Page 111 of The Evening Wolves

North, of course, had on a Carhartt jacket, a hideous sweater with real, flashing Christmas lights on it—the old-fashioned kind with the big bulbs—jeans, and the Red Wings. He was also, John-Henry noticed, wearing a Christmas bow hair clip.

“Does that sweater have a battery pack?” Emery asked, book forgotten.

“Merry fucking Christmas to you too.” He displayed the takeout bags he was carrying. “And go fuck yourself. Where do you want these?”

“What is it?” John-Henry asked.

North stared at him as though there might, somewhere, have been a genetic blip in John-Henry’s past. Then, slowly, he said, “Food.”

“Where do you think we want it?” Emery snapped, getting to his feet to herd North into the kitchen. The bickering began almost immediately.

“Uh, thank you,” John-Henry said after them.

“You’re welcome,” Shaw as he pranced into the kitchen, apparently choosing to ignore that Biscuit was biting one of the suede boots and being dragged along with him.

Another knock came at the door, and as John-Henry went to answer it, Colt appeared on the stairs. He wore a quilted red pullover and dark jeans, and his hair was freshly styled and dark with water. When he noticed John-Henry’s attention, he looked off into the middle distance and hurried toward the kitchen.

“Maybe Emery wasn’t wrong about boarding school,” John-Henry said to himself.

When he opened the door, Tean and Jem stood there. Tean held a large paper bag stamped with the Wahredua Family Bakery’s logo. His hair was less wild than usual—clearly Jem’s handiwork—and he looked comfortable in a cardigan and khakis. Jem wore a sweater that somehow managed to look even uglier than North’s—it featured an extremely muscular and shirtless Santa who had the head of a cat, and he appeared to be riding a surfboard. Extensive use had been made of a reflective silver fabric, so that it looked like streamers of tinsel had been woven into the sweater. He was holding a McDonald’s bag.

“There’s enough to share,” he said, “but Tean said I could be in charge of rationing the fries.”

“He told the girls about it for fifteen minutes,” Tean said.

“I wanted them to be proud of me.”

“Oh God, you’re here on Christmas,” John-Henry said.

“It‘s okay,” Tean said. “We couldn’t have gotten a flight home anyway. We talked to the girls for a long time this morning, and we’re going to celebrate again when we get home.”

“More importantly,” Jem said, “we got Emery his own fudge cake.”

“But don’t tell him it’s just for him,” Tean said, pressing the bag into John-Henry’s hands. “He’ll feel self-conscious.”

They shook snow from their shoes and headed into the house, and John-Henry was reaching to close the door when the black Audi zipped up and parked across the driveway, blocking North in. When Auggie got out, he was laughing. Theo was shaking his head and saying, “—going to kill you if he sees where you parked.”

“Duh,” Auggie said as he helped Lana out of the car. “That’s what makes it so fun.”

“Uncle John,” Lana screamed as she bowled into him, unhindered by the brace, the snow, or the stairs.

Laughing, John-Henry hugged her, stroked her hair, and let her go as she raced into the house, screaming, “Evie?”

“She’s with her mom,” John-Henry called after her, but Lana was gone by then.

Auggie and Theo were carrying covered glass dishes as they came onto the porch.

“Did we miss a text?” John-Henry asked. “Did somebody send up the Bat Signal?”

Theo smiled. “I told them they should ask.”

“To be fair, Tean thought we should ask too,” Auggie said. “But we decided we wanted it to be a surprise. Mashed potatoes.” He nodded at the dish in Theo’s hands and then to his own. “Green bean casserole.”

“Auggie’s family recipes.”

For some reason, Auggie blushed and shrugged.

At that moment, an old Dodge Durango with an illuminated China Village sign on its roof pulled up next to the Audi.

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