Page 65 of The Mistletoe Kisser
Something wasn’t adding up.
It didn’t make sense that the man had saved coupons for dish detergent for the better part of two decades but hadn’t managed to hang on to loan documents or any of the ensuing late notices. Of course, he’d recently claimed to be flying through an air tunnel on his way to a fetlock surgery so it was possible, Ryan mused.
If his uncle wasn’t of sound mind, there might be a valid argument for buying more time for the balloon payment or having the lender held up to a review.
On an impulse, he picked up his phone and dialed his mother. While it rang, he popped the lid off another shoebox. Inside was a treasure trove of old photos.
“Ryan!” she said. “You made me think it was Tuesday.”
Lisa Sosa kept a strict schedule of weekly phone calls. Ryan and his sister Tina were Tuesdays.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m face-deep in Uncle Carson’s paperwork. How sharp would you say he is?”
“Well, we only talk once a week on Sundays,” his mom began. “But honestly, Ryan, the man is more with it than I am.”
That was saying a lot. Lisa Sosa’s walk-in closet was organized by season, color, and last time worn.
He picked up a black-and-white photo with crimped edging. Uncle Carson and Aunt Midge stood on the steps of a courthouse. Carson had a flower tucked into the front pocket of his overalls. Midge’s dress flared out over a petticoat. She was clutching a small bouquet of daisies. They were beaming at each other like they couldn’t wait to start the adventure.
“I’m finding cash in his accounts, every piece of paper he’s touched in the last forty years, and nothing but a vague letter from the bank about an overdue balance on a loan and a foreclosure.”
“Do you want me to try to get him on the phone? Maybe he can clear some of this up,” Lisa offered.
“Couldn’t hurt. He hasn’t responded to any of the voicemails I left him. Maybe you’ll have better luck.” He picked up the next photo. A group shot from one of the Shufflebottom family reunions. Ryan was perched on his father’s shoulders. In the next, the cousins, all twenty of them, had formed a sloppy class picture-style pose on the grass.
There he was again, eight years old, hanging upside down by his knees from the jungle gym on the playground. His skinny arms dangled toward the ground. Where had his parents been? He was lucky he hadn’t fallen and landed on his head. That was a spinal injury waiting to happen.
To make himself feel better, Ryan turned the photo around so Young Ryan was right side up. His hair stood on end, but the grin on his face looked much like the one on Carson’s on his wedding day.
When had he stopped smiling upside down and started worrying about spinal injuries?
“So, how much trouble is Carson in? Do I need to take up a collection from the cousins?” she asked.
“I’m still not sure. The bank is giving me the runaround, but I’ll figure something out.”
“Oh dear. Well, I hope you’re at least getting a chance to enjoy the holiday festivities. It’s been a few decades since I’ve been there, but I recall the whole town going all out.”
“That hasn’t changed,” he said.
“Speaking of the holidays, I was talking to your father at dinner yesterday,” his mom was saying.
“Hang on. What? You and Dad had dinner?”
“Of course. We have dinner every week.”
“Why?” He couldn’t quite contain the shock. His parents divorce had been contentious, ugly…devastating. He had no idea they were capable of speaking cordially to each other let alone having dinner together.
Lisa laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because we share five children and four grandkids? We have to catch each other up in case one of us got news the other one didn’t hear yet.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Honey, where have you been? We’ve been having dinner for years.”
Years?
“I guess I just didn’t realize how much things had changed.” In Ryan’s reality, when he’d gone off to college, his parents had still been arguing over visitation and holidays and sports uniforms. He had never returned home for anything other than short visits, dividing his time between his parents’ homes.
Was it possible his perception had frozen in place while reality had actually moved on?
