act like they know me. Like they like me."
    "It's the way they are," he said. Maybe not with him, but they would be with Emma and Zach and Grace. And even that probably wasn't fair, Sam realized. Rachel's father hadn't really accepted him, but the rest of the family had. They'd drawn him in, at least as much as he'd let them. He was a part of them now.
    They were ready to draw Emma and her brother and sister into their midst, just as generously and eagerly as they'd welcomed Sam. He'd never loved them more than he did right now for the generosity they'd shown toward the children. He was awed by it, all choked up by it. He'd never thought to belong to anything like this family, to anything this strong, this enduring.
    "They're good people, Em," he said.
    She nodded. "I like the snowflake ornaments."
    "Me, too."
    "I like it here."
    "I'm glad."
    "And... I like you, too."
    Sam nodded, thinking about grabbing her and just holding on to her, too, but she looked so shy at the moment, so ready to bolt and run. Emma would be slow to accept things like that, and he didn't want to spook her. So he just gave her as much of a smile as he could manage and said, "I like you, too. Merry Christmas."
    She slipped away from him, as if the conversation had become too much for her. Oh, Emma, he thought. They had a lot in common.
    He was still sitting there a few minutes later when Rachel came to him. She sat on the floor, settling in with her side pressed against his leg, her head against his knee.
    "Your family really is amazing," he said, his hand teasing at the ends of her hair.
    "Our family, Sam. They're yours, too."
    He nodded.
    She went to turn to face him and bumped into the sign she'd made for him, which he'd stashed in the relative safety of the corner. "Careful."
    "Oh. I didn't know that was there." She reached for the sign again, tracing his name and then hers. "You know, it didn't turn out quite the way I expected."
    "Rachel, I love it. It's perfect."
    "That's not what I was saying. I love the way it turned out. It's just not what I thought it would be. I always start with an image in my mind of what it's going to be, but it's like projects take on a life of their own. Like there's something else they were just meant to be, and it used to drive me crazy. I'd work so hard to force my vision onto the work. It seemed like I ought to be able to do that. After all, I could hold all the pieces in my hand, the design and all the different kinds and colors of glass. I'd cut them and grind them and shape them into the pattern in my head, and no matter how careful I was and how determined, it never came out exactly the way I expected.
    "My grandfather used to try to explain it to me—that I hadn't failed just because in the end, I had something that was different than I envisioned. That part of creating art is letting it just be what it wants to be, accepting what comes, rejoicing in it, even," she said, laying her head on his knee again. "And he was talking about life, too, I think. All those things I thought I had to have, all that time I spent trying to make all the pieces fit together the way I imagined they should."
    "What are you saying, Rachel?" he asked quietly.
    "I'm saying, look around this room, at all that's here. This place and these people are all the pieces of our lives. We can make something so beautiful of this, Sam. It is beautiful. It's beautiful right now."
    And it was.
    * * *
    She was still waiting for what he might have said a moment later when Zach brought a present to Sam and one to Rachel. They'd missed her father calling their names. And a moment later, Frank said, "Let 'er rip!"
    Everyone tore into presents all at once in a race to get them opened, and general chaos ensued once again. Sam and Rachel got separated as he supervised a marginal cleaning of the living room. At least enough that they could walk through the room, and she went to the kitchen. The meal had to go on the table soon because all of her siblings' spouses had family in the area, too, and they spent the evening with them.
    Late afternoon and evening, by tradition, was drop-in time for neighbors and various other relatives who didn't make it to Christmas dinner. Soon after they finished the meal, the house was overflowing even more with people, and it seemed a