Page 24 of Plunge

I turn onto the next street on the route—Wesleyan. Thistle McMurray lives on Wesleyan. Fucking Thistle McMurray and her “I should have told you” bullshit. I should have just sat and minded my own business while she dealt with the asthma asshole.

But who else would agree to marry me on paper for some bullshit stunt to fix my work issues?

I deliver a few toy trucks and a crying baby doll before I walk past the McMurray house. I see her and her mother through the curtains, hanging garlands and decorating their tree. “Left it a bit late,” I mutter to myself, but then I notice Teresa’s leaning her right hand on a cane, and I remember why the hell Thistle is home and I feel bad.

I finish out the route in record time, tamping down old memories of this town and its people. The most important news of my life—that my girlfriend was pregnant—was grocery store gossip. Nobody wanted to tell me, because she’d already decided not to keep it. And I heard all this second hand, through whispers.

I was in the co-op buying kombucha for my dad after he had a stomach bug, and I heard Teresa sobbing an aisle over, talking about it with fucking Mary Pat of all people.

I remember dropping the bottle on the floor and it shattered, splashing gross liquid on my sneakers as I ran out of there and straight toward the hospital, where Teresa had said my girlfriend had miscarried our baby I didn’t know existed.

I visit the last house and am feeling exhausted in every possible way.

I jog back to the animal hospital where I left Archer’s truck. Aneke, the town vet, is just coming out the door and locking it. She runs over to give me a hug.

“Wow,” I say. “You came in Christmas Eve to help my brother’s girlfriend’s cat?”

She shrugs. “Of course. He was dying. I mean, I also got in a litter of rabbits some jerk dumped along the road, so I had to get all of them situated, too.” She smiles. “Know anyone who wants a pet?”

“Aneke,” I say, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know which way is up. I’ve been out in the cold here for hours and I’m used to a more tropical climate.”

She laughs and gestures across the street toward where she lives with Matthew, who I guess grew up to be some sort of solar energy geek. “Come on in for a hot toddy,” she says. “We’ve got something for you to take to Archer.”

I get back to my brother’s house a few minutes before midnight. I find him sitting on the floor petting the cat and I toss him my Santa sack.

He looks at the clock and says, “Bull shit you finished the whole route this early.”

I shrug. “Guess I’m just more efficient than you.” I point to the bag. “I’m not quite done yet, though.” Aneke gave me a little Christmas tree and some solar lights for Archer and Opal, said something about her not having ever had a real family Christmas before.

This whole evening has been just one scoop of humble punch after another, and my brother almost cries when he sees the tree. “Have you been a good boy this year, Archer Crawford,” I ask in my best Santa voice.

He dives into my arms and starts hugging me, tight, “Shut up, dickweed,” he says, his messy hair right at my mouth and his face in my armpit.

“The lights are pre-charged,” I tell him. I help my brother wrap the lights around the tiny tree and flip on the switch. The soft light fills the kitchen with a warm glow and it looks so nice even the sick cat lifts his head to see what all the fuss is about.

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