Page 30 of The Christmas Keeper

“I promise I’ll clean out the bain marie after the holiday party this afternoon and bring home all the wilted lettuce and funky tomatoes,” I told them. Fred craned his neck at us while Wilma demurely nibbled at some pellets and washed them down with fresh water. I glanced at Kenan, sprinkling some fresh bedding around the pen. “I usually make them a tossed salad for the holidays.”

He paused, smiled at me, and tossed the last handful of hay to the cold earth. “For someone who claims to be heartless, yourheart seems pretty easy to find.” He placed a chaff-covered hand on my chest, right over my heart. “Yep, there it is. I found it.”

Oh yes, he had found it and held it in his warm, musical hands until it had thawed. Much like that fledgling robin I’d picked up this past summer. He’d tumbled from the nest during a thunderous storm that had blown through like a typhoon. Soaked to the skin, I held him in my hands, seated under his upset mother in the oak above me, until he had stopped shivering. Then, with an irate mom trying to dive bomb me, I shimmied up the tree to place the tiny bird back in its soggy nest. Two days later, the nest was empty of birds but the lawn was covered with robins. I told myself that one of those bobbing around in the grass was the little wet fledgling.

“I’m sorry about my mother.” I sighed and enveloped him in a crushing hug.

“Don’t be. Her biases aren’t reflected on anyone other than herself.” He pecked my neck, his lips warm on the cold flesh. “Also, she might turn around to be just fine once she gets over her Hebrew shock.” I pulled back to gaze at him. “That’s like sticker shock, only it’s over a Jew and not over a used Corolla.”

That made me smile. The man had a wicked wit. “Well, she can get over her snit or she can be a long time mad.”

I took his hand and led him back inside, proudly, arms swinging, to find my mother’s demeanor had calmed significantly. I couldn’t say if my father, or Nora, or perhaps both, had given her some shit, but she was actually halfway pleasant, if not a little distant, the rest of the morning. We went to the lakeside diner, ate ourselves nearly sick on chocolate chip pancakes, and then dropped the family off at the one and only motel in town. The Whiteham Winds was a nice little hotel, clean with friendly staff, and incredibly grateful for the customers since winter was an off time of year for an area that thrived on tourism.

“We have a party from two to six for the courthouse employees, so we’ll be able to meet you for dinner out at the Invers Inn over in the next county around seven,” I told my folks as we got them situated in their hotel rooms. “Nora made the reservations already and is heading to the airport to pick up Antoine as we speak.”

“You should have let your father check your tires before letting her take off,” Mom said while unzipping her suitcase.

“They’re good tires,” I assured her. Dad rolled his eyes as he turned on the TV to find the classic Western channel he was so fond of. Once he locatedGunsmoke, he was happy. Then it was time for Mom to roll her eyes. She was not a fan of Marshall Dillon. “She’ll be fine. She manages to drive around Canada all the time by herself.”

“She probably takes better care of her things than you do,” Mom replied as she shook the wrinkles out of a blouse. My jaw tightened.

“Oh gosh, look at the time,” Kenan called from the corner by the door. “We have a lot of setting up to do for the party. Looking forward to sharing a lovely steak dinner with you both later today.”

With that, he pulled me from the room. We started walking to the alehouse. It wasn’t far. It would have to be in Ohio for me to work off the aggravation that my mother seemed to stir in me with such ease.

“Hey!” Kenan shouted.

I stopped, spun, and saw him standing outside the alehouse. Well, shit, I’d stomped right by it.

“Sorry, I was trying to walk off some parental exasperation,” I said as I moved past Al’s Hardware. I flipped off Santa just because he was all about the ho-ho-ho. And people wonder why I dislike this frigging holiday so much.

“I understand. I’ve been trying to do that for two years. I walked to the west coast and back, but the hurt never went away.”

“Damn it all.” I gave him a fast hug. “I’m such an ass. Here I am bitching about my mom sniping at me about the state of my car’s upholstery, and you’ve been disowned by yours.”

“That was her call. Your upset is right here in your face, but mine is far away. Just try to keep in mind that she might nitpick about your choice of tires and men, but sheishere to celebrate Christmas with you, her gay son.”

He was so right. “You are a miracle.”

“Oh God, hardly.” A self-deprecating chuckle burst out of him. “It’s easy to see what others are doing that needs work. It’s much harder to view yourself and your foibles.”

I nodded. That there was the truthiest truth to ever be truthed.

Chapter Eight

One of the highlights of the courthouse party, other than the mayor sneezing so hard after a few too many pitchers of Coors that he toppled over backward and his wife had to come fetch him before Tanya, the sole reporter for our little hometown paper, could be summoned from the next county, was Kenan singing.

I’d heard him crooning a dozen or more times now, and every time it left me speechless. Why a man with such amazing talent was traveling the US busking and taking odd jobs was impossible for me to figure out. I thought to ask him numerous times, but that was his story to tell when he was ready, and so I never asked. Also, if I poked too much, he might decide to pack up and move on. Sure, he said he was happy here, but happiness quickly became unhappiness. Just ask Paulie.

“Hey, I was hoping to get a second alone with you,” Paula said, easing her backside around the bar as the rest of the courthouse employees were enraptured with Kenan singing “Blue Christmas” as good as the King. Was I biased? Hell yeah. Paula was decked out in a red sweater, black skirt, and tiny redChristmas balls dangling from her ears. She’d even tucked some tinsels in her silver hair for the occasion.

The song ended, everyone clapped, and a few folks tossed cash into Kenan’s guitar case. I pulled a pitcher of Molson for Avery and the gang from the Prothonotary’s office.

When I was done tucking the cash from Avery into the till, I wiped my hands on my apron and faced Paula.

“If you’re going to make a snide comment about Kenan’s religion, I would just as soon you not,” I said with a bit more veracity than was probably polite when dealing with a steady customer, but I’d had more than enough from my mother. I was not going to listen to any anti-Semitic dross from anyone else.

“I would never. Dear Lord, my brother-in-law is Jewish,” she replied after the shock had worn off.

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