Page 9 of The Christmas Keeper

“Okay, yeah, we do. They work well.” He tapped his nose once, just like Santa laying a finger aside his nose. “I love that movie.”

“Yeah? Most people don’t even know about the old classic horror flicks, but I love them. Nora likes to say that I was born in the wrong decade.”

“Nora is your wife?”

“God no, I’m gay.”

“Oh, nice to know. Me too.”

Ah. Well, thatwasnice to know. “Small world,” I said, my witty verbiage on full display.

“Sure is, so Nora is?”

“Oh, my sister. She just got married. I was coming home from her wedding yesterday.” Had I mentioned that to him yesterday? Shit, I couldn’t remember. I was so dumb around this man I could have confessed to any number of things and not recalled. “To a hockey player. Up in Canada.”

“Shocking.”

“What? That she got married?”

“No, that she found a hockey player in Canada.” That made me snort. Not a very pleasant sound, but it seemed to amuse him. “I like the old things, old songs, old movies, and old souls.”

Our gazes locked. He wet his lips. My entire being sang in joy.

“Oh hey, Brann, glad I caught up with you.” The smell of cigarette smoke arrived a moment before Al Prescott, of Al’s Hardware, stepped around the pyramid of empties. His wife Glory had banished him and his smokes outdoors ten years ago. Al was one reason I did my best not to tarry around in the alley. “I heard you hired some help. About time.”

“Well, Kenan isn’t exactly hired, he was just helping out,” I explained as Al gave Kenan a long look that wasn’t at all welcoming.

“Ah, well, that’s nice. ?Tis the season and all. Listen, Brann, I know we’ve been through this a few times over the past few years.” Al sidled in closer, cigarette in hand, to wedge his portly self behind the kegs that acted as a windbreak of sorts. The sun shone nicely off his bald scalp. “But as the head of the Main Street Business Association, I’d like to invite you to think about putting up some decorations in your windows. The alehouse is the only store on either side of the street barren of any seasonal joy.”

“I think I hear the phone ringing,” Kenan said, easing back inside. I wanted to kick Al in his pork belly—and yes, he ate a lot of pork, so I felt justified in calling his girthy middle that—for breaking up what could have been…

Well, maybe it was a good thing Al and his Marlboro Lights had shown up.

“Al, we’ve been over this. I don’t do Christmas.” I folded my arms over my chest as a small sparrow flitted to the ground to pick at the crumbs under the dumpster. He found a frozen fry to peck at while we talked.

Al shifted, his smoke blowing into my face. I waved the cloud away. He seemed not to notice or care. Probably the latter.

“Well, yes, and I understand that you have your reasons, but surely you could find a little tree or a candle to place in the windows? We’re not asking anyone to go against their beliefs.” He drew in a lungful, exhaled, and carried on. “Speaking of beliefs, did you vet that young man before you brought him in to help at the bar?” My hackles, which were always raised around Al, rose even higher. “Now don’t look at me like you do when you come in to vote.”

“I look at you that way when I vote because you always make a comment about my rainbow vote.”

He did have the decency to blanch. “That was meant as a kindness. You know Glory and I have nothing against the gays.” Right. And I was Tina Turner. “I’m only concerned about your safety when you bring a certain type of person into our community.”

“Certain type? The type with curly hair?”

He scowled, then dropped his butt to the snowy ground. It sizzled. “You’re always so quick to take offense, Brann. I never did understand that. I’m only looking out for our community.”

“Yep, me too. People with curly hair are a known menace to our fair village.” With that, I stalked inside and slammed the door in his face. Fuck him and his ignorance. I stormed through the kitchen into the pub to find Kenan chatting with a couple of customers. They had tall glasses of dark lager and a dish of nuts. All seemed in order. “I’m going to go do paperwork. Can you hang out for another hour or so?”

“Sure.” He looked as if he wanted to say more but didn’t.

I climbed up to my office, opened the door, and was hit in the face with the aroma of Kenan. It was a warm scent, slightly woodsy, and it lingered not only by the sofa but also in the small bathroom. I washed my hands of old beer, then dried my handson a small towel that smelled of Kenan. Had he washed his body here in this dinky sink? Was that why my hand towel carried his fragrance?

“You are losing it,” I told myself, yanking the towel from my face and stomping to my desk. I sat down with a huff, opened my desktop, and stared at all the bills that needed to be paid as my mind stewed about Al. Fucking Al. Such a jerk. How he weaseled his way to be the head of anything was a mystery for the ages. If Al and a rabid zombie rabbit were running for head of the small business association of Whiteham, I would not only vote for the rabid zombie rabbit, I’d put signs in my yard saying VOTE FOR THE RABID ZOMBIE RABBIT just to twist Al’s checkered knickers. Sure, I had decorations in the basement. Those were from the Paulie era before a certain dickhead had ruined the holidays for me. Now they sat there unopened and unused, full of spiders and mice droppings. And that was where they were going to stay. No one could force me to decorate.

A soft rap on the office door jarred me from Al, Christmas, and the box of ho-ho-ho stashed in a dark, cold corner next to a keg of Miller High Life.

Kenan stuck his head in, curls galore. I sat up straighter. “Hey, are we allowed to serve food after the lunch rush? A couple of gas workers looking for a bite.”

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