Page 6 of Christmas Criminal

A local watering hole I can go towithoutgetting in trouble with parents, check.

I've been alone for most of my adult life, but I didn't start feelinglonelyuntil my friends from college started getting married and having kids and I realized that, as great as my friends were, I couldn't rely on them to consider me a part of their growing families.

I would have to go out and find my own, whether that's a person or a community. And I’m happy with where I ended up, even if I do get lonely every once in a while.

There was a time I thought I had found my person. Emily, who wanted a fancy life in the city I couldn’t give her without sacrificing everything I’ve worked so hard for. Who picked fights like it was her job and then asked why I never raised my voice to her. Who used to poke and prod at me, "searching for an emotion" underneath my stoic exterior.

She left with a bluff, accusing me of being too scared to fight for her.

And I let her go.

So while I never found the right person, I did find the right community.

A place that feels like home. Especially this time of year.

When I was little, Christmas was my favorite. My mom would take me to all of the Christmas parades, and we would make paper snowflakes on Christmas Eve and bake cookies and put up the tree together. It truly was a magical time of year.

When she passed away during my senior year of high school, that was what I missed most. The smile on her face when the air turned crispy cold. The way her eyes would shut and her shoulders would hunch up by her ears. She'd pull me into her side and say, "You smell that, Nicky? Christmas is coming."

She raised me on her own, and despite struggling at times to make ends meet when I was young, she managed to leaveme an inheritance that got me through college and gave me a reasonable down payment on a home just outside town.

In a way, it's like she left me with my favorite part of her–the part that loved this time of year.

Suffice it to say, I'm sure growing up and going to school here is a whole different experience than finding it as an adult. No one gets through high school unscathed, and although I'm sure Noelle doesn't want to bring up bad memories, sometimes it can be healing to go back and say, "Hey assholes, look who I am now."

She had a tough time here. Many students do. They’re somewhere between a kid and an adult, hormones are raging, and not a single parent I've ever talked to has felt like they've figured out the teenage stage.

That's part of the reason I do what I do, especially around the holidays. I don't have a family to go home to and shower in love and support like I want, so I turn that onto my students. Onto the townspeople who seem to love Christmas almost as much as my mom did.

And for me, that's turned a time of year where I could sit and wallow in my grief into a time I look forward to.

I think my mom would be proud of me for that.

"Good morning," Noelle says stiffly, drawing me back to reality.

She starts down the hall toward the garage, and I'm left to follow in her footsteps and ignore the way her hips swing from side to side as she moves. The way her wavy brown hair cascades down her back.

When Hank asked if I was busy this weekend, he failed to mention the egg-thrower was pretty, a fact that threw me off for half a second when she showed up that first day. One second I was reading, and the next, a dainty brunette stood at the frontdesk, admitting to being the naughty egg-thrower Hank wanted me to take under my wing

Hank isn't the asshole that Noelle thinks he is. She happened to be throwing eggs in the wrong place, at the wrong time. And while she could have been dealing with a hefty fine or even jail time, she got a dose of small town community service work. The kind that skips a judge and gets brushed under the rug as long as you show up and do what you say you will.

There's a reason I like Hank as much as I do. I've seen a lot of good kids make one wrong step, and before they're able to correct course, they're tugged further in the wrong direction. Hank gives the benefit of the doubt when he can, and that's something I always appreciate.

Even if it means I get saddled with the pint-sized brunette with an attitude problem.

"How are you today?" I ask, taking a few quick steps to catch up with her.

She pushes her sunglasses up onto her head and narrows her eyes at me. "I'm doing great. I woke up at five in the morning to drive three hours to this stupid town to do community service for acommunitythat can suck my ass, and instead of going home and relaxing with a glass of wine tonight, I have to go sleep in my childhood bedroom on a lumpy mattress while my mother rage-sings Christmas songs at me."

I snort. I can't say I was expecting the outburst.

"Oh, cool. So you think that's funny."

"Might I remind you thatyoupicked weekend hours."

She comes to a stop and stomps. "I don'tlivehereanymore!"

I hold up my hands, turning to face her. "Okay, I get it. What would have worked better? Start at noon?"

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