Page 51 of Starts With a Bang

“You better believe it,” Dad said. He tapped two fingers against his temple. “Doesn’t forget a damn thing.”

“Except the reason I enter rooms most of the time,” Mom replied dryly as she hopped up from her stool. “Who wants to help with breakfast?”

“Bad hip,” Nana said with a wink. “Think I’ll support you from here.”

Dad headed into the living room and the massive television, where it seemed he wouldn’t have to wrestle anyone for control of the remote. “I’ll find something good to play in the background while we work.”

I figuredwemeant thathe’dhold down the couch and sample the products, but it seemed Christmas miracles were a thing. Dad foundNational Lampoon’s Christmas Vacationand turned up the volume. Then he returned to the kitchen to help prepare breakfast.

Janet ate very little and bragged about the omelet Sven made for her earlier that morning. “Best one I’d ever had.”

Sven slowly shook his head. “Charmer.”

Kitchen cleanup went fast when all of us chipped in, even Nana. Her hip miraculously healed about the time Clark Griswold’s sled careened out of control in the movie. She nearly pitched herself backward laughing and forgot to continue the farce. She also claimed she was once as hot as the woman in Clark’s swimming pool fantasy.

“I believe it,” Sven said.

“Now who’s the charmer?” Nana teased.

Neither Christian nor Emerson came downstairs at any point during the morning. Not even when the cookie smells permeatedthe chateau. I could tell Janet was concerned, but she didn’t comment for fear of crossing some kind of line. She checked her phone frequently, and her expressions were hard to gauge. Was she looking for messages from John or Christian? My thoughts wandered to my cousin more than once, and I was glad to see him turn up midafternoon. I was even happier that he was alone. He forced a plastic smile on his face that fooled no one. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked like he’d been tumbled in the dryer for an hour.

“Chris?” Janet said as she approached.

He held up his hands and shook his head. “I’m fine.” But he said it in the universal tone that expressed he was definitely not fine.

Janet stiffened but retreated to the island to roll balls of cookie dough through cinnamon sugar.

“Bullshit,” Nana said. “You look like you just gargled with toilet water.”

Poor Sven had just taken a sip from his bottle and nearly choked on it. I tried not to laugh at his reaction to Nana’s colorful commentary while I rubbed his back.

Christian’s mouth quirked up on one end. “I’ve had better mornings, Nana, but I’m not in the mood to talk about it.”

“Did you come to your senses and send Emerson packing?” Nana continued as if she hadn’t heard Christian.

“Mom, Chris said he didn’t want to talk about it.” Janet then turned to her son. “But did you?”

“Did he what?” Emerson asked when he entered the room, looking as serene as a nun at mass. One would never guess that he’d tried to wreck multiple hearts just hours earlier.

“Well, damn. You’re still here,” Nana said. “That’s one Christmas miracle dashed this year.” She sighed heavily and shook her head. “I’ll live long enough to see my grandson come to his senses.”

“Pretty sure you said that before,” my mom quipped.

“And my wish came true,” Nana said. “I just didn’t expect the leech to attach himself to my other grandson.”

“Leech?” Emerson vibrated with outrage. “Are you going to let them talk about me like that, baby?”

Sven and I locked gazes. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head before he returned to his task.

Before Christian could respond, the front door opened and shut, followed by zealous whistling that grew louder as someone approached the rear of the house. John appeared seconds later, looking more relaxed than I’d ever seen him. I’d say he was drunk, but I’d never known my uncle to drink and drive. I recalled the way I’d felt with Sven in the privacy of our bedroom and knew the activity that had put the bloom in my uncle’s cheeks.

“Wow, you guys have been busy,” John said as he helped himself to a linzer cookie. “Is this your recipe? No one makes better ones than you do.”

“She made the jam from scratch this morning,” Mom told him.

Nana tightly gripped a paring knife. Where the hell had that come from, and who’d given it to her?

John bit into the shortbread cookie and moaned.

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