Page 21 of Christmas With the Convict

Everyone is deathly still. Even the kids have huddled together behind their dad.

“Alright,” my sister says. “Who died?”

“Thisscum,” my dad growls, “stole Rick’s wallet.”

Lillian looks at Chase, then Uncle Rick, then my dad. “No, he didn’t.”

The storm in my father pauses. “What?”

From her own purse, Lillian pulls out a thick leather wallet. She waves it dramatically. “Duke yanked this off the coffee table this morning. I found it in his jacket about an hour ago. He told me Uncle Rick said he couldborrowit.”

I knew Chase was innocent, but I still can’t help but feel relieved. Now, my father has no excuse to treat him like an animal.

My uncle sighs and smiles. “I said you could borrow a dollar two days ago, Buddy.”

My nephew is already crying. “I’m sorry…”

Suddenly, all that rage has left through the open door.

My dad nods a few times and shrugs. He gets down on one knee and speaks with a soft, coddling tone, “Well, honest mistake, Dukie. It happens. That’s what we call amisunderstanding.Happens all the time!”

Everyone seems perfectly content to leave it at that.

My dad ruffles Duke’s hair and laughs about hissticky fingers.

Uncle Rick laughs awkwardly then pretends to count his money, hollering about a missing dollar.

My sister laughs it all off. Her husband and my cousin don’t say a word.

Even Chase looks fine just moving on.

And I know my mom is back there nodding to herself, maybe pouring her and my aunt a drink and pretending like nothing happened. But I won’t stand for this.

“Dad,” I say, arms crossed. “You owe Chase an apology.Now.”

“What?” He glances at Chase as if he forgot he existed. “Apologize?”

“Youthreatenedhim. You accused him of stealing. You said you were going to shoot him!”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Dad scoffs, “I said I was going to get my gun. Not the same.”

“Apologize!”

“It was the only logical conclusion,” he insists, smiling like it was all a joke. “What do you expect when you bring an ex-con home for Christmas, Honey? You can’t blame me for starting with the most obvious suspect.”

“Wendy,” Chase says with a half-smile. “It’s fine.”

“See?” My dad slaps Chase’s arm. “No harm. No foul.”

There’s so much that my rage demands I say. I can feel words waiting to be screamed until my throat swells and shuts.

But Chase locks eyes with me and subtly shakes his head.

Everyone disperses.

I hear my dad ask about lunch and a cold beer in the kitchen.

Uncle Rick rubs my shoulders and sighs like he wants to say something, but trails after my dad instead.

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