Page 62 of Of Angels & Absolution

eighteen

The Heathen

Grampa’s lake house is full on Christmas Eve, so full it’s as if they’re trying to fill the space Eternity left, as if cramming every living relative into the place can erase the fact that she was once here and now she’s not.

Except she is here, even when younger cousins have filled her place at the kids’ table, and I’ve moved to the adult one; even when there is no stocking with her name hung on the mantel with mine. She’s in the echo of kids’ laughter down by the water, the herds of running feet as nieces and nephews and grandkids thunder across the wooden deck Dad added onto the place, now wrapped with strings of Christmas lights.

We used to be those kids, when we were kids.

Dad’s parents are in their nineties, but supposedly they still want everyone to come, the way they did when Dad was a kid on Firefly Lake. Every year, Mom says it might be the last time we’re all together. I know she’s talking about my grandparents passing, and not Eternity, but I felt guilty enough to attend once again.

Though I never met my grandparents on Mom’s side—probably why she makes such a big deal of spending time with the ones I have left—she has a big family. The entire, loud Irish hoard has taken over the place, and Dad’s parents don’t seem to mind. Then again, they don’t mind much these days. Grampa is asleep in his wheelchair, snoring with his head resting on his shoulder, and Gramma is barely cognizant, being followed around by some distant relative of Dad’s to make sureshe doesn’t fall or wander into the lake. Mom only invited her siblings and their immediate families, so at least we don’t have to sleep in shifts.

I’m tucked in a corner next to the scraggly tree they cut from the woods near the lake—a Stone family tradition—sipping a whiskey and waiting for church when a text comes in.

ASoullessSaint: we need 2 talk

AHeartlessHeathen: u breaking up w us?

AnAvengingAngel: now???

ASoullessSaint: wya

AHeartlessHeathen: lake house

AnAvengingAngel: home. its xmas eve.

ASoullessSaint: can u get away?

AHeartlessHeathen: yeah bored anyway

ASoullessSaint: Diner 1hr

AHeartlessHeathen: kk

AnAvengingAngel: k

I heave myself up from the chair and head for the door. It’s cold out tonight, and people are talking about a white Christmas like it might actually happen. Charlie and Frankie are sitting on my tailgate, and they give me a little shit about leaving, but not too much. They’re both cool enough to not alert Mom of the fact that I’m taking off. She probably won’t notice for a while, at least, maybe not even until I’m back. She’s busy trying to drown her own losses in the sea of people that remain.

I pull up at the Downtown Diner an hour later, throw the truck into park, and head inside, hand on my piece. The place is owned by the Skull and Crossbones, so it’s our place on our turf, but I’m always on guard. The dirty Disciples aren’t above jumping a guy headed to church on Christmas Eve.

Saint is already there, fingers tapping, knee bouncing, half-empty cup of black coffee in front of him.

“What’s up?” I say, sliding into the booth across from him. I shrug out of my jacket and stuff it down behind me. Saint’s expensive wool peacoat is laid out carefully on the seat beside him with his slick leather gloves because he’s a rich, preppy asshole, but he’s not dressed for church yet.

He downs the rest of his coffee and fills the cup from a carafe on the table before offering it to me.

“How’s my favorite little brother?” Scarlet asks, sidling up and winking as she ruffles my neatly styled hair.

“Your only little brother,” I point out. “And don’t fuck up my ‘do or Mom will kill you.”

“Still my favorite,” she says, pulling a pad from her apron pocket. “What’ll it be? Hot cocoa with the little marshmallows?”

“You know me,” I say. “And keep ‘em coming.”

Saint looks tense, but he doesn’t say anything, just watches the door.

“What’s up?” I ask again. “How’s your break? Your dad still a dick?”

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