He took the bottle to the kitchen and then went to join his wife in their chair.

He’d started a fire because Nina liked fires in the evening no matter if it was summer or winter. But he knew it was a wasted effort. Just as with Charlie, in the early months of her pregnancy she slept a lot. He knew she was probably out the minute she rested her head against the high arm of the chair.

Gently, he moved her, her damn cat darting away as he did. He slid in next to her and then pulled her into him. She helped. In her sleep she curled deeply into his frame, her arm snaking around his gut, her head burrowing into his neck.

Through this, as usual with his Nina, she didn’t wake and she wouldn’t. He’d have to carry her to bed. She’d had an active day, starting it with heading to the mall first thing and ending with dancing like a madwoman at Mindy and Jeff’s reception then laughing until she choked with her family and friends at The Mark.

Max stared into the fire and held his wife close and as he was doing this, a sweet, hushed voice he hadn’t heard in thirteen years spoke in his brain.

I’m happy for you, honey, Anna said and Max closed his eyes.

Then he opened them and pulled Nina closer.

“I’m happy too,” he whispered.

I’m going now. If Nina asks where he’s gone, tell her I’m taking Charlie with me.

Max didn’t answer.

I love you, Max, and I love the way she loves you.

She would love that, Anna would. That was pure Anna.

“Find peace, Swanee,” Max replied.

Already did, ‘bout three years ago, baby.

Max’s jaw clenched to fight against his throat getting tight.

Then there was silence except for the crackling of the fire in the grate of the huge stone hearth he laid with his own hands in the house on the mountain his father gave to him, his son asleep in the other room, his wife carrying his unborn child asleep and tucked to his side.

And Holden Maxwell stayed right where he was, still, quiet, content and staring into the fire until it was time to get up and carry Nina to bed.