Page 106 of The Holiday Fakers
“We need more wood on the fire,” he says to Hudson.
Then, because Hudson doesn’t immediately spring into action, Ethan does it himself, jabbing at the embers with the poker to produce more heat before throwing on as many logs as will fit.
Mom surreptitiously removes her cardigan and looks longingly at the closed window, as if she’s ready to throw it open. Hudson’s already down to a T-shirt, as are Mia and Cara, and Marv has his shirt sleeves rolled up and is perspiring freely.
I meet Brody’s eyes across the room, and we exchange a smile. He still looks exhausted, but now that we’re home and he’s going to be all right, the fear that was wrapped around my heart is finally receding.
“Can the wall heaters go any higher?” Ethan asks Dad.
Ever the diplomat, Dad checks the thermostat again, even though he’s already done it twice in the last hour. I bet Mom could fry an egg on those heaters right now.
“Full blast,” he says.
Ethan clenches his jaw and looks around the room as if there must be something else he can do to bring the room temperature up to Death Valley in July.
With his forehead knitted in a perma-frown, he checks Brody’s temperature again, then lifts a mug of steaming sweet tea from a small table next to the couch and takesitstemperature.
Martha pulls a face, clearly thinking he’s lost his mind, and I hide my grin under a blanket.
“Drink,” Ethan orders Brody. “It’s at the optimal temperature.”
Brody shuffles as if to sit up, but Ethan stops him.
“Wait. Let me. You don’t want to lose any of the heat inside the covers.”
Ethan tucks the covers around Brody, trapping his arms like a mummy, then supports his back and lifts the mug to his mouth.
I’m pretty sure Brody could hold the mug just fine, but he knows, as we all do, that Ethan needs this. It’s not just his apology for not trusting Brody’s instincts; control is the only way he can cope when someone he loves is in any form of danger. That’s what he trained for as a search-and-rescue pilot, and, in his eyes only, he failed to prevent Olivia’s death from sepsis.
When Ethan’s happy with how much Brody has drunk, he lays him back down and turns his attention to me, lifting me up, and making me drink my mug of hot tea like I’m an invalid.
“Daddy,” Martha begins in an authoritative voice.
“Yes, sweetie?” Ethan replies, not looking her way as he heads back to Brody with the thermometer.
“You told me that if people are dangerously cold, then they have to be naked and cuddle.”
“That’s one of the ways to restore body temperature safely,” he replies, his attention on the thermometer.
“Then why doesn’t Aunt Piper takeherclothes off and Uncle Brody takehisclothes off, and they can cuddle on one couch?”
I catch Brody’s eye again, and he raises an eyebrow.
Screw the tea and blankets. That one tiny gesture makes heat whoosh through me like a flamethrower.
Not content with the first reading, Ethan takes another. “It’s easier to monitor their vitals this way,” he says to Martha.
“ButDaddy, if they were lying ontopof each other, then you wouldn’t have to keepmoving,” she says, as if the logic is inescapable.
Mia snorts and turns it into a cough.
“Areyousick, Aunt Mia?” Martha continues.
“Only in the head,” Hudson mutters.
Martha’s interruption breaks the spell Ethan has cast over the room.
“I’m gonna get a pot of clam chowder on,” Mom says. “There’s enough for everyone twice over, so I hope you all stay for dinner. If anyone wants a drink, just holler.”
