Page 4 of A Cursed Noel

“You?” I repeat.

“Yes,” hesays, sounding annoyed.

I just about keel over.“FromMimi?” I press.

His shoulders droop.“Yes,” he confesses.

I just stare at him.“How desperate are you to get advice from that lunatic?”

Misery plagues Martin’sfeatures as he turns his focus from the road back to me. “Very,”he admits.

“Whoa.” I hold myhands out. “Wait a minute. This isn’t about me, is it?” I throwthe door open, ready to leap out of the vehicle.

Martin’s strong claspto my shoulder keeps me from jumping, but it’s his words thatfreeze me in place.

“You’re failinghim, Aric. That incredible Leader we were all privileged to knowwould be heartbroken to see what you’ve become.”

I shut the door slowlyand turn back in the direction of the road. Yeah, he would be. Butknowing so doesn’t soothe the monster stalking within me. The onewho demands I avenge him with blood.

Chapter Two

Martin doesn’tspeak to me the remainder of the ride. It’s just as well, I’mdone talking to him. I’m done talking to everyone.

The gate opens with awhining groan. If Dad was here, he would have oiled it at the soundof the first squeak. He and I would have swept the snow lining thedriveway, not allowed it to accumulate and melt in stages on its own.

Martin’s SUV rocksside to side as he breaks over the top layer of ice. The path linedwith evergreens and old oaks part, the house slowly coming into viewas Martin nears the halfway mark of our driveway.

Our house isn’t likethe ones you find in the city or even just outside of town. This isthe Colorado mountains. Neighbors live miles apart and dirt pathsdistinguish one property from the next. There’s no need for gravel.Tar just poisons the air and pollutes the fragrant aroma of soil andpine. Around here, a driveway is something you mow in summer and plowthrough in winter.

I’ve done neither ina long time.

Like a veil, the treeslining the sides part, revealing the house my father built for hisbride. It’s mostly slate, solid like the wards surrounding it. It’sbig. Too big. With too many bedrooms for such a small family. Myparents planned to fill it with children. But just like their dreamto grow old together, that one didn’t come through either.

With a curse and a fewmental kicks to the head, my attention wanders to the second level,where a set of heavy wood doors separate the terrace from the masterbedroom. I take what I said back. There is one person I still talkto. Even though she never has much to say.

The sadness I beat downin exchange for rage jabs at my ribs when I realize how abandoned andunkempt everything appears. My home looks abandoned and neglected,nothing like what was once the envy of the town.

My friends have offeredto help me tend to it a few times. Each time, I shut their effortsdown. Hell, I’ve shut them down and out of my life.

Liam still calls,trying to convince me to hang out.

Koda will text, tellingme to pull my head out my ass.

Gemini watches me froma distance. He’ll track me every now and then, saying nothing andwalking quietly behind me. He thinks it’s what I need.

What I need is nothingmy friends can give.

I shake my head, tryingto place how things went so wrong so fast and how even my home seemsto mourn.

Weeds poke throughsections of snow the sun has managed to melt. They choke the oncelush, sprawling lawn, spreading out to kill as much as they can. Thedoor to Dad’s woodshed hangs on one hinge. One more storm willfinish it off. I try to huff with annoyance, but shame has me hangingmy head.

The last time I tendedto the yard was the morning Dad died. Winter came early that year andlasted longer than it should. It’s no excuse. Bad weather or good,I haven’t looked after the house or the property in any capacity. Idon’t want to. It no longer feels like home.

My dad’s boomingvoice no longer howls for me to come in for supper. My mother doesn’tchase after me, nailing me in the head with the muddy socks I left onthe floor. We no longer leap from the balcony of our rear terrace asbeasts to hunt beneath the star-strewn night, nor do I pad quietlyinside after raising hell with my friends.

My eyes dart around,taking every inch of land, every root poking through the roughpatches of dirt, and all the boulders shaded by trees as old as time.I used to race up this path following a long day at school, knowingall the love and comfort I took for granted would be waiting justinside.

Like a fool, I thoughtmy father was unstoppable. I was convinced he’d always be here. Ibelieved Mom would always be so full of life. God, how naïve I wasto think nothing would ever change.

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