Page 19 of The Christmas Keeper

“Name one.”

“Is a sleeping bag a nap sack?”

“Okay, I stand corrected. To be fair, that’s pretty funny.”

“Thank the internet. My brain stores dumb things that I see online.”

“Well, that was a good use of your brain storage.” He rose from his crouch, kissed my cheek, and pulled on his coat. “What was your question?”

I tugged a toque onto my head, a gift from Antoine that bore his team colors and logo.

“Okay, so please don’t think I’m stupid, but what is required of me for this dinner at Mr. Blum’s?”

Kenan looked confused. “Uhm, you’re supposed to eat and make small talk?”

“No, I mean…” I pointed to my toque. He shrugged, totally lost. “Do I have to wear a yarmulke?”

“Oh. I was really lost there. No, not unless you wish to wear a kippah during a prayer.”

“Okay, so next dumb question. Is there a box in the closet filled with headwear for those of us who don’t own said proper headgear? Like a lost gloves box, only this is filled with…” His quirking lips answered my question. “Right, okay, moving out the door now.”

“You may want a coat. Also, just so you know, any headwear is acceptable so your toque would be fine. Unless Mr. Blum cheers for a different hockey team, then there may be fists flying.”

He snickered all the way to Mr. Blum’s little house tucked back amid the pines. We walked at a relaxed pace despite the cold, elbows brushing, exchanging the kinds of knowing looks that lovers did. The night was dark, the sky clear, and a thousand stars glittered overhead. That was one thing about living in the boonies that drew stargazers from all over. Little to no light pollution for novice astronomers. There was even a state park close by where star lovers from around the state gathered for viewing parties. So yeah, the skies were justthatbreathtaking.

The redwood cedar siding, exactly like what covered my house, was somber without the touch of the sun on it, but the warm glow of candlelight from a menorah in the front window cast the dusting of snow on the ground in rich gold. The tiny candles, two of them now, flickered invitingly.

“I see he dug out more than that old electric one,” I commented as we made our way up his neatly shoveled and salted walk.

“Sometimes it’s good to let go of past hurts,” he said offhandedly, or so I felt he wanted it to sound like, but I suspected the comment had been aimed at me.

I let it slide. There was no point in getting into a squabble with the man over something that would not change. I’d been eviscerated on a holiday. I now hated that holiday. Sue me. If my boyfriend had cheated on me on National Chocolate Ice Cream Day, I’d hate chocolate ice cream. Okay, no, that was a lie. I willalwayslove chocolate ice cream. The point stands, though. What made Christmas so special? Other than the whole birth of a baby in a manger in Bethlehem thing. And since I didn’t do religion even that meant little to me. Christmas was a commercialized mess where people overspent to the point of crippling debt to outdo their neighbors and friends. What may have been a charming little holiday ala Jimmy Stewert, angels,and tinkling bells was now a fraudulent corporate sham to bilk people out of—

“Welcome!” Mr. Blum yelled as he opened his front door before we could even knock. “Come in out of the cold. Take your boots off here in the foyer. Yes, good, now give me your coats. I’ll toss them on the guest bed while you make yourselves comfortable.”

Off he toddled, leaving Kenan and me to drink in the small but comfy home. It was a tiny place, also a former hunting camp, but it looked loved, whereas mine looked like a hunting camp with better plumbing. There were pictures of family everywhere, knitted throws on the back of a long sofa, scattered rugs on the softly buffed hardwood floors, and of course, the menorah which sat proudly on a side table in the front window.

“Nice house,” I commented while Mr. Blum was talking away in another room.

“Very homey,” Kenan added.

Our host arrived then. “Why are you lingering here? The floor is cold. Go into the living room. Come now, we have all kinds of appetizers. It took me some time to go through all of Betty’s recipes, but I found a few.” He waved a hand at a coffee table that was bowing under the platters of food. A few he said. A few dozen was more like it. “It’s been several years since I entertained. Our son is on the other side of the world working for a relief charity, so he rarely visits in person.” A sadness flickered on Mr. Blum’s face before he shook it off.

“This looks great,” I said in earnest. Kenan nodded, wide-eyed, as he perused the dishes.

“Now, of course, Kenan, you know what most of them are, but for our gentile guest let me explain what we have. Obviously, we have challah bread which might still be warm from the oven. There are latkes, kugel which will not be as good as my wife made but should pass with a push, some brisket which I suggestyou use the challah to soak up the juices, applesauce, and of course…” He waved at a plate of jelly-filled doughnuts.

“Okay, I know doughnuts,” I chimed up all sorts of proud.

“Also known as sufganiyot,” our host said with a kind smile.

“This all looks amazing, Mr. Blum. It’s been a long time since I had such a traditional meal. Thank you,” Kenan said.

“It’s my pleasure. It’s good to have some young people in this old place. Grab a dish! Serve yourself whatever you wish and don’t be shy. Oh! I forgot wine.”

“Can we help?” Kenan offered and got a snort as a reply. “Guess that means no.”

“Guess so.” I lifted a plate from the stack, then eyeballed all the food spread out in front of us. Soft music played off in another room, just audible out here.

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