Part 50 (1/2)

”She's a pistol!” Papaw exclaimed proudly.

”I do not want her talking that way in my house,” Mama said crossly.

”Noah and I have a present for all of you,” Jackson announced, getting to his feet and signing to Noah: Are you ready? Are you ready?

Noah grinned and went to the center of the living room. He pointed his finger at the ceiling in a dramatic John Travolta pose.

We shushed, not knowing what to expect.

Jackson turned on the CD player and hit the play b.u.t.ton.

A disco version of ”We Wish You a Merry Christmas” filled the living room filled the living room.

They had worked up a hilarious ch.o.r.eographed routine and I giggled helplessly. They were both so earnest and such natural hams that it was impossible not to laugh. In another lifetime, Jackson Ledbetter might well have been a lip-syncing drag queen. Noah mimicked his moves so precisely, it was uncanny. Watching them, you'd never know that Noah couldn't hear a sound.

In the middle of the song, they signed some of the words, and encouraged us to sign the words back to them.

Then they did some ballroom-style moves sprinkled with well-timed pratfalls and other foolishness.

They received a well-deserved round of applause when they were through.

Mama pa.s.sed around more eggnog and the vodka starting going to my head. By the time we got to Midnight Ma.s.s I was having trouble walking in a straight line.

72) A visit from Santa

NOAH WOKE WOKE me the following morning, his eyes saying it was Christmas. me the following morning, his eyes saying it was Christmas.

Get up! he signed urgently. he signed urgently.

I was in Jackson Ledbetter's arms in the ”master bedroom” of our new apartment, could feel his warm skin against my back.

I shook my head.

No, I did not want to get up.

Please? he begged. he begged.

I shook my head again. I'd had entirely too much vodka the night before and I was paying for it.

I pulled Noah into bed and snuggled with him. He permitted this for about one minute. Then he sat up and pushed the covers off us.

Jackson woke with a start.

It's Christmas! Noah signed happily. Noah signed happily. Get up! Get up!

”What time is it?” Jackson asked.

It was shortly after five in the morning.

”You've got to be kidding,” he moaned.

”You're a parent now,” I said. ”Get up and do your duty. My head is killing me.”

Noah pinched my cheek, trying to force me to open my eyes.

I stumbled out of bed and threw on my bathrobe against the cold.

In the combination living room/dining room, Jackson had erected a very large tree positively choked with Christmas ornaments and lights. More than two-dozen packages were beneath the tree and Noah was beside himself with the antic.i.p.ation of finding out what they were. He had presents from Jackson, Mama, Tonya and Keke, and Mr. and Mrs. Warren, as well as me.

He was about to pop.

I made coffee already, Noah said impatiently when he saw me heading for the kitchen. Noah said impatiently when he saw me heading for the kitchen.

Bless his little heart, I thought. I poured myself and Jackson some coffee and brought it to the living room. We sat on the floor in front of the tree as Noah ripped into his presents. In short order, Noah discovered a set of graphic novels, a pair of Nikes that he'd been begging for repeatedly, several new s.h.i.+rts and sweaters and jeans, a very pricey train set from his grandparents, an Iron Man action figure that I'd found in a shop downtown, and, last but certainly not the least, a new Xbox One, courtesy of Jackson. This was in addition to various stocking stuffers and whatnot, which included the new Superman Superman movie. movie.

Santa Claus had gone all out that year.

”And there's one more thing,” Jackson said, producing a very small box and handing it to me.

”We said we weren't going to buy each other anything,” I pointed out. I was already in debt up to my sorry a.s.s without trying to buy something really nice for the man in my life.

”It's not a Christmas present,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

”My birthday's not till February,” I pointed out.

”It's not a birthday present.”

”What is it?”

”Open it and find out.”

It was a jewelry box. That much I knew. It was too small to be anything else. But what kind of jewelry? And why would he buy me something so expensive when he knew I couldn't buy anything in return?

I bit at my lip as I opened it.

It was a ring.

A plain but nonetheless very beautiful gold ring. Solid, heavy-looking, obviously expensive.

”What is this?” I asked.

”I want you to marry me, Wiley Cantrell,” he said.

”You what?”

He got on his knees, took the box from my hands, and held out the ring to me.