Page 188 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“Andyou’rea good man,” she says insistently. “A man who made a mistake, then paid for it many times over.”

“There’s a difference between losing a job and going to prison. Abigdifference.”

She leans over and cups my cheek, pity filling her eyes. “You need to deal with your sister’s betrayal, and then maybe you’ll accept that you’re a good man. A man who made a stupid mistake as a kid, just like every other kid out there. You just had the misfortune of getting caught.”

With that, she walks out the door.

I spend the rest of the afternoon thinking about what she said. Come nightfall, Roger shows up for dinner, looking frailer than usual. I baby the hell out of him, making his favorite dinner—macaroni and cheese and my version of meatloaf, which ismore like baked hamburger patties with barbecue sauce on top. But he just picks at his food before excusing himself to go home and go to bed. I follow him, making sure Cleo is doing okay after her walkabout and that they’re both all set for the evening.

I’m worried about Roger, but hopefully a good night’s sleep will help.

When I go back to my apartment, I pick up my phone and stare at it, shocked that I’m actually thinking about calling my sister. I know I’ll never change Amanda’s mind, but maybe talking to her one more time will give me some sort of closure.

The phone rings several times, and I’m sure she’s screening my call. Then the ringing stops. I expect it to go to voicemail, but I hear a male voice instead.

“Hello.”

The crack in his voice suggests I’m talking to a teenager.

My heart skips a beat. Is thisBen?

I’m a half second from asking whether it’s him, but if Amanda doesn’t want me to have contact with him, it would hurt him worse to have a five-minute conversation with me, followed by a lifetime of nothing, than to not hear from me at all. Instead, I ask, “Is Amanda there?”

“She’s busy. She ate corn for dinner, and now she’s got the squirts.”

I can’t hold back my laugh. Yes, it’s definitely Ben. I can’t believe I’m actually talking to him again.

“Did you know that an ear of corn has about eight hundred kernels?” he asks.

“I didnotknow that.”

“Do you think Mom’s gonna squirt out sixteen hundred pieces of corn? She ate two ears.”

“I suppose that’s possible.”

“Your voice sounds familiar,” he says. “Do I know you?”

I take a moment to swallow the lump in my throat, but my voice still sounds tight when I say, “We knew each other when you were little.”

“I’m not little anymore. I’m five foot and four and three-quarter inches,” he says. “I weigh one hundred and fifteen point two pounds. Yesterday, I weighed one hundred and fourteen point six pounds. I gained point six pounds, but the average ear of corn weighs one to one-and-a-half pounds, so I should weigh more.”

“You would think so,” I say patiently, my eyes stinging with welling tears. “But you didn’t eatallof the ear, did you? Just the kernels.”

“Oh.Yeah.”

“Even so, your body burns calories just to pump your heart and keep everything going. Are you still playing basketball?”

“I didn’t make the school team, but I play on another team,” he says. “Mom says it’s better.”

“What position do you play?”

“Forward. I make a lot of baskets.”

“You used to when I knew you too,” I say, then immediately regret it. The last thing I want to do is upset him.

“Are you one of Mom’s special friends?” he asks.

One of the many men who’ve paraded through her life after Ben’s dad deserted them when he was three? I don’t appreciate being lumped into that category. “No. But I knew you, and you were an amazing kid. I bet you still are.”

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