Page 189 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“I know lots of things,” he says. “I like to learn things.”

“You’re incredibly smart, Ben. Don’t you ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“I have to go,” he says. “Star Trekis coming on.”

“Okay,” I choke out. I was the one who got him hooked onStar Trek. “It was great talking to you, Ben.”

He doesn’t respond, just hangs up.

I lean against my kitchen counter, trying to get my shit together. After a separation of six years, I just had an actual conversation with him, even if he didn’t know it was me. I swallow back a sob, and tears stream down my face. My eyes are blurry, so when my phone rings a few minutes later, I can barely read the screen.

It’s my sister’s number. I almost don’t answer, worried Ben is calling me back. But it’s the promise of hearing his voice again that makes me pick up.

“What did you say to my son?” my sister snarls.

“Amanda,” I say in surprise.

“Sorry if you were expecting Ben to call you back,” she snaps. “What kind of stunt do you think you’re pulling?”

“I was callingyou,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Ben had no idea it was me.”

“He doesn’t even know you anymore,” she says, her voice tight with anger. “You need to leave us alone.”

“I want to make this right, Amanda. I want to see you and Ben.”

“That’s never gonna happen.”

“Look, I know you’re mad at me. I know you think I killed Mom.”

“Youdidkill Mom!” she shouts. “You broke her heart!”

“I stole that car when I was twenty years old,” I plead. “I was young and stupid and drunk.” Then I remember what Mrs. Rosa said. “But I dragged your ass home plenty of times after you’d been out partying with your friends, drinking underage. I slipped you past Mom and Dad more times than I can remember, and they were none the wiser. You crashed Dad’s truck into a tree, and I took the blame. You were driving drunk, Amanda. You could have killed someone. You just weren’t caught. I was.”

She’s silent for a moment, then counters, guns blazing, “You know it’s more than that stupid car. It’s how you treated Uncle Lester after Daddy died. He tried to help us. He offered to buy the business, and you wouldn’t let him.”

“Because he’s the one who gave Dad his heart attack,” I say with plenty of heat. “He was trying to buy the business before Dad even died.”

“He was trying to help us, you idiot! If you’d sold then, we would have made a profit instead of you running the business into the ground and then hammering nails into its coffin by getting yourself arrested.”

“He was telling people not to hire us so we’d be desperate for money and he could buy us out, Amanda. And he started a good year before Dad died. When Dad found out the truth, it broke him. So no. I was never gonna sell to the man who betrayed our father.”

“How can you accuse him of that? He’s our godfather, Jace!”

“Which only made it that much worse when Dad figured out the truth.”

“Whatever your delusions are,” she snarls, “it doesn’t change the fact that you fucked up and left us withnothing.”

We’ve had this conversation too many times to count, and it never ends in any other way than with both of us more pissed off.

“You killed our mother,” she says, her voice breaking. “You bankrupted Daddy’s business. And you broke Ben’s heart. That’s three strikes. You’re out, Jace.”

She ends the call, and I’m left in silence.

When I wakeup on Sunday, I’m restless and in need of a project, so I make myself a huge to-go coffee and head out to thelocal hardware store. Roger needs cheering up, and I have the perfect Christmas gift to lift his spirits—a cat tree. The job site I was working at last week has several pieces of scrap carpet I can use. All I need is the wood.

I’m standing next to the plywood in the hardware store, loading up a piece that’s already been cut, when I hear someone call my name.

A brown-haired guy in his thirties is approaching, and he looks vaguely familiar.

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