Page 34 of Intermission
“Yes, he’s a builder. Now, what was it? Something about Christmas Eve, maybe?”
“Was it about the candlelight service on Christmas Eve?” I supply.
“That’s it.” Dad’s brow relaxes. “Amanda mentioned her daughter was home from college and that she’s going to sing at the candlelight service. She invited us.”
“As if we wouldn’t go to our own church on Christmas Eve?” Mom’s facial expression is almost as acidic as her tone. “I suppose she thinks we’re heathens or something.”
“We’re going to church Friday night?” After last year’s debacle, I didn’t expect that.
“Of course we are.” Mom takes a sip from her glass then sets it back down hard enough that it sloshes just short of over the lip. “We always go to the Christmas Eve service.”
“We didn’t last year.”
“Yes, we did.”
“No, we didn’t. Gretchen couldn’t find her black boots, remember? And she thought I’d taken them, and then you started lookingthrough my closet, and we got into that huge—”
“Oh. Right.” Mom’s lips press together. “Okay, so we missed one Christmas Eve service in twenty-nine years. That doesn’t make us heathens.”
“Nobody said we’re heathens, Janet. It was an innocent invitation for us to hear Amanda’s daughter sing. Faith, please pass the gravy.”
“Maybe we should go.” I pass the dish to Dad. “I mean, is it written in stone that we can only go to First Church’s Christmas Eve service? I’ve heard Fellowship Community has a full band and—”
“We don’t go to church to beentertained, Faith. We go because it’s Christmas.” Mom’s tone is firm, with a layer of frost as an accent. There’s no use arguing. “We’ve always gone to First Church of Kanton. Besides, we just donated to the building fund.”
Dad looks up. “We did?”
“Yes, dear. A fairly sizable chunk. We needed an end-of-the-year tax deduction.”
“Oh,” he says, spooning more potatoes onto his plate, “right.”
Disappointed, I reach for a wheat roll and the tub of butter. I had thought that, with all the peace and goodwill to men and what-have-you floating through the Christmas season, it would be the perfect chance to introduce Noah to my parents. Plus, he told me he’s singing at the service, and I really want to be there.
“You said Dr. MacIntosh goes to Fellowship Community, right, Dad?”
He nods.
“My friend Noah goes there, too.”
“Nora Johnson? I thought the Johnsons were Methodist.”
“Not Nora.No-ah.Noah Spencer.He,” I emphasize the word, “is in the community theatre with me in Leopold.”
“Ahhh.” Dad arches one eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eye. “I take it thisNoahis part of your caroling group tonight?”
I nod, hating the heat that brushes my ears when the corners of his mouth lift. Why did I put my hair in a ponytail today?
“Ah-ha! And now we get to therealstory. I believe our little Faith has a crush on this boy.”
“We’re just friends.” We are. “We’re... talking. Tonight, we’re just singing. Hanging out. That’s all.”
So why do I feel like I’m lying?
“Just friends. Talking friends. Mm-hmm.” Dad leans back in his chair. “That’s why your face is turning red.”
“Da-ad!”
“Oh, stop teasing her, Joseph. She’s sixteen. She’s bound to have a few crushes now and then.”
