Page 11 of The Trouble With Christmas

The dog is small with wiry black fur and what looks like a white goatee. He looks up at us with round dog-eyes, and Oliver dives forward so fast, I don’t have time to catch him. The dog is in his arms, licking his face.

While they’re bonding, I dig into the small warren and find all sorts of plunder. This little bandit has an old football, a boot, a captain’s hat he probably stole from one of the charters down in Oceanside Beach, not too far from here.

More importantly, I find the four missing figures from our nativity scene. I don’t know their names as well as my wife, but I recover a donkey, a wise man, a shepherd, and most importantly…

“Baby Jesus!” Ollie jumps up and down, pumping his fists over his head, and his newfound friend jumps up beside him, letting out a soft huff of a bark.

“Looks like we’ve saved the Christmas program.”

“Can we take him with us?” Ollie again drops beside the black mutt, rubbing his head.

The dog is thin, greasy, and clearly in need of a flea dip, but I’m pretty sure his brown eyes sparkle as he watches the boy. I’m not going to be able to separate them, and mentally, I start working out how I’m going to explain this to Courtney in a way that doesn’t get me in trouble.

“I guess we have to. Come on.”

If worse comes to worse, I hope Joselyn likes dogs…

“I’ve goton my Adios! I can chase the bandit down if it comes to it. Let’s go!” Ms. Alice is in the kitchen at Regina’s massive Tudor estate when I open the back door, waving at Ollie to hold our new addition outside.

“Adidas, GA!” Scout calls from the living room. “It’sAdidas, not Adios.”

“Well, that doesn’t make any sense,” the old woman fusses. “Why would you sayAdidaswhen you’re running away? You’d sayAdios!”

“It’s a brand name. It’s not a sign-off.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Joselyn snorts in her glass, but when her eyes meet mine, she must see the worry in them. Her pretty brow furrows, and she closes the space between us.

“What’s wrong?”

Courtney is in the living room with Tom and Daisy, and I catch Joselyn by the arm, pulling her closer. “I’ve got some good news, and some potentially problematic news.”

She frowns harder. “What does that mean?”

I tilt my head towards the door, and Ollie’s jumping up and down holding the infant doll. “Aunt Sly! We found Baby Jesus! We found him!”

Joselyn’s frown disappears as her eyebrows shoot up her forehead, and she shouts, “You found him!”

My brow collapses as everyone runs to where my bride has just darted out the back door to inspect all the booty we recovered.

“You found Casper!” She’s so loud. “And Tobias! And… whose dog is this?”

Courtney is outside with her son, who I hear extolling the virtues of his newfound friend, explaining how he’s misunderstood and lonely, and how everyone deserves a second chance.

Scout trots down the stairs to give our little friend a high-five and scrub the dog’s ears, but Daisy stops inside the kitchen door beside me.

“You don’t look happy.” Her blue eyes narrow.

“I don’t know why.” I feign aloofness. “Have you heard the good news?”

“Don’t say it.”

“I found Jesus.”

“Spencer!” She rests a hand on her baby bump. “That’s really terrible.”

Lifting my chin towards the scene transpiring outside, I grow serious. “He wants that dog so bad. I wonder if Courtney would say yes if I offered to bankroll it.”

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