Suddenly it was Christmas Eve. The day arrived as if Alex had entered a time warp. Hadn’t she just been making soup with the leftover turkey? Now she was a baking a pie to take over to Emily’s.
After New Year’s, Alex would have a long respite—Valentine’s Day didn’t count much—until Easter and then the annual Memorial Day block party would come again, as sure as the earth spun around the sun.
First, though, she had to survive Christmas. Yes, it was a lovely holiday filled with some of her favorite memories. Tomorrow her mom and Nick’s parents would both come again for another visit and stay a few days. They’d have another round of big meals, more wine, more desserts, after which Alex would make her annual get-in-shape pledge.
To her credit, Lettie joined Alex in the kitchen, where she helped make several pies that came out looking Instagram-worthy. Alex was relishing the moment of togetherness—until Lettie made an offhand remark about her drinking.
“Is that glass number three, Mom?” she asked. “You better pace yourself.”
Alex huffed dismissively. “It’s the holidays,” she said. “I’m not counting.”
“You never count,” said Lettie.
Alex felt the bite of uncertainty, an unpleasant suspicion that her daughter’s dig could be truer than she cared to admit. No matter. As she said, it was the holidays. She deserved to unwind.
Some time later, Alex and her family, all dressed in their holiday finest, arrived at Emily’s house, which looked like something out of a Hallmark movie. It smelled even more comforting, with rich aromas of pine, mulled wine, and a host of spices—cardamom and cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg. A warm wood fire crackled in the living room while from the speakers wafted one of Alex’s favorites, “The Little Drummer Boy,” sung by Bing Crosby and David Bowie. A feeling of holiday cheer sank deeply into Alex, igniting a glow that warmed her from within.
After a series of quick hellos and even faster hugs, Nick went off to get beers with Ken and Logan, who was home for the holiday, looking strapping as ever. Lettie decided her phone was better company than anyone in the family. Rather than start an argument, Alex let it go because she wanted to talk privately with her sister.
In the kitchen, Alex helped Emily prepare the meal, where she also helped herself to mulled wine. “Do you think I drink too much?” she asked.
Emily gave her a look of indifference. “No more than I do,” she said, and sipped from her own drink.
That was good enough for Alex. She wasn’t about to put down the wine for good. She noted a heaviness about Emily, a worry that seemed fused into her sister’s expression and dimmed the holiday sparkle from her eyes.
“Everything all right?” Alex asked.
Emily glanced about the kitchen as if worried someone might intrude. “Ken withdrew twenty-five thousand dollars from the checking account the other day,” she whispered.
“Twenty-five grand?” Alex exclaimed, tossing the salad with involuntary vigor.
“That’s right,” said Emily.
“Did he say why?”
“Taxes.” Emily made it sound like a lie.
“Is that a reasonable amount? Is it a normal thing?” Alex didn’t think so, but she didn’t know how much Ken pulled in—or Emily, for that matter.
“Not that I’ve ever noticed,” said Emily. “But he assured me it’s nothing to get upset about.”
“Do you have the money? I mean, you’re fine, right?”
“Of course,” said Emily. “We’re fine. We have plenty of money. But it was like he needed cash in a hurry. And then I can’t find the emerald necklace Ken bought me. I keep it in my jewelry box, and suddenly it’s gone.”
“Do you think Ken took it? Shit, do you think he pawned your gift?”
Emily frowned. “I mean, maybe the chain broke when I wore it out, and I just didn’t notice. But it’s odd that the necklace vanishes, and so does twenty-five grand for … taxes.” She put “taxes” in air quotes.
“What are you thinking?” Alex asked.
“I’m thinking a man acts like this when he has a mistress … or an enemy.”
Alex relaxed before dinner in the comfy leather recliner by the Christmas tree. The lights on the tree had become blurry—or was it her vision? The mulled wine had really crept up on her. She’d had only … well, she wasn’t sure how much she had. She remembered Lettie asking if she was on glass number three, but that was back home, hours ago.
Damn.
A buzz of conversation filled the room, while Alex remained in her own world, drinking from her mug. She surveyed the impressive evergreen, noticing that the star at the top was a bit lopsided. Hopefully it was just that, not the whole room tilting.
A crooked star on such a lovely tree simply wouldn’t do. No, it wouldn’t do at all, Alex decided.
She stood, a bit unsteady on her feet, appraising the tree from different vantage points, confirming what she’d observed. The star was indeed crooked. Standing at the base, she craned her neck skyward, then went up on her tiptoes, but couldn’t reach high enough. It figured that Ken would have chosen a tree as oversized as his ego. Nick probably could reach it, but she might get a snide remark if he noticed she was a bit tipsy. Okay, maybe more than a bit. But no big deal. She was on a mission, and she’d solve the problem one way or another.
From the dining room where they’d soon be eating, Alex retrieved a folding bridge chair. The mahogany table came with six chairs, too cumbersome to move, but lucky chair number seven was light and easy to relocate.
Nobody took notice when Alex unfolded the chair in front of the tree. All were engaged in conversation—all except for Dylan, who was off somewhere, avoiding as much cheer as possible. Emily insisted that he’d be eating with them, but Alex remained worried. In her opinion, this breakup drama was going on far too long. It wasn’t healthy. That was why the crooked star mattered! It symbolized that life in this home was out of balance. A problem Alex would rectify as soon as she managed to get one foot up on the chair, and then the other.
Her maneuvering attracted some attention.
“Alex, what the hell are you doing?” Nick asked.
“The star is crooked.” She reached to adjust it. “You can’t have a crooked star on Christmas Eve! What would Jesus think?”
“He’d think you had too much to drink,” Nick shared as he came forward.
Ken said, “Careful, the tree’s not secured to the wall.”
“I’m fine,” said Alex, ignoring the fact that the room seemed to be spinning.
She did manage to get a hand on the star, but to do so required that she step forward, just a little, enough to shift her weight on the chair. The change in foot pressure caused a reaction that physics could have predicted, but Alex, especially in her compromised state, could not.
The chair folded up like a bear trap snapping shut. One moment she was holding the star in her hand, and the next she was pulling it down as she tumbled backward. Reaching for something to help arrest her fall, Alex grabbed the nearest branch, which happened to hold the glass Rudolph ornament with a cherry-red nose that Emily had since childhood.
As soon as it was clear to Alex what she had done, the terrible mistake she had made, she threw her body to the side, lest she be crushed by a falling tree. Alex went down hard, the tree crashing beside her, narrowly missing Nick, who had tried to come to her aid.
A tree falling in a lonely forest may not make a sound, but this tree certainly did. The crash of breaking glass and snapping branches reverberated like an explosion, causing everyone to freeze in place—including Alex, who gazed in wide-eyed disbelief at the disaster of her making. Pine needles scattered across the floor, covering parts of almost every surface in the room as if a green glitter bomb had gone off.
As Alex tried to press herself up to sitting, she noticed long red scratches running down her arms. They were already starting to throb. She shook pine needles from her hair, hoping she might also wake herself up from a terrible dream. No such luck.
Everyone gathered around the fallen tree, stupefied by the destruction before them. Nick came over to Alex and gently helped her to her feet. “Oh my god, honey, are you okay?”
He looked her over the way a paramedic might, carefully assessing her from head to toe for signs of injury.
Alex, who wobbled a little once standing, held on to his arm for support. “Ken, I am so, so sorry,” she said. “I was trying to help, and maybe I just…”
Ken didn’t offer any response. He was too angry and too busy surveying the damage she had caused.
Lettie’s red-faced embarrassment cut Alex to the bone. “The star’s still crooked, Mom,” she said.
The silent reproach in her daughter’s eyes was the worst of it. If looks could kill, the tree would have fallen on her neck. Lettie marched herself out of the room, unwilling to endure another second in her mother’s presence.
Once he established that Alex didn’t have any obvious injuries, Nick whispered in her ear, “How much wine have you had?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Go lie down somewhere,” he snarled. “Ken and I will clean up your mess.”
Alex wasn’t about to argue. Her head was spinning. If she tried to stay upright much longer, she would risk falling again. Some of her disorientation was from the alcohol, for sure, but some was due to the shock of her fall.
She went to the couch, which was the closest place she could plop herself down and not create another spectacle. Self-ridicule echoed in her ears, loud as a marching band.
Fool.
Drunk.
Idiot.
What the hell is wrong with me? she asked herself.
From her perch on the couch, Alex watched as Ken, Logan, and Nick righted the magnificent tree with a few grunts of effort. Miraculously, it wasn’t in terrible shape. The lights still worked, thank goodness, and the garland barely looked out of place. Some ornaments had come off upon impact, but only a handful had broken.
Sadly, poor Rudolph was among the casualties. Emily cleared what remained of her childhood treasure off the floor with a dustpan and broom. She took it all in stride—bless her. Perhaps she was remembering the day she’d tried to stuff banana peels into the curtain rods of the Kumars’ future home.
“It’s okay, hon,” Emily said. “Come to the bathroom. You’ve got pine needles in your hair.”
After cleaning herself up, drinking water and a strong cup of coffee, Alex helped her sister finish setting the table, restoring some of her little remaining dignity. She put out plates of green beans bathed in butter, caramelized carrots, tender roast beef, chicken, gravy, and other savory dishes for their feast.
Emily said nothing more about Ken’s potential infidelity or the twenty-five thousand he allegedly spent on taxes. No one said much about anything. What everyone wanted to talk about was Alex, but nobody could bring themselves to do so.
Nick, who’d normally be openly irate, was instead using the silent treatment. Probably for the best. No doubt they’d have a tense conversation later. Whatever. She’d handle it.
She played it out in her head. She’d make some promises. Maybe she’d even keep them this time. She owed him, especially because her mother was coming back in the morning. Every Christmas Eve, Alex’s mother served dinner to the needy through her church. It was somewhat of a blessing, because it precluded her from driving to Meadowbrook after dark. The lens on the Hubble telescope wasn’t strong enough to help her mother’s vision at night.
Honestly, Alex and Emily worried their mother shouldn’t be driving at all anymore. But for now, at least she’d arrive during the daylight hours of Christmas morning. One step at a time. And maybe by morning, Alex and Nick would be talking to each other again.
In a year, all of it would be different. Ken’s grand plan for the in-law apartment would come to fruition—that is to say, if he and Emily didn’t fall apart in the meantime.
Dinner began in silence, everyone still avoiding the elephant in the room. It appeared that Alex wasn’t the only one who imbibed too much that night. Alex noticed Dylan’s glassy eyes, which paired well with his thousand-yard stare. He swayed slightly in his seat, as if his chair were riding atop ocean waves. Alex wondered whether he’d been secretly spiking his eggnog.
As Ken took his place at the table, Dylan’s expression seemed to darken. Though he was dressed festively, probably at Emily’s insistence, Alex saw no holiday cheer in her nephew’s demeanor.
“A toast,” Ken said, rising to his feet before anyone had a chance to help themselves to the steaming food. He raised a crystal wineglass that had once belonged to Alex’s grandparents.
“Every year I make this toast to remind us how blessed we are, but this year it feels especially poignant. Maybe it’s because I’m getting more sentimental in middle age, or maybe it’s because we didn’t have to call an ambulance after Alex took down my Christmas tree.”
Alex felt the sting. She hung her head as Ken chuckled at her expense, grateful that nobody joined him in laughter.
“First, let’s toast Logan,” said Ken, beaming proudly at his oldest son. “He gives us less and less time each year as he gets busier with his life. I know we’re all excited for the upcoming lax season, Logan’s last as a college player, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s named player of the year for the Atlantic Coast Conference.”
Everyone toasted Logan, whose exquisite grooming made him look almost like a computer-generated graphic. He was broad-shouldered with a jawline to envy, lustrous dark hair, and teeth white as moonglow. His unblemished face bore no scars from his battles on the field, nor did it suggest any strain from his life off it. He looked as if he’d won some genetic lottery that blessed him not only with good looks and athletic prowess, but also with a brain capable enough to ensure him a lucrative career in finance after graduation. Logan was that rare breed who had it made, as Ken would take any opportunity to boast.
He was the fortunate son.
“And of course, I don’t mean to overshadow Dylan, who should have a good season as well—assuming he doesn’t quit lacrosse like he did wrestling.”
Alex inhaled sharply while Emily went rigid in her seat. Lettie cringed slightly.
To his credit, Logan appeared more than a little uncomfortable. “Let’s not pick on D,” said Logan, placing his muscled arm around his brother.
Dylan flinched, as if Logan’s touch were electrified, before glowering at his father. He stood, visibly unsteady.
Ken didn’t budge. His towering presence made the already weighty atmosphere oppressive.
“I don’t feel well,” Dylan mumbled. He marched out of the room, his shoulders hunched forward, head bowed.
Alex’s heart ached for her nephew.
“Go talk to him,” Emily hissed at Ken.
Ken didn’t budge. “I didn’t say anything wrong,” he said.
Emily shook with anger. “You embarrassed him.”
“He quit the team his senior year,” said Ken. “Who does that?”
“He quit because he’s brokenhearted, you jerk,” Emily snapped.
Everyone at the table, Alex included, averted their eyes.
“I’ll go talk to him,” said Logan, who got up just as a thunderous crash sounded from the window closest to Emily.
Glass shards, some sharp as knives, shot inward like shrapnel. As the glass fell to the floor, a misshapen object streaked into the room, landing on the table, right on top of the roasted beets, shattering the plate upon impact. Beet juice sprayed everywhere, peppering the white tablecloth with droplets of red as if someone had been shot. The object bounded over the chicken, smashed into the mashed potatoes, and came to a slow, rolling stop in front of Alex.
Nick instinctively turned his body to form a makeshift barricade that did little to protect his wife. Ken ducked as though there’d been a gunshot, but Alex knew that wasn’t the case. She could see what had caused all the destruction because it had landed right in front of her. The room erupted into nervous, indiscriminate chatter.
“What the hell was that?”
“Oh my god!”
“Is everyone all right?”
Alex carefully picked up the projectile—a rock, which was wrapped in paper and secured with rubber bands. She hefted the stone in her hands, dumbfounded at the sight of it, the cold feel of it against her palm.
The room continued to buzz. Logan and Ken helped Emily, who had fallen off her chair onto the floor.
Dylan rushed back into the dining room. “What happened?” he asked.
All eyes fell on Alex, who fumbled to remove the elastic bands that secured the paper to the stone.
A crudely written message in red pen read: Merry Christmas Asshole!!!
Everyone seemed to be getting their bearings as the initial fright and confusion began to wane. Nick checked with Lettie, who appeared unharmed. Emily could be heard assuring Logan and Ken that she was fine as well. Dylan kept asking what happened, but Alex didn’t answer him. She was still fixated on the note.
Logan went to the broken window. “I don’t see anybody out there,” he announced. He shined his phone’s flashlight into the dark.
“Give me that,” Ken said angrily, reaching over the table to snatch the paper from Alex.
“What’s this supposed to mean?” he asked, pointing to the note. “Who’s the asshole?”
“Have you pissed anybody off, Ken?” asked Alex.
“No,” Ken said defiantly. “Why would you even think that?”
“Wait, haven’t you been obsessing about getting someone fired?” Emily said. “My guess is this was sent by our neighborhood pest control salesman and you’re the asshole, Ken. Did you get him fired?”
“I called the company and complained, sure I did,” Ken snapped. “But I don’t know what happened to that punk.”
“I’m thinking your efforts were successful,” Alex said, “and for that, Bug Man has retaliated.”
“We need to call the police,” Emily said.
“We’re not calling anybody,” Ken fumed. “I’ll take care of this myself.”
“What are you going to do?” Emily’s voice quavered.
“I’m going to fucking kill him, that’s what,” Ken said.
Alex shivered, knowing full well that was no idle threat.