Page 13 of Christmas With the Convict

Last night was… I’d forgotten what the warmth of another person’s touch feels like. She’s bringing me back to life, reaching into the cold grave and pulling me into the light.

I can’t just sit down here and wait.

Having the freedom to head upstairs when I feel like it is so foreign to me. I almost didn’t go to the bathroom in the middle of the night because I assumed the door would be locked like back in my cell…

As soon as I open the door, the noise of a bustling home smacks me like a train flying by. The kids are squealing and running just out of reach of any adult. I can hear people in the kitchen. Men, mostly.

I take a deep breath and try to walk like I belong here.

There’s already a fire going in the gigantic main living room—that stone fireplace looks like the house was built around it—and I spot a smaller fire as I step bleary-eyed into the bright kitchen. Everything here is so clean and white, gleaming as the sunshine bounces off the snow through the wide windows.

Wendy’s sister, brother-in-law, uncle, and cousin are all sitting in a little corner nook by one of the windows. Her sister, Lillian, jumps up and hustles toward me in her pajamas.

“Morning, Chase.” She smiles at me and offers me her seat. “Take a load off. Cream and sugar in your coffee?”

“Black.”

A cousin whose name I can’t remember raises his mug. “Thattaboy.”

“Tell me, Chase.” Wendy’s uncle leans over the table. “How was the coffee in prison?”

Lillian returns with a steaming mug and smacks the man on the arm. “Stop pestering him, Uncle Rick.”

“No, it’s fine.” I take the mug and nod my thanks. “Coffee inside was decent. We had to pay for it from the commissary. Folgers must have a contract because that’s all they had.”

I take a sip, caught off guard by how sweet the coffee is without any sugar.

“Never mind,” I say. “The coffee inside was shit.”

Everyone laughs.

Lillian slides onto the bench next to me. It’s warm between her and the cousin.

They keep talking as if I’m one of their own, whispering about the kids’ gifts under the tree, laughing because Wendy’s mom and aunt had a bit too much to drink last night.

I do my best to pretend like this is completely normal.

“Is Wendy awake yet?” I ask.

“That night owl?” Lillian rolls her eyes. “You’d be better off taking her coffee up and holding it under her nose.”

“Should I?”

“Go for it,” their cousin says. “She needs to get up soon, anyway. We’ve got a mountain to shred. You ski, Chase?”

“Uh, no.”

“Snowboard?”

“Actually.” I slide off the bench and grab my mug. “I was gonna stay behind while y’all do your thing. Maybe take a hike or sit by the fire for a while.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Oliver.”

Richard Bettencourt is standing by the coffee pot when I turn around, filling two white mugs. He smiles and raises one at me before taking a cautious sip.

“You see, everyone will be out today,” he says. “Lillian’s taking the kids to the village, and the rest of us will be skiing until lunch. We can’t have you all alone in this big house. That just wouldn’t be right, don’t you think?”

“It wouldn’t be a problem for me, sir,” I say. “I like the quiet.”

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