Page 2 of Bones of Revenge and Reckoning

“If she’s not hungry, let her nibble.” My mother shrugs. “She’ll stay a nice weight in life if she doesn’t see food as pleasure and instead as sustenance.”

I don’t know what the last word means, and I tune out their discussion of my eating habits as my mind goes back to the big, wrapped shape under the tree.

Finally, the meal ends, and we are ushered into the drawing room to open presents.

We open the smaller ones first.

My gaze flickers to the corner where two large presents are nestled behind the tree. The bicycle and a very tall box. Maybe they got Nico the big toy space gun he wanted.

Mamma opens a box handed to her by Babbo, and it’s a sparkly thing to add to all the other sparkly things he buys her. She seems to like it, even though I don’t think this one is as pretty as all the others. It’s a green stone in yellow gold, and it doesn’t sparkle the way the clear stones do that she often gets. She seems to think it is the prettiest, though, as her smile is real, and it warms her eyes.

“It’s very rare,” Babbo says proudly. “Columbian emerald, and the inclusions are spectacular.”

“Thank you, my darling.” She kisses his cheek, and he gives a satisfied smile. The one he shares when we are good; that includes Mamma.

I hate kissing Babbo’s cheek. It’s always scratchy, and he smells of smoke and lemons. I think the lemon scent is the stuff he splashes on his hands and then pats his face with in the morning.

“Time for the big presents,” Mamma says, and I clap in glee.

I run toward them and grab the handles of the bicycle-shaped present. “Can you help me, Mamma?” I ask. It’s so big.

She frowns. “Darling, that’s Nico’s. Yours is next to it.”

“What?” I must have heard her wrong.

It can’t be his.

I’ve been so good, and Nico has been very, very bad.

“The other one is yours, darling.” Mamma comes to me and takes my hand as she grabs the box. “Come, let’s open it together. You’ll love it.”

She grabs the box and pulls it to us. Can a bike fit in that box? I don’t think so.

As she unwraps it, I watch Nico tear the paper off the bike. It’s red. Such a pretty, shiny, bright red.

My head feels funny, like there’s pressure in it as I watch him run his hands over the bike.

“But I asked Santa for a bike,” I say softly.

“Girls don’t ride bikes,” Babbo grunts.

Yes, they do. Many of my friends have bikes. I turn to Babbo. He scares me sometimes, but he’s wrong, and he’s telling a lie. It’s bad to lie. “That’s not true!” I say. “My friends have bikes.”

“Let me put it another way, Rennie. Good girls don’t ride bikes.”

“Look, you’ll love this, darling.” Mamma taps my arm, and I turn to look at the box, which houses a huge doll. It’s almost as big as me.

“She walks,” Mamma says proudly. “You can hold her hand, and she’ll walk with you. She talks too, and you can put paints on her, so you don’t have to use mine.” She smiles kindly.

My eyes are burning. Oh, no. I’m going to cry, and Babbo hates it when we cry. He gets all prickly and mean. Mamma says it’s because Babbo can’t handle emotions, but I don’t know what that means.

“Darling, don’t you like it?”

“I was so good,” I whisper.

“Yes, you were, darling. This is a very nice present.”

“I asked Santa for a bike,” I say. “Maybe there’s a mix up, and that’s mine?” I point to the shiny red object.

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