Page 75 of 4th Silence
I toy with my glass. “Look at me—totally present and enjoying this lovely family dinner. See? No problems here.”
Meg mercifully drops the subject as Mom and Dad return, the pie safely cooling and not burned—an unusual state of affairs.
Mom asks Jerome about his latest art commission, and I exhale slowly, grateful for the reprieve. I take another bite of ham, tasting nothing. All I can think about is whether JJ is eating Christmas dinner alone. Nothing but leftovers and a legal pad.
Meg kicks me under the table.
“...and then the anchor asked me about my determination to solve Tiffany’s case.” Mom’s voice rises with excitement as she gestures with her fork, nearly sending a piece of glazed carrot flying. “I told him it was my duty. Inspiring the cold case group is my passion. You should’ve seen his face when I broke down the psychological profile I developed on Alex Hartman.”
She developed? Huh.
Her eyes snap with the same intensity they had when Meg and I were kids, watching her hunched over newspaper clippings at the kitchen table. Except now, the entire family is her captive audience as she recounts her moment in the spotlight. “The producer says they’re considering having me back as a recurring expert,” she continues. “Only a few months at the Crime Desk, and I’m getting the recognition I deserve.”
Dad squeezes her hand. “You’re brilliant, honey. I recorded it. Twice, actually, because I thought the first one might not have caught everything.”
“It wouldn’t have happened without you girls, of course.” Mom glances between Meg and me. “I made sure to mention you, you know.”
“For about fifteen seconds,” Meg whispers, but her smile remains genuine.
Dad forks up some ham. “What matters is that everyone is safe. When I think about what could have happened...” His voice cracks. “I don’t care how good the story is—nothing’s worth losing any of you.”
Mom nods. “Absolutely right.”
I manage a smile. The case is closed, the danger past, my family safe. All the boxes of a happy ending are neatly checked.
So why do I feel like I’m watching the celebration through a pane of glass, unable to truly connect with the joy around me?
Mom segues into talking about the makeup artist and cameraman, how they finally got her good side. Dad hangs on every word, pride radiating from him. Jerome and Meg exchange knowing glances, amused by Mom’s dramatic storytelling.
Mom raises her glass. “To justice and good journalism.”
“And to family,” Dad adds.
I lift my glass mechanically. “To family,” I echo, wondering if anyone else can hear how hollow the words sound.
Mom scrutinizes my plate. “Charlie, you’ve barely touched your dinner.”
The potatoes have gone cold. Most everyone else is done and ready for pie. I seize the opportunity, setting my napkin beside my plate. “I need to call it a night.” I stand and smooth my skirt. “Dinner was lovely. Thank you.” I lean down to kiss Dad’s cheek, then Mom’s. “Merry Christmas.”
Meg rises and envelops me in a hug. “Call me,” she whispers fiercely in my ear.
“I will,” I promise, knowing she’ll be banging on my door before the night’s over.
Matt calls me on the way home. “Merry Christmas. Thanks for the bonus. Thought the coffers were empty.”
I’m at a stoplight and use it to keep from looking directly at his mug on the screen. The dip into my 401(k) came with a hefty fee. The six pairs of designer shoes I sold online have left a big hole in my closet. Still worth it. “Santa rewards the faithful.”
He snorts. In the background, Taylor waves at me over his shoulder. “Hey, Charlie. Merry Christmas.”
Their place is festooned from top to bottom with lights, garland, and a pile of discarded wrapping paper near a giant spruce. “Merry Christmas.”
“I have a present for you,” Matt says.
The light changes, and traffic begins to move. “That’s sweet, but I don’t need anything.”
“We’re not leaving D.C.” Taylor leans down so her face is next to his. “I’ve been offered a position here that’s even better than Atlanta.”
“You’re staying?”
