Page 78 of Price of Angels

It was a light snow, but a snow nonetheless, shaking out in slow handfuls that caught in the breeze and swirled at the windshield. Michael drove Holly’s car; he dropped her off at Bell Bar, then went to Kroger, a decision he regretted as he walked through the sliding glass doors. The place was swamped with last-minute grocery shoppers. He was jostled around amid the mothers with screaming babies and husbands with long lists, clutching his own list in white-knuckled fingers to keep from losing it in the crowd. Most people, when they turned and got a good look at his scowling face, gave him some space. But he was involved in a crush of humanity he would never normally endure.

Damn it, Holly.

Damn her Christmas dinner.

“Do you need someone to help you to your car with this?” the cashier asked him as he paid.

He gave the teenager his deepest frown and said, “What do you think?”

From the store, he went to his place, stocking everything away in the fridge and freezer. He showered, changed clothes. He tidied up.

He sat down at the kitchen table, watching the snow fall beyond the window, and he called Uncle Wynn.

“Either you’re calling to say you picked up a ham on the way, or you’re not coming,” Wynn greeted after the second ring. There were dogs barking in the background, the sound of big paws scratching at the front door. Same old Uncle Wynn. He laughed. “You’re gonna miss Christmas, boy.”

“I am,” Michael said. “Uncle Wynn, I can’t get away this year. I’ll have to come out to the farm sometime after New Year’s probably.”

A beat passed, and Wynn sighed. “That club of yours stop believing in Christmas?”

“No, it’s not because of the club,” Michael said without thinking, and wished he could pull it back.

“It’s not?” Surprise in his uncle’s voice. “I can’t remember the last time you did anything that wasn’t for the Lean Dogs.”

This wasn’t the direction he’d wanted the conversation to turn. “Yeah, well…”

“So what’s up? What’s so important you can’t have Christmas with your family?”

“There’s just something I need to take care of first.”

Wynn’s tone became suspicious, worried. “Michael, what’s wrong, son? You don’t sound like yourself.”

Then who the hell did he sound like, he wanted to know. He was damn certain his voice was normal. Unless the old man was turning psychic in his old age – a decent possibility with Wynn – there was nothing to read here. No difference.

“I’m fine,” he said tightly.

Another pause, while one of the dogs whined in the background, then: “I worry about you, you know.”

“I know.”

“Are you at least going to eat with somebody? You won’t be all by yourself will you?”

Michael felt a quick stab of guilt. Because he was staying in town, Uncle Wynn would be alone. He counted all those dogs as family, but their company only comforted up to a point.

I ought to invite him, he thought.Tell him to get in the truck and bring his favorite Dane if he wants and he can eat with Holly and me.

But he didn’t do that, because he had no idea what Holly would make of his country uncle, and what Wynn would in turn make of her. It felt too soon; Holly was too fragile. Holly was…

He didn’t know what Holly was, at this point, in relation to him.

“I won’t be alone,” he said.

“Good.” Wynn’s tone shifted, became teasing. “You didn’t get yourself a girlfriend finally, did you?”

Michael smiled to himself.Girlfriendwasn’t the right word; it wasn’t descriptive enough.

**

“My babies,” Maggie called when the wind drove them into the back door. She left her steaming pots at the stove and came to greet them with hugs and cheek-kisses. She had to stretch on tiptoe to reach Mercy, and he obligingly lowered his head so she could press her lips to the side of his face.

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