Page 20 of Christmas With the Convict

Relief and confusion wash over Chase’s face. “What?”

My dad takes a few steps toward him but I jump in the way.

“Dad? What’s going on?”

“Rick’s wallet ismissing. He left it downstairs this morning,” my dad roars. “And low-and-fucking-behold, it’s gone when we get back. He had a thousand in cash in there. Not to mention everything else.”

Chase sort of smiles and shrugs.

I scoff and keep myself between them.

“Dad, Chase has been with me all morning…”

“Wait.” My father’s eyes narrow. “What thefuckis he doing up here? He’s not allowed in this room.”

“It’smyroom.”

“It’s my Goddamn house!”

Things quickly go from insane to bat-shit-Christmas crazy.

Because when my dad decides that he’s pissed, he’s not afraid to let everyone know it.

I take Chase by the hand and lead him downstairs, doing my best to keep my father from grabbing him. The accusations keep flying, but at least now there are witnesses.

My father paces the foyer, balling his fists like he’s going to attack Chase at any moment. “He fucking stole it!”

“Dad, you’re acting crazy.”

Chase looks like a cornered animal, and I’m afraid of what he might do if my dad lunges.

“Rich,” my uncle says timidly. “I might have misplaced it.”

“Bullshit. You said you left it on the coffee table. He saw it this morning! We should have known. We have acriminalunder our roof. Christ, we should lock up the silverware!”

My mom, as passive as ever, is hiding just out of sight in the kitchen.

Whenever my dad goes on a tirade, she does this.

And I’m starting to hate her for it.

I can feel tears welling up, but I refuse to let them go. I’m not going to let my dad treat him like this.

“You are being so unfair,” I say as calmly as I can. “Jumping to conclusions. Blaming Chase withnoevidence. This is ridiculous!”

“It’s theonlylogical conclusion!”

My dad gets within arm’s reach of Chase but stops short. Chase is standing tall, staring him down, body tense and waiting for the strike. Suddenly, I see the man who spent years in prison. I see the cold and jagged edge that may never leave him.

“You’ve got ten seconds to give that wallet back,” my dad says in a sinister tone. “Ten seconds before I go upstairs and get my gun.”

And just as the tension becomes so thick that it’s suffocating, the front door opens in a rush of cold air. Lillian and the kids barrel in, smiling and carrying gift bags from the village.

“Oh, good. You’re all back for lunch,” Lillian says, laughing and taking off her coat. “What a day. It’s so gorgeous out. How were the slopes? Chase, did you tear it up first try?”

Oh, Lillian. If only you knew.

Finally, she takes a second to read the room.

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