Part 20 (1/2)
She looked at me for the first time since she'd opened the box. No, I didn't recognize that expression, not at all. But it changed my mind about going to sleep.
The ring fit. As for what she gave me...well, it wasn't in a package, exactly. And it turned out to be the best Christmas Eve of my life.
(c) 2000, K. Simpson To Part 17 The Devil's Workshop (c) 2000, M.C. Sak Disclaimers, Credits, & E-Mail: See Part 1.
CHAPTER 17.
Christmas Day *
What shall we hang? The holly, or each other?
-- The Lion in Winter The condemned arrived promptly at ten. It was too bad I'd quit smoking, because the cigarette and blindfold were starting to sound like good ideas.
”Cheer up,” Ca.s.sie demanded as we walked up the drive. ”It's Christmas.”
”Exactly.”
”Cranky. Why are you cranky after last night?”
”That was then. This is now.”
She sighed. ”We really have to work on the romance thing, honey.”
I knew from hard experience to ignore remarks like that. Besides, if she wanted romance, she could go buy a cheesy paperback at the drugstore.
”Devvy?”
”Light of my life?”
”You're not fooling anyone, you know. You're sappier than I am.”
I stopped walking. ”Excuse me?”
”Oh, don't worry -- I won't tell. But you are.”
There she went, leaping to conclusions again. Just because I'd given her jewelry didn't make me sappy. Maybe she meant the poetry later. But that didn't prove anything either. A person ought to be able to get some use out of all those years of English lit.
”Are we going to go in and get this over with?” I asked, with injured dignity. ”Or are we going to stand out here and make false accusations all morning?”
Ca.s.sie just laughed and pulled me the rest of the way up the driveway.
We walked into a tableau out of Madame Tussaud's. They were all sitting around the living room like waxworks, not talking, not doing anything. For my family, that was beyond weird, and I didn't like it.
”h.e.l.lo,” I said experimentally.
Mom turned her head slightly and frowned. ”Oh. It's you.”
Who was she expecting? Reindeer? ”Yes, it is. Good morning. Merry Christmas.”
I couldn't quite hear her response, but it didn't sound festive. Oh, well, she'd probably just gotten up on the wrong side of the moat. So I tried again. ”Where's Dad?”
”Out looking for you,” she snapped.
G.o.d, give me patience this instant. ”Well, he won't find us unless he's looking here. Why would he be doing that anyway?”
”You should have been here an hour ago. He thought something happened to you.”
Ca.s.sie shook her head slightly in warning; I pretended not to notice. ”n.o.body said anything about a schedule. I told Connor and Ryan we'd be here by ten. And we were. Why didn't he just call the hotel?”
”He was worried.”
Impatient, I speed-read the situation. My brothers weren't talking. Dad was out driving. Yup, Mom was on her horse. It was going to be one of those Christmases.
”Coffee,” I said to no one in particular and went to the kitchen.
By the time Dad got back, everyone was more or less done sulking. It had taken several threats and a few blunt reminders that we had company, but I'd finally gotten them talking again. On Planet Kerry, this pa.s.sed for progress.
So we sat down to open presents. Ryan played Santa, which he'd done every year since he was 6, and we were teddibly, teddibly polite about it all. We took turns; we didn't rip the paper off like savages; we didn't even count packages first. That last part was for Ca.s.sie's benefit, though, because Connor, Ryan, and I always counted first. One year, we'd also measured and weighed. But Mom had thrown a fit, so we rarely did that anymore, and only in private.
”Don't shake this one,” Ryan told Connor as he handed him another package. ”It's from Dev. It's probably ticking.”
Ca.s.sie smiled at him. ”Not that one. But be careful you don't cover the air holes. They get really mad when they can't breathe.”
Very funny. My brothers actually thought so, however, so I let her get away with it. Anyway, it was just another of the toys that we always gave one another: laser guns, guns that launched little helicopters, little containers of goo and eyeb.a.l.l.s. This one was a Magic 8 Ball. Connor had broken the one he got last year when it didn't give him the answer he wanted.
Ca.s.sie looked on, bemused. Mom had been decent enough to get her a couple of small things so that she'd have something to unwrap, but they were along the lines of scarves, which she didn't wear. Neither of her daughters-in-law did either, but they got them every year anyway.
Never mind, though -- Ca.s.s and I were going to have a private Christmas when we got home. I didn't know what might be in all those packages from her parents, but I knew for a fact that there were no scarves in the ones from me.
”I love it,” Connor said, displaying the 8 Ball for general admiration. ”It's stunning. Just stunning. What is it? Does it come with directions?”
”Wise guy,” I muttered.
He winked and sailed a small package across the room at me. Then he tossed an identical one to Ca.s.sie.
”Hey!” Ryan huffed. ”I'm Santa around here.”
”These aren't from Santa. They're from Jen and me.”
Skeptical, I opened mine. Ca.s.sie watched a little apprehensively; the last thing from Connor and Jen had been one of those singing fish. Ryan had liked it, but then, Ryan was weird.
”What is this?” I asked Connor, staring at the plastic egg.
”Open it and see.”