Christmas Short Story #2 [Gifts!!] (Patreon)

Hey peeps!

Here is a sequel story to the Christmas short story I posted last month. Hopefully you enjoy.

Shami

Christmas Short Story #2

The local community college is the last place I want to be. It’s a shabby building built in the seventies with yellowing paint, dirty windows, and cracked cement. Everything about it, right down to the flicking streetlight out front, feels sad and pathetic.

“What’s that frown for?” Owen asks as he steps out of the truck. “Tonight is our last night. Aren’t you ecstatic?”

“Whoopee,” I drawl, twirling a finger around in the air.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. This is exciting!”

“As exciting as having a tooth pulled.”

Owen walks around our 2010 Ford pickup and pats me on the shoulder. I avoid making eye contact with him as I lock the vehicle and start toward the neglected building. The Minnesota night sky is clear and filled with stars. It’s a better sight than the building, that’s for sure. Nice weather for mid-October, but chilly. Makes me wish our classes took place outside. Then again, I wish almost everything took place outside—nature has a way of soothing even the most troubled of souls.

“Tonight’s topic is sustainable parenting,” Owen says. He shoves his hands into his jean pockets and offers me a smile.

“Yeah, just what I need,” I reply, “someone to tell me how to parent.”

“We’ve never been parents before. It’s a reasonable requirement for adoption.”

“They don’t make pregnant women take parenting classes,” I say, restraining my irritation but failing to keep my volume low. “Some sixteen-year-old can get knocked up and raise her kid however she wants, but two fully grown men with careers have to pass a whole host of parenting classes before they can adopt a kid? Bullshit.”

I slam the front door open and stomp across the tacky green tiles of the school. Owen follows close—stopping once to make sure the front door doesn’t swing back hard when it closes—and keeps his smile about him.

“Well, that sixteen-year-old won’t have the tools we do,” he says. “We’re going to learn about the first signs of burnout, the three layers of stress, and how a parent’s stress affects the whole family. Sounds like valuable information to me.”

He recites everything verbatim from the damn pamphlet the class offered. How many times did he read it? Too many.

I huff as I round the hall corner, heading straight for our classroom. The dim fluorescent lights grate my eyes. “I know how to manage my stress, thank you very much. And I know how to take care of a couple of kids. You watch ’em close, you take ’em to school, you discipline ’em when they get out of line, and you feed ’em.”

“You realize we’re adopting human children and not dogs, right?” Owen asks as he lifts an eyebrow. “I’m gonna need you to say it, Carter.”

“I know we’re not talking about dogs,” I snap.

But there can’t be that much difference between young kids and dogs. Right? What more could a kid need?

As I reach the classroom door, Owen steps in front of me. He’s a big guy—thick with muscle and shaped like a barrel—and I’m no pushover, but I’m not getting past him if he makes a deal of it. I stare at him, his gray-blue eyes searching mine.

“Carter,” he begins, his voice low and serious, “this was your idea.”

“I—” For a moment I stop and take a breath. “I remember.”

“Are you regretting going through with this? We still have time to back out if you are. The kids aren’t going to be with us for a couple of months.”

“I’m not regretting anything. This is what I want.” I narrow my gaze. “It’s what you want too, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then why are we talking about this again?”

Owen closes the distance between us and wraps his arms around my body in a gentle embrace. Flustered, I glance over my shoulder. There’s no one in the halls, but that doesn’t diminish the heat I feel welling in my face.

“What’re you doing?” I mutter. “You know I don’t like to publicly—”

“What’s bothering you, Carter?” Owen interjects, his low voice right in my ear, the dirty-blond stubble of his chin grazing the side of my face. He tightens his grip around me, and I half return the gesture, a lump in my throat since the moment he spoke. “You’ve been tense and irritable for the last few weeks.”

I don’t know how he does it, but the mix of his warm tone and hot breath melts my indignation. I search my thoughts for an earnest answer, unable to deny Owen anything. “I… I don’t know. I guess… I’m nervous.”

“Nervous? You?” He chuckles. “Together we’re going to parent the hell out of those kids.”

I can’t stop myself from smiling. “Is that so?” Owen’s optimism knows no bounds.

He kisses my neck. “Of course. We’re at the top of our classes. No one compares.”

“These classes aren’t graded,” I drawl, growing redder by the minute.

“That’s only to prevent us from embarrassing everyone else with our high scores.”

I chuckle. “How can you let loose with lines like that?”

And does he have to be so blatant with his affection? I’ve never been comfortable outright displaying everything I feel, and this is taking it to a whole new level. We’re in the middle of a school, for Christ’s sake. I know it’s a school for adults, but still.

The door to the classroom opens, and I jump away from Owen, coughing to cover up the sudden movement. Owen smiles wide and turns around, unfazed by the presence of another.

“Hello, Mrs. Ginger,” he says. “It’s so good to see you again.”

The older woman returns the smile, the age lines on her face matching the gesture. “Oh, if it isn’t Owen and Carter Williams. I’m so glad you two are here tonight. This is an important class—sustainable parenting is crucial to successful adoptions.”

“That’s exactly what I was telling Carter! We’re ready for anything. Bring on the parenting strategies!” Owen straightens himself and walks into the classroom with his head held high.

Mrs. Ginger laughs into her palm and then turns to me. “He brings good energy to the class.”

He brings good energy to everything he does. Hell, I can’t even stay mad at the situation. Despite our being forced to take these classes, I think Owen might be right. I should just try to embrace every aspect of being a parent.

“Yeah, Owen is a good guy,” I say, forcing myself to sound cheery. “Thank you for having us in class.”

“The pleasure is mine.”

I walk into the classroom, keeping in mind that I need to stay positive and stress-free. I’m taking these classes to prove I’m a capable father. I know I am—these classes aren’t hard—and I need to remember that children will follow my example. I can’t set a bad one.

With Owen by my side, what could go wrong?

***

“How late are they going to be?” I ask, glancing at the clock every few seconds. I swear we’re caught in a time void. A watched pot never boils, or so my mother said, but anxious nerves get the better of me.

Owen runs a hand along his dark blond stubble. “I don’t know. The caseworker said she’d be here an hour ago.”

I pace the kitchen, my gaze fixating on every little detail.

The place is the cleanest it’s ever been—maybe even cleaner than when it was first built. The tile floor has a mirrorlike shine, I installed the new countertops two days ago, and Owen purchased a brand-new fridge and stove a week before that.

The man has been buying all sorts of new appliances. It’s been driving me mad, but perhaps he’s just anticipating the additional stress of two kids.

Every wall in our house is adorned with pictures of friends and family. Owen has a way of making everything feel comfortable and nostalgic. Even our ranger station out in Voyageurs National Park has a quaint aura unbefitting a professional office, but all the visitors seem to love it.

What’s taking so long?

I glance at the clock again.

Already 8:00 p.m.

That’s outrageously late for dropping off a pair of kids, one of whom is six. I guess it doesn’t matter much for his brother, who is thirteen, but when I was six my curfew was 9:00 p.m. And that’s not even mentioning the weather. I’m sure it’s negative twenty-two degrees what with the wind and snow.

Lights shine through the front window in the living room, and I know a car must have pulled up to our house. Owen jogs to the front door, a spring in his step, and has his hand on the handle before the caseworker even rings the doorbell. The moment the chime echoes throughout the house, Owen swings open the door.

“Hello,” he says. “I’m so glad you could make it! Come in, come in!”

Three people walk into our living room, a waft of snow flurries acting as their herald. The middle-aged caseworker guides the two boys in with a hand on each back. Their clothing, coated in rime, has a worn fade. Both boys carry black trash bags that represent their sole belongings in this world. It’s no wonder they squeeze them tight to their bodies.

Owen shuts the door, his smile unmitigated by the chill. “Wow. Nothing like a Minnesota winter, am I right? How about we get you guys out of those wet clothes and then we have some hot chocolate?”

“Hot chocolate?” the six-year-old says. “Really?”

“You bet. I always keep the house stocked, especially for Christmas. C’mon. We’ve got dry clothes for you both.”

“I need to go over some paperwork,” the caseworker says as she unfurls her dark hair out of a beanie.

“I’ll look over it,” I say, stepping out of the kitchen.

Both the kids flinch, like they didn’t even realize I was here, but it only takes them a moment to relax. Owen motions them toward the hall, and they head off, the younger one a little more enthusiastic than the teen.

“My name is Patricia,” the caseworker says as we shake hands. “And I wanted to thank you for taking a sibling set. It’s rare to find couples that will take two, and these brothers haven’t been in the same home for ten months.”

The revelation bothers me, but I suppose we’re making it right now. I asked for these two boys specifically.

“What paperwork did you want me to look at?”

Patricia pulls out a small stack of papers, barely eight pages. She hands them over, and I glance down at the information.

Luke Weppler

Age: 13

Birth Date: 1/18/04

Sex: Male

The rest of his paperwork details his two years in foster care, but not in a meaningful way. Under known allergies it says unknown but under potential risks it lists him as antisocial and prone to outbursts. But what teen isn’t a little awkward during that time in their life?

And his brother’s paperwork isn’t much better.

Edmund Weppler

Age: 6

Birth Date: 2/04/11

Sex: Male

Is he on medications? Unknown. Has he met first grade reading and writing requirements? Unknown. Potential risks? Unknown.

“Why is this woefully incomplete?” I ask.

Patricia frowns. “Both the boys have been moved around frequently these last few months. You need to be aware that they have a tendency to run away from their foster families.”

“I know,” I reply, curt. “I was one of the park rangers who found them last Christmas.”

Not only had Luke and Edmund run away, but so had four others. Owen and I tracked them down and got to know them during the storm that trapped us at the ranger station. It’s the whole reason Owen and I even got our license to foster and adopt in the first place. I knew I wanted to give Luke and Edmund a stable home.

“Well,” Patricia continues, “that makes it hard to get information on them. What little medical records we have should be coming within the next few weeks or so.”

“All right.”

“And there’s one last thing.”

“What is it?”

“Both the boys are classified as a legal risk when it comes to adoption.”

I grit my teeth and wait for her to explain.

“It means that one of their parents could still, in theory, claim custody of them. It means this might not be permanent.”

“Hm.”

“The court hearings are marked on the last page of the paperwork,” Patricia says. “The first is on December nineteenth.”

I know about all this. Patricia isn’t the caseworker I spoke to on the phone about Luke and Edmund four or five months ago, but I was filled in on their situation. Their mother died in a car accident, and their father found his solace at the bottom of a bottle. After a DUI and several arrests, the state took his kids.

Last I heard he hadn’t made any effort to get them back or even see them. One court transcript had him saying Luke and Edmund reminded him too much of his wife, and he couldn’t stand looking them in the face.

How do you explain that to a six-year-old? I’d say the man needs to shoulder his responsibilities, but I’m not the type to judge from afar, never getting involved. If he doesn’t want to be a father to his children, I’m more than willing to step up to the plate.

Then again, I’ve never had kids, never particularly liked kids, and I’m fond of silence. Still, I’ve made up my mind. Come hell or high water, I’ll see this through to the end. I don’t want the kids to suffer. If their father takes them back, great. If their father gives up his rights forever, Owen and I will make sure the kids don’t fall into the cracks of the system.

“Do you have any questions for me?” Patricia asks, breaking my chain of thought.

“No,” I say. “We can take it from here.”

“Thank you again for taking them. My contact information is on every page, if you have any questions in the future. Oh, and keep in mind we’ll be conducting a welfare check at some point.”

“Heh. Thank you for making this happen.”

Patricia and I shake hands a second time, and then she heads off into the cold, leaving me alone in the kitchen. Court cases? Welfare checks? We already had a guy inspect our home to make sure it was “safe for children.” Why does everyone want up in my privacy all of a sudden?

“—and here we are, back in the living room!” Owen says as he leads the two boys around with a showman’s flair. “That’s the complete tour. A standard two-bedroom, two-bath house. Very exciting.”

“How old is this place?” Luke asks as he examines the walls and faded rugs.

“I think it was built in 1970-something. It had way more of a ’70s vibe when we moved in, trust me. Shag carpets. Puke green everywhere. Carter fixed the place up, though. Didn’t you, Carter?”

I throw the paperwork onto our wooden kitchen table and nod. “Yeah. But you’re pretty handy yourself.”

Owen gives me a dismissive wave of his hand. “Don’t listen to Carter. He loves fixing things as much as he loves hiking. I swear he aspires to be the next model for the Brawny Man paper towel guy.”

“I don’t know who that is,” Edmund says with an out-the-top excitement in his voice. “But I think the place looks great!”

“Well, let’s get to that hot chocolate, shall we?” Owen asks.

He leads the kids into the kitchen, which is semicramped with four people, and heads straight for the pantry. On the way, he stops by my side and leans close.

“Remember the first few steps of arrival?”

I nod.

Despite my assurance, Owen recites the damn steps anyway. “Step one. Wash their clothes. Step two. Subtly check for lice. Step three. Settle in and give them structure.”

“I got it,” I growl.

“Good.”

Owen walks over to the pantry, swings open the door, and gathers up his fancy chocolates and marshmallows. I don’t want any of the sweets and sugar, but now probably isn’t the time to bicker over the benefits of straight black coffee.

Luke pulls out a seat for his little brother, and they both get comfortable around the table. I sit down and give them both the once-over.

Owen gave them new clothes. Luke, at that awkward time in his life, looks like he’s half-lamppost with how thin and gangling his whole body appears, even with a sweater and jeans. Edmund has a round face stuck in a permanent smile. It looks painful to maintain it that long. The T-shirt and jeans fit him nicely, though, which is good.

No one says a word, not even Owen. I guess he’s busy measuring the chocolate and marshmallows, but still. He’s typically the life of the party. Shouldn’t he say something by now? Maybe I should say something.

“Do either of you have lice?” I ask.

Owen cringes and places a palm over his face.

What? That’s what we’re supposed to do, isn’t it? What does he want from me?

Edmund and Luke give each other worried glances.

“Do we look like we have lice?” Luke asks as he runs a hand through his sandy blond hair. “I take a shower every day….”

“I don’t have lice,” Edmund declares. “I’m a no-lice zone.”

I give a curt nod. “That’s good.”

More strained silence.

Luke continues to comb his hair with his hand, his gaze glued to the table, and Edmund stares at me like he expects something. He smiles without showing his teeth, like he’s forcing it, and I’m half tempted to tell him to cut it out.

Owen must hate the tension, because he bounds over and smiles. “Okay. While the milk starts to boil, let me show you our schedule calendar. It’s this whiteboard here on the wall.”

He motions to our foster-class-suggested calendar of activities. Apparently giving the kids a defined schedule has been proven to reduce stress through transition periods, but to me it makes us out to be more of a school or facility, rather than a family. I let Owen do what he feels is best, however. He gets along with kids better than I do, that’s for sure.

“See. Here is today, December first.” Owen taps on the board and then moves his finger over to the fourth of December, a Monday. “And here’s your first day of school, where we introduce you to your class.” A little drawing of a schoolhouse represents the occasion. “Oh, and this here, on December tenth, we’ll go caroling. Don’t worry, it’s loads of fun.” A pair of bells marks the “fun” event.

“Why are there so many Christmas trees on the calendar?” Luke asks.

Sure enough, every damn box on that calendar has a Christmas tree. All the way to Christmas Day, where it ends in a Christmas tree explosion that covers half the board in crude green squiggles of trees.

“Because this is the month of Christmas,” Owen says, motioning to the whole whiteboard. “The Christmas spirit is all around us. Joy and cheer for everyone! Every day we’re going to do some sort of Christmas-themed event to get us pumped for the holiday.”

“I can feel the hype,” Edmund says as he claps his hands.

Owen loves Christmas to a disturbing degree. If Christmas were a person, Owen would have an affair with it, there’s no doubt in my mind.

Luke gives the calendar a thorough examination. “We have a court appointment on the nineteenth,” he intones.

“You do?” Owen asks.

I give him a nod and motion to the paperwork.

“Oh,” he says. He grabs a dry-erase marker, erases the Christmas tree, redraws it a hair smaller, and then adds a scale to represent the court date. “There. Now we know we’ve got to go.”

Owen rushes back to the milk on the stove and takes it off.

“Hot chocolate is ready!”

He pours four cups and mixes everything together. As the final touch, he sprinkles marshmallows over the top with the finesse of a master chef. He passes out the mugs, one by one, and then takes a seat at the table.

“Thank you,” Edmund says.

“Yeah,” Luke adds. “Thank you.”

I swirl the contents of my mug and frown. I don’t like hot chocolate, but Owen makes it so often I’ve come to associate the sweet scent with him—which means I’ve started to like it, but I hate even admitting that fact to myself. Owen just has that effect over me.

I sigh and take a drink. What’s the use of fighting it?

Much to my chagrin, no one says a word. The slurp of hot chocolate fills the otherwise awkward atmosphere. Nothing screams family like not having anything to talk about. I suppose if we were all on smartphones we’d be normal, but I can’t help but feel like I’m failing at some level.

Edmund and Owen finish their drinks first.

“Are you guys tired?” Owen asks.

“Yes,” Luke says. “Very tired.”

“Really? Already?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, well, let’s get you guys off to bed, then. Tomorrow we can all visit the park. I have a picnic planned and everything. It’ll be our first family outing.”

“We’re a family?” Edmund asks with a gasp. “Really?”

Owen nods. “That’s the plan. Didn’t your caseworker tell you?”

“I thought you guys hadn’t said yes yet?”

“They have to go through a waiting period,” Luke says in a hushed tone, his hand on Edmund’s shoulder as though trying to contain the young boy’s enthusiasm. “It’s not official yet.”

“But they said—”

“Shh. Calm down.”

Edmund frowns and sinks into his seat.

“It’s official in my book,” Owen says. “So I’m going to count tomorrow as our first family outing.”

Like a spring, Edmund leaps up in his seat. “Yes! A family outing!”

“All right, now it’s bedtime.”

We all stand and head to the back of the house. Owen and I have the master bedroom at the back of the hallway, but my office, now converted into a bedroom, is at the opposite end, nearest the guest bathroom. It’s “the boys’ room,” and we furnished it with two beds, some Legos, a dresser, and a desk. It’s a little crowded for two kids, but our house doesn’t have much in the way of excess space. Even the master bedroom is considered small by modern house standards.

Luke and Edmund walk to their bags propped up by the wall. They each withdraw a toothbrush and commence with their nightly routine. Owen and I stand nearby, and I feel like I’m hovering, if only for the simple fact that brushing one’s teeth doesn’t require supervision.

Once the boys finish, they return to their room and take beds as though they have an unspoken rule of who gets what. Owen strikes a fist into the palm of his hand.

“Okay. Do you guys need anything? Temperature okay? Need me to up the heater?”

“We’re fine,” Luke says.

“Fine,” Edmund echoes.

They say nothing else.

“Well, good night, then,” Owen says as he steps back out into the hallway.

“Good night,” both boys say in unison.

After the door clicks shut, Owen and I wait in the hall. I can hear the muffled creaks of the beds, the crinkle of their bags, but after a minute or two, nothing else sounds from their room. Maybe they were super tired.

Owen and I retreat to our bedroom. He closes the door behind us, still quiet, which bothers me. Owen is never this quiet. Especially not during the month of December. It’s Christmas this, and fun times that. I keep an eye on him as he walks over to the closet, takes off his belt, and hangs it up with the rest.

Too quiet.

“Say something,” I command, probably gruffer than I should be.

“You think they’re okay?” he asks, searching through his T-shirts. “They seem off.”

“It’s awkward.”

“Us?”

“The situation. I’m sure they’ll be fine in a few days.”

“Are you being optimistic?” Owen turns around and faces me, his jovial mood returning in full force. “Carter, I rely on you to tell me the harsh, jaded truth of the world. You can’t go switching roles with me.”

“It’s the truth,” I say with a huff. “The kids aren’t used to us, or this house, and they got here late. I’m sure they’ll be happier tomorrow.”

Owen walks over and kisses me without warning. "I knew there was a reason I loved you," he whispered.

The door to our room opens, and my body floods with icy dread and hot embarrassment. Owen and I jump to apart, and I take a few deep breaths to steady myself to the reality of the situation.

Edmund stands in the doorway, tilting his head from side to side, wearing long johns for pajamas.

For a strained moment, no one says anything. Then Edmund’s eyebrows knit together.

“Were you two making love?” he asks.

“Never,” I say, an irrational piece of me trying to deny the existence of intercourse, just to save his innocent mind from the realities of adulthood.

Owen steps forward. “What Carter means to say is, uh, when two people love each other very much, they—”

“No,” I shout. “Nope. We’re not having this discussion!”

Edmund frowns. “I’m sorry.” He turns and runs off down the hall, his bedroom door opening and shutting in quick succession.

“We need separate beds,” I say. “This never happened with my parents.”

Owen replies with a chuckle. “You can’t be serious. Wait here. I’ll go talk to them.” Owen heads out of our room, leaving me to stew by myself.

What a great way to introduce them to the household. Getting caught making out and half yelling at a kid until he ran to his room. Father of the year material.

I let out a long sigh.

Get a hold of yourself, Carter. You can handle this. Tomorrow will be better.

***

Voyageurs National Park.

It’s a home away from home. The vast forests, pristine rivers, and sapphire lakes make this place a little piece of heaven on earth. Over 200,000 acres and I’ve nearly traveled it all. I count myself lucky that I get to do something I love for a living—becoming a park ranger was one of the best decisions of my life.

Snow blankets everything, adding a mystical aura to the environment. Technically, most roads and trails are closed when it gets this cold, but Rodriguez and Dilluca—mine and Owen’s replacements while we enjoy our vacation time—are looking the other way while we enjoy our lunch.

“We have snowshoes for rent at the visitor center,” Owen says as he steps out of the car. Luke and Edmund nod along with his statements. “And we have snowmobile trails. Oh! And ice fishing. Did I mention the sledding hill? We have a sledding hill.”

“I love sledding,” Edmund says as he jumps from the car and crunches into the snow. “I did that once when I was, uh, four. I think.”

Luke exits the truck and nods. “Mom took us for your fourth birthday.”

“Yeah! I think it was here too.”

“It was.”

I give Owen a concerned glance, but the man never misses a beat. He smiles, lowers the tailgate, and motions Edmund over. “Hey, I need someone to help me carry the picnic basket. Are you strong enough to do that?”

Edmund flexes, despite the fact that his whole body is swaddled in a thick jacket. “Yeah. I’m pretty strong, actually. That’s what everyone says.”

“Good. You’ll need all those muscles to carry the sandwiches. It’s an important job.”

“I can handle it!”

Edmund takes the basket—an honest to God wicker picnic basket straight from the 1950s—and jogs over to his brother. Luke gives his younger brother an approving pat on the head, and the two share a smile.

I walk over to Owen and help him grab the table blanket and fire kit. The cloud-free sky allows the sun to add a bit of heat, but it’s still chilly. I like it, though. The crisp air washes away all doubt in my mind. Today will be a good day.

Please, let it be a good day.

“Ya know,” Owen says, keeping his voice low, “we never spoke to them about what they should call us.”

“The adoption isn’t finalized. Maybe it’s best we don’t.”

“Still. It feels like they’re avoiding calling us by our names.”

“How would you want them to address us? Our first names would be fine by me.”

“Really?” Owen asks. “You wouldn’t want them to call you Dad?”

“Father, maybe. Not Dad.”

“Father? What is this, church? You need to loosen up, Carter.”

I heft the blanket over my shoulder and glare. “I’m fine.”

Owen smiles and laughs as he grabs the last of the gear. “Remember when we went to that bar? You know the one. Where that guy bought you a drink and called you Daddy? You got so red I thought you were choking!”

“Never mention that again,” I state as I slam the tailgate and walk around the side of the truck. I can already feel my face heating up just remembering the event.

The two boys perk up as Owen and I approach. Together we crunch through the snow, following the simple trail that leads to a picnic area overlooking Kabetogama Lake. Owen and I visited the place a few times when we were dating—the sunsets over the park highlight everything in red, and the cool black of the shadows laces everything in a mysterious aura. I think, if I could have my way, I’d want to be buried in this park after I die.

My mind wanders as my gaze scans the trees and the snow and the peaks of mountains. Beauty bold and untamed. The lives of a million plants and animals living through a delicate dance of life. It surprises me more people don’t flock to this place. Maybe they just don’t know what they’re missing.

“What’re you looking at?” Luke asks.

I glance over and motion to the trees. “Appreciating the majesty of nature.”

“You like this place?”

“Yes.”

Luke opens his jacket and withdraws a notebook. He scribbles something inside, and I’m half tempted to ask what it’s all about, but Owen jumps ahead and motions to a sign.

“This is the fork in the trail,” he says. “We could go the low route or the high route. Which do you guys prefer?”

“The low route!” Edmund says the same instant Luke replies with, “High route.”

The two brothers snap their attention to each other and, again in the same breath, both reverse their opinions, ironically contradicting each other a second time.

Owen wags his finger. “I know. Let’s have a race. Luke and I will take the high route. Carter and Edmund will take the low route. We’ll see who gets there first.”

“Okay,” Edmund says as he hops in place. “Let’s go!”

He scampers off, and I walk after. Owen takes my arm and mutters, “Remember what the classes said. Engage in conversations they like.”

I nod and continue.

This is a ridiculous game. Both routes take less than five minutes to reach the picnic area, and at some points the trees thin so much I can see their trail. We might as well have all gone together, but I suppose Owen wants us to have one-on-one time with each kid.

After a minute in, I struggle to think of something to talk about.

What do kids like? Destroying things? No, that’s incidental.

“So,” I begin.

Edmund turns around to face me, his eyes staring straight into mine as though he can’t wait to hear what I have to say.

What’re we going to talk about? He’s six. It’s not like we can have deep philosophical discussions. What if I damage his frail little mind? Maybe I should just remain silent.

No, the classes said not to do that.

Fuck.

“All right,” I say. “I need to level with you. I don’t know anything about small children.”

Edmund holds up the picnic basket. “I’m not small, ya know.”

“All right. I don’t know anything about medium children. Tell me things you like to talk about.”

“Legos and superheroes,” Edmund says matter-of-factly.

Superheroes? Eh. I know next to nothing about superheroes. I exhale and ask, “Okay, if you could have any superpower, what would it be?”

“Laser eyes.”

With a scoff I say, “That’s ridiculous. That’s not even useful.”

I regret my comment the second it leaves my mouth. He’s six. I shouldn’t be so quick to judge his fantastical choices.

Edmund snorts and continues on the trail with his head held high. “Laser eyes are super useful.”

“How so?”

“I could laser bad guys, of course.”

“And what about everyone else?”

“I wouldn’t laser them, because you’re all good guys.”

I guess that’s a little more useful than I originally thought.

Edmund stops again, gasps, and points. “Look! An animal!”

“Don’t touch it,” I say on reflex. I amble by the kid and head around the bend, toward the picnic area. “Wild animals should be left to their natural habitat. Human interaction can be dangerous for both the animal and the person. Observing from afar is the best course of action.”

I recite the warning straight from the park handout. I’ve repeated the damn thing over a thousand times to visiting school classes, tour groups, and individuals who ask about feeding the muskrats.

“She likes me!”

I whip around, half expecting Edmund to be mauled by a wolf. Instead, I find him crouched down, petting a small domesticated house cat. The gray feline purrs enough for the whole park to hear as she rubs against Edmund’s hands and legs. The erratic trail she left in the snow goes on for some time. She’s been traveling for a while.

“Stop,” I say. “Leave the cat alone.”

“But look at how skinny she is.”

Sure enough, the cat has visible ribs and scrawny limbs. It’s a miracle she’s even alive. Most house cats don’t make it long in the snow, especially if they don’t have anything to eat.

Edmund sets the picnic basket down and picks up the cat. “We need to take her with us.”

“No. We’re not taking the cat. Put her back where you found her.”

Edmund stares up at me with wide eyes. “But we can’t leave her.”

“Yes, we can. She isn’t our cat.”

“But then she’ll be all alone.”

“Lots of animals live alone.”

“But… but that’s so sad.”

Tears well in the corners of his eyes. I grit my teeth and say nothing as he unzips his jacket and scoots the cat inside, allowing her head to poke up out of his collar. The feline doesn’t protest. If anything, she purrs louder, no doubt craving the warmth.

“She needs a family,” Edmund continues, now hugging the cat like he’s hugging himself.

After a long sigh, I say, “Fine. We’ll bring her to the pound. She’ll find a family there.”

“No, not that!” Edmund turns away from me and strokes the cat’s head. “The pound is… it’s the foster home for animals. She’ll get sad. And then she won’t talk as much. Just like Luke.”

I catch my breath.

How did this turn so upsetting so quickly?

Still, I can’t let him keep the cat. I hate cats. And we’re in the middle of becoming accustomed to two new kids. Adding a cat to the mix isn’t right. As long as Edmund doesn’t name it, I can still—

“Look, Legos is a good cat,” Edmund says. “She’s happy.”

Oh, goddammit.

“Legos?” I ask. “You named her Legos?”

“Yeah. Legos are my favorite thing, so now she’s my favorite thing.”

Edmund rubs his cheek on Legos’s head and smiles. The cat closes her eyes and lets out a contented mew.

The cat could have a disease! Or fleas! Or be batshit insane once she has some food in her! It’s unreasonable to let him have that cat. Any responsible parent would take it away.

“And it’s the month of Christmas,” Edmund continues. “Remember? We can’t let her be cold on Christmas.”

He pouts—lower lip jutting out, eyes swollen with tears.

I really hate cats.

What would Owen do? I curse under my breath, knowing the answer in a heartbeat. He would let the kid have the damn cat.

“Fine,” I say through a groan. “We’ll take the cat with us.”

“Legos. Her name is Legos.”

Another groan. “We’ll take Legos with us.”

“Yay!”

Edmund jogs ahead, keeping the cat pressed firm against his body, leaving me with the picnic basket. I pick it up and hurry after the kid. All I can think about is the expense and time a cat will cost me.

Vet bills. Cat food. Toys.

Ugh. And a litter box.

I really, really hate cats.

“What took you two so long?”

I glance up from my musings and find I’ve already arrived at the picnic area. Owen and Luke stand by the frozen table, giving me and Edmund odd glances. Owen spots the cat straightaway, and his eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline.

“Is that a cat?” he asks.

“Her name is Legos,” Edmund says, his voice laced with a squealing delight.

Owen turns to me, an unspoken conversation worth of words in his expression. He knows I hate cats. We’ve had multiple discussions about pets. Dogs are the closest thing I’d ever want, but even then I’m not keen on them.

I give Owen a quick nod, and he knows I’m “okay” with the situation.

Okay being in big fucking quotes.

Owen walks over to Edmund, kneels down, and pets the feline with a delicate pat. “She doesn’t look too good, champ. Where did you find her?”

“Out in the snow. She’s cold. And I think she’s hungry. Can we give her some of our lunch?”

“Cats aren’t going to like the sandwiches I packed.”

“But she needs something. I don’t want her to be sad. I want everyone to be happy.”

Owen smiles. “Well then, I think we should declare this an emergency rescue mission. Let’s go get the kitty cat some food, shall we?”

“Wait,” Luke says, cutting into the conversation. “We’re going to leave? But we just got here.”

“The cat really is in bad shape,” Owen says as he stands. “We can always have a picnic tomorrow, or come back another time.”

Luke stomps over to his brother and glares. “Edmund, put the cat down.”

“I don’t want to,” Edmund replies. “I love her.”

“No, you don’t. Put it down. It’s dirty and gross.”

“No.”

“You’re ruining the day by being weird,” Luke hisses under his breath. “Put. The cat. Down.”

“No!”

“Whoa, whoa!” Owen says as he jumps between the two brothers. “Don’t worry, the day isn’t ruined. Trust me—no day in December is a bad day. Rescuing the cat is an adventure.”

Luke runs both his hands through his hair, his normally calm façade breaking as he furrows his brow and glares into the snow. He says nothing, which is worse than speaking his mind, at least in my book. If he talked, I would at least know what’s bothering him.

“I think the lil kitty needs some warmth,” Owen says. “C’mon. Let’s head back to the truck.”

I grab Owen by the arm and pull him close. “Can you please stop calling it kitty?” I say to him in a hushed tone. “You’re a grown man. Grown men don’t call them kitty cats.”

He kisses me on the cheek, catching me off guard, and I flush. Then he leans in close, his sweet, misty breath on my ear. “My dad used to call them itty-bitty kitty cats,” he says, mirth in his tone.

Good grief. Of course his whole fun-addicted family would use names like that.

I roll my eyes, and I catch sight of Luke and Edmund.

Luke, hunched over Edmund, whispers with a gruff tone. His younger brother tears up, his lip quavering, and hugs the cat in his jacket like it is a long-lost teddy bear.

“Enough,” I say as I walk over to them. “I said he could have the cat, so that’s the end of the discussion.” I push Luke away. “Don’t harass your brother because of it, all right? We’re moving on.”

Luke stares at the snow and says nothing. Edmund sniffles.

Perfect. First family outing and both the kids are upset. Great way to top off a first jarring and awkward night.

Carter, you told yourself you were going to be a good father, so you better start acting like one.

***

“The pizza good?” Owen asks between bites of his pepperoni slice.

Edmund and Luke both nod, but otherwise they offer no verbal confirmation. They seem to enjoy the food—they ate enough of it for five people—but their lack of conversation all day has begun to get under my skin. They can’t be this quiet. Kids are neverthis quiet.

“Um,” Luke begins.

Both Owen and I perk up. “Yeah?” Owen asks.

“So, do you guys have a TV?”

“No,” I say. “We don’t.”

“Why not?”

Owen cringes. He sets his half-eaten slice down on his plate and forces a smile. “Well, you see, Carter grew up in a household without TVs and other stuff like that. We’ve just never purchased one as a couple, and I gave mine away to my sister when he and I moved in together.”

“But how do you play your video games?” Edmund asks with a frown.

“We don’t own any video games.”

The brothers slouch in their chairs.

“TVs aren’t that necessary,” I say, knowing full well they’re disappointed. I grew up without a TV; I know these kids can too.

They say nothing. And they’ve lost their appetites.

Tsk. I can’t buckle every time they get sad. The roles of parents are to shape children and help them focus on making a better future for themselves. TVs are distractions. Terrible for their brains. It’s better that they don’t have one.

“Legos is hungry,” Edmund says. He points to the cat.

I glance over and spot the cat wolfing down a huge helping of cat food. Owen got her a little bowl, a pink collar, and thirty toys. Maybe thirty-one toys—one for each day of December. I wouldn’t put it past him.

Owen nods. “I set up a vet appointment for Legos on Tuesday. That was the earliest they had available.”

“Is it okay… if I go to my room?” Luke asks, his voice so low it’s almost drowned out by the silence.

“Yeah, of course,” Owen replies.

Luke gets up, and Edmund joins him.

“Thanks for dinner,” Edmund says with a forced smile.

They disappear into their shared room, and Owen locks his gaze to mine.

“Really, Carter? You’re going to maintain the no TV rule?”

“It’s a good rule,” I say with a huff.

“Is it? Every other kid at school will have a TV. You’re making them stand out for no good reason. And they’ll be out of the loop for pop culture stuff.”

“It’ll distract them. What if their grades suffer?”

Owen chuckles. He leans forward on the table and takes my hand. Then he gets this serious look about him, and I hate it when he does that. I grit my teeth and wait.

“I grew up with a TV,” he says. “You didn’t. Yet here we are. Both of us happy men with fulfilling jobs. Starting a family. I submit to you that having a TV, or not having a TV, isn’t the determining factor when it comes to a child’s success.”

First a cat, now a TV? We’re already piling on a whole shit-ton of new things and responsibilities. Do I have to change everything in order to accommodate kids?

“You broke one of the parenting class rules,” Owen says, saving me from my depressing thoughts. “They said you weren’t supposed to take a new animal in at the same time you get the kids. Too much work. And it takes your focus away from the child, remember?”

“Yeah, well, I buckled in a moment of weakness, all right? I can’t follow all their damn rules.” I say everything with more bite than I intend, but Owen responds by squeezing my hand, calming me down in a matter of seconds. I exhale and squeeze back. “You should have been there when the kid asked to keep it.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t say no.”

He laughs his Owen laugh, and I can’t help but smile. I don’t know where the man finds all his optimism and happiness. If he died he’d be reincarnated as a double rainbow.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Owen says as he stands, breaking contact with me. “We can talk more about the TV situation afterward.” He walks off but stops at the edge of the hall. “We survived our first twenty-four hours, Carter.”

“That we did,” I drawl.

He disappears into the hall, and I return my attention to my pizza.

And then the damn cat starts to hack and wheeze.

“What’re you doing?” I ask it.

Legos gags and convulses, her legs trembling. She vacuumed that food so fast it’s no wonder it’s coming up again. I jump from the table and attempt to catch her before she vomits, but the cat hobbles away and then hurls her half-chewed cat food all over the tile floor. To make matters worse, she stumbles through it, creating paw prints across the floor in her yellowish-green bodily fluids.

Goddammit.

I scoop the cat up and take her to the sink, biting back a whole host of curse words. The feline meows a sad and frightened chorus of mews.

“Don’t start making noise,” I say through clenched teeth. “You’re already on my shit list.”

She continues her yowling as I turn on the water. Then she becomes possessed by a demon from the ninth layer of hell and thrashes around like she’s part honey badger. Her claws rake across my arms, her fangs sink into my flesh, and she spins in the sink with more muscle than I thought a cat could muster.

Not today, Legos.

I clench my jaw, keep her in the sink, and somehow squirt soap onto her using my elbow to pump the dispenser.

“You willget clean,” I say, holding her in the stream of water and rubbing the soap over her legs and paws.

I’m pretty sure my blood is all over the place, but now it’s just the principle of the matter. After a minute of struggling, the cat relaxes and I can finish her cleaning. Our war zone of a bath leaves me with scars, but she smells good afterward. Which is more than I could say for her when she got to our house. Damn cat looked like she died of the bubonic plague in one of her past lives.

Legos leaps from my hands the moment I let her go. She sits on the counter, shakes off, and then licks herself as though nothing ever happened.

“Seriously?” I ask with a grunt. “Weird-ass cat.”

I wipe my arms off, taking stock of the damage.

Eh. I’ve had worse. I had to pull a beaver from a felled log, and the damn thing thought I was going to eat it. The worst part was visiting the doctor afterward to make sure I didn’t have rabies. I should probably do it again, given Legos’s dubious origins.

With a clean rag, I scrub the floor and rid the kitchen of the cat vomit. I finish up and listen.

The stillness of the house bothers me.

All those parenting classes said that our house should be full of noises with two brothers, but I don’t hear a thing.

Once dry—and I’ve rolled down my sleeves—I head for the boys’ room and stop outside the door. Nothing. Not a peep.

I’d be happy if that’s how they were—quiet kids who liked to sit peacefully in the corner of a room—but I remember when I was six and thirteen. All that pent-up energy meant I was climbing trees all day and throwing rocks across the river. What could Luke and Edmund be doing in their room that makes absolutely no noise?

I knock.

“Come in?” Luke says.

I open the door and stand in the doorframe. Luke sits at the desk, drawing, and Edmund is in the corner of the room, playing with his Legos. Neither of them look as though they’ve done much since retiring for the night, and their backs were facing each other before they both turned to me.

“Is something wrong?” Luke asks.

“You’re too quiet.”

The brothers exchange glances.

Edmund taps two Legos together. He hesitates for a moment, frowning, until he finally says, “We want you to like us.”

The statement cuts me. “What?”

“We want you to like us, so we can’t make any noise.”

I run a hand over the back of my neck and sigh. “I’d like it if we could get past this and you two acted like normal kids—that’s what I’d like.”

Luke lifts an eyebrow. “Normal kids?”

“Yeah. Makin’ messes. Yelling.”

Edmund giggles. He stands and gives me a large smile—the kid was made to smile. “And if we made a mess, you would come and tell us to clean it up, right?”

“That’s right,” I say. “I’d tell you that you both had to clean your room.”

“And I would say no because I didn’t want to.”

“Heh. Then I’d say you better.”

Edmund laughs and nods along with the bizarre hypothetical. “But then I would throw my Legos”—he knocks over a small stack of five Legos—“and I’d pout, and I’d jump on my bed.” He crawls on top of his bed, slow and careful. “And then you would say, that does it, young man, you’re grounded.” He imitates my voice like I’m part bear.

“That’s right,” I say.

Edmund takes a seat on his bed and continues his smiling. “But it would be okay that you yelled, because you love us and just want what’s best for us. Like a real family.”

Edmund’s innocent fascination with having a family hurts more than anything else I’ve felt in recent years. Even if my family was “backward” or “Amish,” as Owen likes to say, at least I had a family. I never worried about having parents who loved me or whether I would have a home to return to.

“We’ll try to be more normal,” Luke says, ending the silence.

“No,” I say. “Don’t try to be normal. Just be yourselves.”

The boys regard me with nods, but the feeling in my gut says they aren’t taking my words to heart.

“I mean it,” I say, probably harsher than I should. “That’s the new rule for the house.”

“Act normal?”

“Be yourself.”

“O-okay.”

I have a feeling they still don’t understand what I mean.

****

The brilliance of a clear Minnesota morning can’t be understated.

I take a deep breath of fresh air as I pull the truck out of the driveway onto the quiet road outside our house. Edmund sits shotgun and Luke sits in the back, his nose buried in his notebook as he continues to draw. He never utters a word.

I use the GPS on my truck to route a path to Edmund’s elementary school. I’ve never been there, and I want to arrive in a timely manner, of course. It says we should arrive fifteen minutes early, and that’s the kind of time I like to see. I need to speak with Edmund’s principal, after all.

Halfway there and I’m staring at the GPS, trying to make sense of the roads.

“Do you know what’s cool?” Edmund asks.

I ignore the question for a moment to focus on my driving.

Edmund rocks back and forth. “Did you hear me? I asked—do you know what’s cool?”

“Hm?” I reply, still distracted.

“Lego Batman.”

“What?”

“Lego Batman. He’s made of Legos but he also has a movie and a video game. I played the video game once. It was fun, and it has the Joker in it.”

“Hm.”

“Do you know why I like the Joker?”

There are a lot of signs around elementary schools. Special speed limits. Kids walking around. Crossing guards. Black ice. I get tense and grip the steering wheel like my truck could fly out of control at any second. I don’t know why, but groups of kids get me nervous. I’ve never been that fond of random children.

“Did you hear me? I asked if you knew why I liked Joker so much. Do you?”

“Edmund,” Luke says through his teeth. “He doesn’t want to talk. Leave him alone. You’re gonna make him angry.”

“It’s fine,” I say as I pull the truck around into a parking spot. “If I didn’t want to talk I’d say so.”

“I like the Joker because he’s funny,” Edmund concludes with a restrained smile.

All three of us get out of the truck, and my mind finally catches up with Edmund’s comments. Lego Batman? Kids like the Joker now? I don’t know much about superheroes, but even I know he’s a villain. What is this world coming to?

We walk into the elementary school fifteen minutes before classes are due to begin. Kids half my height, maybe shorter, run the halls in groups. I keep my hands in my pockets, my shoulders bunched up near my neck.

I glance over at Luke and Edmund. They’re not bad. They’ve been surprisingly good, actually, even if we adopted a cat because of Edmund.

We enter the principal’s office, and a young woman stands to greet me. She smiles wide and motions to a couple of chairs stationed around the room.

“Hello,” she says. “My name is Principal Veronica. You must be Mr. Williams? You’re Edmund’s foster father?”

“That’s right,” I say.

“Oh, good. I just wanted to fill you in on a few things before he begins.” She slides over a small stack of paperwork and taps at Edmund’s grades. “He’s remarkably talented at school, and despite changing so many times, most of his instructors have advised him to advance as normal.”

“Advance as normal?” I repeat.

“Yes. Most kids who go through the foster care system typically fall behind in their studies, but little Edmund is right on course, which is great.”

“Hm.”

“Would you like to see his classroom? I’m sure his teacher, Mrs. Green, would love to meet you.”

“No,” I blurt out a little too hastily. “No, I don’t need to meet the class. I’m sure Mrs. Green is fantastic.”

“Does Mrs. Green have show ’n’ tell?” Edmund asks.

Principal Veronica nods. “Yes, she does.”

“I’m going to bring Legos in for show ’n’ tell.”

I shake my head. “No. No, you’re not. Legos stays home.”

“Lots of children bring Legos in for show ’n’ tell,” the principal says.

“But not rabid lunatic cats,” I quip.

She grimaces and frowns, clearly confused. I don’t blame her. I don’t even have the energy to explain the situation.

“Well, I need to get this guy to school,” I say, motioning to Luke. “Thank you again for your time.” I take Edmund’s paperwork. “I really appreciate you filling me in.”

“Of course. Have a nice day, Mr. Williams.”

Luke and I stroll out the door, wading through a river of children until we get outside. Although everything has a coating of white, the sun still bakes my exposed skin.

“You don’t like Legos,” Luke mutters as we cross the parking lot back to my truck.

“I’m not a fan of cats,” I say, earnest in every regard.

“And you don’t like kids.”

I exhale as I swing open the driver’s-side door. “I’ve never been fond of kids.” I take a seat, throw Edmund’s paperwork down, and start the engine. “But that was then, this is now. I want a family.”

Luke gives me an odd look as he buckles his seat belt.

I wish I knew what he was thinking, but he keeps quiet, like always, and I have a feeling he’s taking my words the wrong way. Still, I’m not sure what else there is to say. I’m sure Owen would remember some tip or trick our classes taught us to get around this, but I’m at a loss. Maybe, given enough time, Luke will understand I’m trying to be a good father for him and his brother.

As I pull out onto the road, Luke turns to me with his eyebrows knit together.

“Where’s Owen?”

“He’s working. We’ve switched our schedules around so that one of us will be with you guys at all times.” As park rangers, we have the luxury of taking odd times. It’s a twenty‑four‑hour job, and thankfully, our fellow rangers have our backs as we transition into a family life.

“You two used to work together.”

“That’s right.”

“Aren’t you going to miss that?” Luke asks, his voice quiet.

“Of course. I enjoyed working alongside Owen, but I knew it wouldn’t last forever.”

More than enjoyed. Owen and I were a great team, but sacrifices have to be made with families. We both know that.

Luke fidgets with his jacket. He reaches back, grabs his notebook, and returns to whatever he was doing before, retreating into silence.

Christmas decorations on passing houses remind me that I still haven’t thought of a gift for Owen. Or the kids. Tsk. I need to be more on top of this. What am I going to get them all? Owen has something unbelievable planned, and I’m bumbling around, waiting until the last minute, still in shock about the fact that we have a mangy cat.

We reach the middle school way too soon. I park, Luke and I get out, and I can tell by his sluggish steps that he doesn’t want to be here. I don’t blame him. Middle school was a soul-crushing experience for me. It was the first time that all the other students in school knew about my odd lifestyle and my father’s adherence to strict religious codes.

The other kids were ruthless. Relentless mocking was my daily reality.

I glance over my shoulder and see that Luke has fallen behind. I wait for him to catch up, and when he reaches my side, he stops.

“Do you think we’ll ever go back to that picnic spot?” he asks.

What an odd non sequitur of a question. “Probably,” I say. “It’s a beautiful spot. The lake reflects the sky like a mirror. When the sky melts from red to purple, the water goes with it, the whole world changing for the glory of the night.”

Luke stares up at me, though he’s only a few inches shorter. “I remember. Edmund and I went there once, with our mom.”

I say nothing.

“Um….”

“What is it?” I ask.

“Were you any good at school?”

“Yeah. I got decent grades. Why?”

Luke shakes his head. “I wanted to know more about you.”

By asking about my grades? Not the standard way to go about getting to know someone, but I guess it’s better than me. I should’ve been asking him about his day or his hobbies or anything rather than sliding into my own daydreams and thoughts.

Well, Carter, better late than never.

“So,” I say, grasping for anything. “If you could have any superpower, what would it be?”

Luke’s eyebrows lift at a slow rate, like he’s having a hard time comprehending the situation. I cross my arms and shrug.

“What?” I ask. “I can’t talk about superheroes?”

“Uh, it’s just… I didn’t think you liked them.”

“Well, I can tolerate them.”

“If I could have any power… I guess I would want invisibility.”

I chuckle. There we go. That’s a good answer. “You’d sneak around and fight crime?”

Luke stares down at the ground, his shoulders slumped. “Something like that.”

“If not that, then what?”

“I dunno. Sometimes I just wish I was invisible.”

Again, I’m caught off guard by the explanation. Maybe I should stop judging answers by how I interpret them. I can’t seem to get a good bead on these kids. And I shouldn’t be talking about depressing things right outside his new school, especially not on his first day.

“Enough chat,” I say. “Let’s go.”

I turn to head into the building, but Luke holds out a hand. “Uh,” he begins.

“What is it? We shouldn’t be late.”

He chews his tongue and stares at the pavement.

“You got something to say?” I ask. “If you do, out with it.”

I don’t know why, but Luke withdraws. He sighs and shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Let’s go.”

We head into the school, past the gates, fences, and even a metal detector. The security gets me nervous, even though it’s nothing more than a middle school, and it reminds me why I don’t like crowds or people. Two girls walk by me and Luke, but they have so much makeup, and wear their clothing so tight, I have to do a double take to make sure they aren’t fully grown women. What happened to today’s kids? They’re growing up way too fast.

I guess the girls take my reaction as a disgusting insult, because one flips me the bird and the other yells, “What a creep!”

With a groan, I turn to Luke. “Teenagers are impossible.”

He gives me a sardonic half-lidded stare.

“Not you,” I quickly add. “I mean, teens in general.”

He rubs at his arm and looks away.

I’m not helping. My foot is so far in my mouth it’s kicking my lungs.

We continue in silence. I prefer it this way. Less likely I’ll fuck up our relationship if I’m quiet.

Are all teenagers this moody? Of course they are. They’re swimming in hormones, and the world treats them like kids, but everyone wants them to be adults. It’s a confusing time, and I remember feeling out of place 24/7 when I was his age.

Once I reach the principal’s office, I walk inside and find the place a mess. Secretaries are scurrying to and fro, and stacks of papers line the walls. It’s the perfect analogy for the teenage body. Everything is crazy.

A man twice as wide as he is tall waddles over to me. I hold out a hand, he shakes it, and then motions me back to his office.

“I’m Principal Jones,” he says through a few ragged breaths. “You caught us at a difficult time. You’re Mr. Williams, correct? And this is Luke Weppler? Your foster son?”

“That’s right,” I say.

A bell rings, interrupting our conversation for a good thirty seconds.

“We should make this quick,” Principal Jones says. “The big issue I need to discuss is Luke’s grades. You see, from the transcripts we received, Luke doesn’t qualify to move on to the next grade. He needs to repeat the seventh.”

Luke, stationed in the corner of the room, hunches into the shadows like he’s trying to disappear into the void. He doesn’t look up during the principal’s statements. He must’ve known.

“Aren’t we in the middle of the semester?” I ask.

“That’s right, which brings me to a couple of options. Either we can send Luke to the local community college to complete his seventh-grade curriculum and he can return in August, when the eighth grade starts, or he can sit through the classes this year and try again the next to get better grades.”

“So, missing a year and a half worth of schooling?”

“Yes.”

That’s bullshit. There’s no way we can take that option. Then again, an adult school isn’t a place for someone like Luke. He’s already “different” and doesn’t need to be separated from his peers any more than he already has been.

“Mr. Williams?” the principal asks.

“I need to think this over,” I say, curt.

Owen will know what to do. He’s better suited for this kind of decision.

“And here is Luke’s file, for your review.”

I take Luke’s paperwork and tuck it under my arm.

“Classes have begun,” Principal Jones says. “Perhaps Luke should be getting to them.”

Luke shuffles from the room without a single comment. I start to follow, but the principal shakes his head. I wait, confused. What more could he need to say to me?

“Here is Luke’s behavioral report from his last school’s counselor.”

The man hands me yet another stack of paperwork, this one twice as thick as the last. I take it and flip through the pages. It has months of meetings and discussions, but most of the pages don’t have much in the way of information.

“He’s a troubled boy,” Principal Jones says. “I thought you might want to know before you made your decision. I think the adult school might be the best environment for him, considering his questionable background.”

“We can always take him to therapy,” I say with a huff, disliking the adult school idea more and more.

“Therapy is expensive.”

“Everything’s fucking expensive these days.”

And you don’t put a price on a kid’s emotional well-being. Of course Luke would be upset. Who wouldn’t? He needs some time to sort it out, and maybe talking to a professional will help with that.

Principal Jones straightens the belt for his slacks. “No need to get defensive. I’m just here to inform you of everything I heard over the weekend. I understand that taking in a troubled teen can be difficult.”

“Looks like,” I quip.

Somehow I missed out on all the good stages of childhood and went straight to “difficult mode.” Then again, Luke has been nothing but accommodating. It surprises me how many reports say he’s difficult or troubled.

“You don’t have to decide now,” the principal says. “Think it over, and talk to me in January, after the holiday break.”

“All right.”

I give Principal Jones one last handshake before heading for the door. I step out and tense, surprised to see Luke hovering around. He spots me, turns on his heel, and marches away with a quick step. Was he spying on us?

I let out another sigh.

What will Owen say? I’ll talk to him later tonight.

***

Fleas.

The damn cat brought fleas.

I itch my arm and glance over the myriad of antiflea medications I purchased from the vet. They said Legos was in bad shape, but after spaying her they felt the best course of action was to send her home with us. Now she has a cone on her head—which has made her grumpy and growly—and whatever breed of flea she had, it’s the kind that’ll live through a nuclear holocaust. Fat. Poison resistant.

And it’s also part rabbit, because the bugs seem to have exploded throughout the house. I need to call an exterminator. If that doesn’t work, I might just burn the place down.

“When are we going to go caroling?” Edmund asks as he paces the living room. His green jacket, lit up with tiny Christmas lights sewn into the front, gives him the appearance of a sentient tree. Even his green beanie looks like it might be made from pine needles.

“When Owen gets home,” I reply, gathering up gloves for everyone.

Luke waits in his room. Last I checked he was hunched over the desk, pouring himself away into another drawing. I swear he’s become quieter and quieter the last few days. He doesn’t talk about school, doesn’t engage much with Edmund. Come January Owen will be the one staying home during the day—he’ll get Luke to come out of his shell. Hopefully.

A harsh meow drags my attention to the floor. Legos fights with her cone, twisting around on the floor.

“Leave it alone,” I say, feeling foolish for talking to a cat.

Edmund frowns. “She doesn’t like it.”

“It’s good for her.”

“It messes up her fur. She likes her fur.”

“Yeah, well, she’ll chew on her stitches otherwise.”

To my never-ending annoyance, the cat rips the cone from her neck and tosses it aside. I stomp over to her, and she arches her back, hissing.

“Com’ere,” I say through clenched teeth.

Legos dodges me, more nimble than I anticipated, and flies through the living room. I rush after her, irritated that a tiny animal is giving me such trouble. I leap toward the couch, and she bounds over the cushions, dancing away from my grasp, her gray fur flying everywhere.

I itch as I straighten myself and watch her scamper under the kitchen table.

“I’ll get her,” Edmund says. “Legos likes me.”

“Fine,” I say with an exhale.

I scoop up the discarded cone and examine the thing. It’s annoying, sure, but we can’t trust the cat not to rip up all the vet’s hard work. I turn it over in my hand, wondering how I could improve it. I miss fixing things. Our house doesn’t really have anything for me to work on anymore. Maybe I should dedicate myself to building cat things now that I’m a reluctant cat owner.

A loud bang from the kitchen startles me. I whip around and find Edmund grabbing at his head, blood running from his beanie.

“Are you all right?” I ask as I jog over to him.

Edmund removes his beanie, revealing a gash in his scalp. I glance at the sharp corner of the table and know it’s the culprit.

The moment he catches sight of the blood, he sobs, his face bright red. The rivulets run faster now that the beanie is gone.

I looked away for two seconds! Two seconds! How did this happen?

“No crying,” I command.

Edmund cries louder. I’m about to reprimand him when he throws his arms around my torso and grips my shirt with a vicelike intensity. His tears soak into the fabric, and I take a second to recover from his gesture. I pat him on the back, and he half chokes on a sob. After a quick exhale, I pick him up and walk him over to the kitchen sink. I have to pry his arms off my neck before I can get a rag and soak it in cold water.

“Don’t leave me,” he says between strangled breaths.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say in a calm tone. “We need to clean you up. You’re okay.”

“I’m not okay!”

“Stop that,” I say, curt. “I’m here. And when I’m around, I’ll take care of stuff like this, got it?”

Edmund holds back a snivel long enough to nod his head.

“Hold still. You’re gonna be fine.”

“What’s going on?” Luke asks as he exits his room.

He runs over to Edmund, his eyes wide the moment he spots the crimson.

“Is he okay?” Luke shouts. “What happened?”

“Calm down,” I reply.

“There’s so much blood!”

“I said, calm down.”

Edmund lets out an ear-shattering wail, no doubt flustered by Luke’s panicking. Legos responds with a long yowl of her own, like she’s part of his caterwauling pack. Luke frets all around me, moving about as though his clothes are infested with bees.

“Should we take him to the hospital?” Luke asks. “Maybe we should take him to the hospital!”

Edmund grabs my shirt and pulls me close. I place a hand on his back and continue my work without any sort of over-the-top reaction, even though my heart is beating harder than it should. It’s not that bad of an injury! I shouldn’t be worried, Edmund shouldn’t be worried, and neither should Luke. Yet here I am, internally freaking out over nothing.

I have to keep it together. I’m the adult. I’m the backbone to the family—the one who needs to take charge. I won’t let anything else happen to Edmund.

Edmund’s sobbing gets me tense, and I fear I’m hurting him, but I know his injury needs to be cleaned. I finish wringing out the cloth and wrap it around his head. The gash is superficial. I’ve seen enough injuries and taken enough medical courses that I know nothing serious has happened. Head wounds bleed all the time.

We should probably take Edmund to get a tetanus shot, but that isn’t an immediate step.

The cool cloth settles Edmund. He sniffles and wipes his face, smearing blood under his nose, but otherwise he’s fine.

“He’s going to be all right?” Luke asks me, his voice cracking.

The doorbell rings before I have a chance to answer him. I grab his arm, pull him close to his brother, and motion to the cloth. “Hold this here. I’ll be right back.”

Luke complies with my command and holds the cloth. Edmund wraps his arms around his older brother and sits quiet, though he sniffles with every breath. Once I’m certain they’ll be fine, I walk to the front door and swing it open.

“Hello?” a woman says, a clipboard in her hands.

I blink for a few moments, wondering who she is and why she’s here, but I follow her gaze as she examines me from head to toe.

Blood. It’s everywhere. All over my white T-shirt, blatant for the whole world to see. Not only that, but I itch constantly—the fleas won’t leave me alone, and I’m certain my skin bears the marks of a thousand bites. Behind me, Legos hisses and yowls, no doubt plotting my death for daring to place her in a cone.

And then the woman glances into the house, her attention centered on the droplets of crimson across the tile, and the brothers by the kitchen sink.

“I’m here to perform a welfare check,” she says. “My name is Rose. May I… come in?”

Oh, goddammit.

I exhale, attempting to expel my tension. “I can explain,” I say. “We were going caroling.”

The look on her face—one eyebrow lifted, her lips pressed tight together—she doesn’t like any of this. Still, I can’t seem to stop myself from attempting to explain the situation.

“He bumped his head,” I say, my voice rising as I motion to Edmund. “And the cat, well, the cat was running around like a lunatic, and I was trying to catch her, and while I wasn’t looking, that’s when it happened. Bam! Out of nowhere. I swear I was watching him before that. The blood—it’s not as bad as it looks. I’ve seen hundreds of head injuries. Trust me, I’m a federal park ranger.”

“I believe you,” Rose says, her thin lips widening into a smile. “I’ve performed thousands of welfare checks, Mr. Williams. This doesn’t even come close to the top twenty situations I’ve stumbled across. Kids will be kids.”

Oh.

She’s a reasonable human being. It’s a Christmas miracle.

I inhale, hold my breath, and then step to the side. “Right. Come in.”

Rose steps inside and brushes off snow that’s latched on to the fur accents of her coat. “I need to speak to the children. You said one bumped his head?”

“That’s right,” I say. “And how long will this take? I was serious about the caroling. My husband will be disappointed if we cancel. We collect money and donate it to the local soup kitchen.”

“This shouldn’t take too much of your time,” she says, her voice low and almost devoid of emotion.

She has bad news. It gets me uneasy.

Rose walks into the kitchen, and I spot the cat darting across the floor.

“Don’t step on Legos,” I say.

Rose glances around at her feet.

“I mean the cat.”

To my surprise, Rose laughs. “Ah. Legos. That’s the perfect name for a cat. No one wants to step on Legos.”

Heh. I never thought of that. I chuckle to myself, amused with Edmund’s clever name, even if it was on accident.

Rose stops to examine Edmund and Luke. They both greet her with nods and “hellos,” but otherwise they say nothing. I wipe up the blood from the tile, straighten the table, and glare at Legos. This is her fault.

“No,” Edmund screams.

I snap my attention to him and see Luke holding the wet cloth.

Edmund sniffles. “I want Carter to do it.”

Luke sighs and holds out the rag so I can take it. I walk over and dab Edmund’s injury. Rose writes something on her clipboard and offers me a smile. “Luke, Edmund, how do you like it here?”

They both nod, but Luke practically jumps at the question. “It’s great. They’re great. We love it here. There’s absolutely nothing wrong.”

“I love Legos,” Edmund says. “Both kinds of Legos. And I have both of them here.”

Rose gives Luke an odd glance before forcing a smile. She writes something else without looking at her clipboard and watches as I work on Edmund’s head. The kid hugs my torso, seemingly content that I’m the one caring for him. His trust warms my spirits, even if I’m being judged by a social worker the entire time. Rose studies the moment and writes another comment on her clipboard.

Once finished, I throw the soiled rag into the sink.

“Should I leave you three alone for a bit?” I ask.

Rose nods. “That would be appreciated.”

I exhale and exit the kitchen, and the three of them head into the boys’ room.

This month couldn’t possibly unfold any slower. Each painful day reminds me why I lived a hermit lifestyle to begin with. I enter the living room with a terrible weight hanging over me.

I throw myself on the couch and lean my head back on the cushions. Being a father is hard work. So many times I want to curse—it makes me appreciate my own parents a little more. I didn’t spend as much time with my mother, but she had a calmness to her that permeated the air. And my father, while strict, hardly yelled or became upset. He was a font of wisdom when we got ourselves into trouble.

Legos jumps into my lap, and I flinch. Has she come to exact her revenge?

The feline spins in a circle, kneads my leg with her claws, and then lies down, purring.

Wait, what? I thought she hated me.

I pet her on the head. She purrs louder.

“Is this a trick?” I whisper.

The cat says nothing, obviously.

I scratch my arm and groan. “I haven’t forgotten what you’ve done.”

She licks my hand, and I catch my breath.

Well….

Legos does look cute up close. In general, I like wildlife; I just like it in the wild. The majesty of a bald eagle in flight, the beautiful coat of the otter, and even the vibrant colors of the white-tail deer—they’re a sight to behold.

I glance around, confirming I’m alone. I scratch Legos behind the ears and relax against the couch. “Maybe I should just go with the flow,” I mutter to her. “Maybe I’m too tense. Taking everything too seriously.”

A flea leaps off her and onto my lap.

Or maybe I’m totally justified in my anger.

I stand and attempt to toss the cat onto the couch. She latches her needlelike claws right onto my junk, somehow piercing the denim of my jeans! It takes all my willpower not to punch her. Instead, I grab Legos by the scruff of the neck, yank her from my pants—biting back a guttural growl as I do so—and place her onto the couch with my teeth gritted hard enough to strain my jaw.

The front door opens, and I flash a glare to whoever decided to walk into my house.

Owen lifts both his eyebrows the moment he catches sight of me. I exhale, letting my anger go with it, but the rage hasn’t drained from my system yet. He walks over and gives me a half smile.

“One of those days, huh?”

“Eh,” I say.

Owen perks up. He unslings a backpack off his shoulder and dusts off his green‑and‑gray park ranger uniform. “Look here,” he says. “This will make you feel better. I got everyone bells. And chimes. And Christmas hats!”

He unloads a classroom’s worth of Christmas gear from his backpack. The pack must be part clown car, because it holds way more than I ever expected.

Before I can comment, Rose exits Luke and Edmund’s room. The silence that follows her gets me anxious again. The boys stay in their room, and she enters the hallway with her lips pursed.

“You’re the other father?” Rose asks, her gaze on Owen.

Owen nods. “Yes. And who are you?”

“My name is Rose. I’m a social worker here to perform a welfare check and deliver some sad news.”

“Okay. What’s the news?”

“Mr. Weppler, Luke and Edmund’s biological father, has passed away.”

I hear Owen catch his breath, and I remain speechless.

“How?” Owen finally asks.

“He took his own life.”

Eh. This month of Christmas could have been replaced by a thirty-one-day-long torture session and I doubt many would see the difference. I itch my elbow and close my eyes. Rose came here to tell the boys that? I suppose it’s better than keeping it a secret, but I can see why they haven’t left their room.

“Needless to say,” Rose continues, “the court appointment on the nineteenth has been cancelled. There are no more kinship adoptions available.”

“They don’t have any other biological relatives?” Owen asks, disbelief thick in his voice.

“The boys have one great-aunt, and one grandfather. Both are in nursing homes, and over the age of eighty-five. Since both of them have state-appointed guardians, they aren’t legally capable of adopting. Not to mention the grandfather has a severe case of Alzheimer’s.”

Owen glances back at me, and I shake my head. I guess their father’s death clears up the legal trouble, but it adds a dark cloud to the whole adoption I don’t think we’ll be able to shake. The man killed himself from depression. If I were his kid, I might ask myself why my love and existence wasn’t enough to keep him around—which can really weigh on someone. Suicide is no joking matter.

“We offer resources for foster parents,” Rose says. “There are support groups, parent-child counseling, and retreats you can go on to make sure the kids remain healthy and positive.”

“We’ll do everything in our power,” Owen says.

I nod. “Whatever it takes.”

Rose gives us both a wary smile. “I’m sorry I had to deliver such sad news. I hope you and your family have a wonderful night caroling.” She shakes my hand, then Owen’s, and walks out the front door. The chilly wind that follows is the perfect punctuation to the end of the dismal conversation.

“Think we should go talk to the boys?” I ask in a low voice.

“No,” Owen says. “Let them stay in their room until they’re ready to come out.”

“You don’t want to remind them of the caroling?”

“If they don’t want to go, I don’t think we should force them. Not now.”

To my surprise, the door to the boys’ room opens. Edmund and Luke walk out, neutral expressions until they reach the living room—then forced smiles.

“We’re ready,” Luke says.

Edmund chimes in with, “I can’t wait!”

“Are you sure?” Owen asks. “We don’t have to go anywhere. We could—”

“We should go,” Luke says, cutting Owen off. “Please.”

I give Owen a sideways glance. I can tell he’s just as conflicted as I am. What’re we supposed to do? Insist they stay home and dwell on the terrible news? Maybe the caroling will be good for them. Then again, it seems so sudden. Kids don’t cope this quickly. At least, no kids I’ve ever known.

“Are you two okay?” Owen asks.

Luke shakes his head. “We’re fine.”

The silence that follows says otherwise, but it’s clear the kids don’t want to discuss it.

“If you guys think you’re ready,” Owen says with a half-hearted smile. “Let’s get in the truck. I have bells and hats for everyone.”

“After we put a bandage on Edmund’s head,” I say with a sigh.

***

I’m not fond of caroling.

I don’t know the words to the damn songs because, unlike everyone else, I didn’t grow up singing them all the time. Typically Owen would go by himself and raise money with a few other park rangers. They donate everything to the local soup kitchen, and now it’s become a tradition.

This year the turnout is huge. Forty-five people. It’s not a group of carolers; it’s a whole damn band.

My breath comes out in hot clouds of mist as the sun sets in the distance. I hold the donation bucket as the others perform, attracting whole crowds with their bombastic singing. Owen doesn’t hold back. He reenacts the songs like it’s a cheesy high school play. He loves throwing himself into the snow during “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer,” and all the kids in the group laugh.

Well, all except for Luke and Edmund.

No matter how hard they try to act like they’re having fun, both of them are terrible actors. They smile when they catch anyone looking at them, but otherwise they’re silent and disturbingly emotionless.

But Edmund’s resolve cracks with each additional song about merriment and family. During “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas,” he gets red in the face and sniffles. When everyone sings and Mom and Dad can hardly wait till school starts again, I see him tear up and sob.

Luke kneels next to him, and I jog over, having known something like this would happen. We should have stayed home and let the kids deal with this whole mess at their own pace. Forcing them to interact with so many others isn’t the way to manage stress.

“Edmund, stop,” I hear Luke say as I draw near. “You’re only making things worse!”

I push the brothers apart. “Enough, enough. We’re going home.”

The other carolers give the boys odd glances before moving away, no doubt to give us privacy.

“We shouldn’t go back,” Luke says.

“No, we shouldn’t have come out in the first place. C’mon. Let’s head back to the truck.”

Edmund sniffles and walks up to me, his eyes bloodshot. “I wanna go home.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Although the group continues to sing, Owen breaks away from the crowd—in the middle of his performance—and rushes over. “Hey, is everything okay? What’s going on?”

“We’re leaving,” I say. “The kids aren’t feeling it.”

Luke shakes his head. “This is important to Owen. We shouldn’t cancel another outing.”

“We can do it again next year,” Owen says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Everything’s fine. If we need to go back home, let’s go back home.”

Luke glares at his younger brother, his entire demeanor shifting to anger. With clenched fists he shouts, “Look what you’ve done, Edmund. I told you this would happen! You’re ruining everything!”

His shouting, understandably, upsets Edmund further. The younger boy bursts into hysterical sobs, his whole face wet with tears. I get nervous and anxious with a child thisupset, but Owen swoops in and gives the kid a hug. With little effort, he picks Edmund up and holds him tight.

“Nothing is ruined,” he says to Luke. “Carter, let’s head back to the truck.”

Luke shakes his head and runs off toward the crowd—the complete opposite of the way to the truck. I try to stop him, but the scrawny kid evades my grasp.

“I’ll go after him,” I say to Owen. “You take Edmund.”

Yeah, just what caroling needed. A chase scene.

I run after Luke and catch up to him fairly quick. A morning doesn’t go by that I don’t train or exercise. It’s all part of being a park ranger. Even the snow offers little trouble. My footing has grown accustomed over the years.

“What’re you doing?” I say as I grab his shoulder, pulling him back.

Luke comes to a stop, his face just as red and soaked with tears as his younger brother.

Yeah, another perfect element to caroling. Family problems out for the world to see.

We’re far enough away from the crowds that I doubt any of them are listening, but still. I’m not into showcasing my personal problems, and Luke and Edmund don’t deserve to be shown around when they’re under a lot of stress.

“Send us back to the foster system,” he says through straggled breaths. “I want to go back.”

It hurts to hear him say that. I grab at my jacket, at a loss for words. “Why?” is all I can muster.

“I-I don’t want… I don’t want to go through it again.”

“Let’s go back to the truck. We can talk about it at home.”

“No! You don’t understand. I don’t want to go back. I don’t—I don’t want to go there and then hear you don’t want us anymore.”

“What?” I balk. “What’re you talking about?”

“You hate us,” Luke says, jerking his head to the side and glaring at the snow. “Y-you’re going to send us away be-because… because we’re problems. That’s what everyone does.”

“That’s not true.”

“That’s what our dad did!”

Again, I find myself in a verbal minefield. What do I say to that? What do I say to him to let him know that’s not what’s on my mind? Where’s Owen when I need him?

“You’re upset all the time,” Luke says, his tears coming without many sobs, like he’s past the point of being upset and fallen deep into sorrow. “You hate Edmund’s cat. You don’t get to work with your h-husband anymore. I’m… I’m a failure that’s costing you money… because I’m not good at school and….”

He loses his voice.

Damn. This is my fault. The parenting classes even warned me about stress—not to put it out in front of the kids, to contain my anger—and now look what I’ve done.

“All the other foster homes sent us away,” Luke whispers. “Because we were too much trouble. Edmund brought home a cat at another home too. That’s when they thought he was too much trouble. Another family didn’t want to deal with… my schooling. I just… I don’t want to go through that with you and Owen. Not with you two….”

What am I to say? Words can’t do it justice.

I grab Luke and pull him into an embrace. The kid doesn’t fight it, and I squeeze him tight. He presses his face into my jacket, and I can feel his convulsions as he sobs, but I don’t care. I also don’t care if the others watch or if they think I’m an awful parent or if the whole world assumes I’ve done something terrible. Luke needs someone and that someone has to be me.

I place my gloved hand on top of his head, not saying a word.

Through the wind and chill, I shield Luke, waiting until he calms down. When he finally stops shaking, I pat his beanie. A few more moments, and he relaxes a bit, no longer a ball of frustrations.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

Luke stares up at me.

“I never should’ve been so—” I struggle to find the right word. “—heartless. I should’ve been more supportive. And more vocal about, well, my dedication to being a parent.”

Luke says nothing.

“I should know more than anyone what you two are going through.”

“Why?” he asks.

“My mother died when I was ten. Lung cancer. My father was already a religious guy, with strict principles, but he was never the same afterward. Everything was harsher. No fun allowed. He prayed to a picture of my mother every night before bed. I know that sometimes people change and that it’s hard to understand why.”

I’ve only ever told Owen about my mother and how her death affected my father. I don’t like talking about my home life, not with anyone. But Luke should know he’s not the only one to experience a family member rocked over another’s death.

“Is he still around?” Luke asks.

“He passed away. Heart failure.”

I don’t know if the information helps Luke, but his eyes shift down to my jacket, vacant, as though he’s contemplating our conversation with a seriousness that wasn’t there before.

“We’re not going to send you away because you have problems,” I say. “Everyone has problems. I knew it before you arrived, and I shouldn’t have given you a reason to doubt. It’s not about me—it’s about you. I want what’s best for you.”

“Edmund and I can stay?”

“For as long as you can put up with my callous behavior,” I quip.

He actually chuckles at the comment. “And Legos? She can stay too?”

I let out a long sigh. “Yes. And Legos. She’s… part of the family now.” Such a painful statement. But that’s what I signed up for.

“You really don’t hate us?”

“The only person I hate is myself—and that’s for ever giving you the impression I hated you.”

Luke says nothing. The tip of my nose burns with each frigid inhale.

“Let’s go back to the truck,” I say. “We can go home and relax. Tomorrow things will look better.”

“All right. That’s sounds good.”

****

Owen sidles up close to me as I rest back on the couch.

“Your turn, Edmund,” Owen says.

The little tyke rolls the dice and then moves his Monopoly reindeer piece the appropriate amount of spaces. Then it shifts to my turn, and I roll, amused that the dice are both red and green. How many Monopoly versions are there? Owen said they even had a Thanksgiving set, but I’m still in awe that a Christmas version exists. It’s Monopoly. One version is enough.

“Are you tired yet?” I ask, giving Edmund the once-over.

“Nope,” he says as he collects some money. “I’m too excited.”

Owen wraps his arms around one of mine. “It’s almost Christmas, Carter.” He points to the clock. 11:35 p.m. “Can you believe it? Our first Christmas as a family!”

I yawn. “Yeah. But Santa’s not going to show up if everyone’s awake.”

Edmund shakes his head. “No. He’ll show up. He’s a good guy.”

Luke moves his candy-cane piece around the board. Once finished, he looks up at me and Owen, with an odd look on his young face. “Hey, uh… do you mind if I give you both your Christmas gift early? I don’t want to wrap it because I don’t want to ruin it.”

“You got us a gift?” Owen asks, genuine surprise in his voice. “I love Christmas gifts! Let’s see it!”

Luke hops away from the kitchen table and runs into his room.

While he’s away, I pet Legos. She sits, curled in a tight ball, right in front of me—right on top of my paper money. That’s Legos. She does what she wants.

Luke returns a moment later, a piece of paper in his hand. He hands it to me, and I glance down at the drawing. I hold my breath, stunned at the level of craftsmanship put into the piece.

It’s me and Owen, standing at the edge of the picnic stop that overlooks Kabetogama Lake. The vibrant oranges, reds, and purples—the perfect blend at sunset. It’s like he caught a photo of the place and translated it into fantastic strokes of a colored pencil.

“I wanted to give you a photo of the two things you love the most,” Luke says to me. “Nature and Owen.”

Owen smiles wide, and I can tell he’s getting a little choked up. I can’t hold back a smile. It’s a good picture. A damn good picture. The kid has talent I didn’t even know existed. He’ll be famous one day, if he wants.

“Thank you,” I say once I have control over my voice.

Owen nods. “It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever seen. Okay,” Owen adds as he stands. “If we’re all giving out wonderful and perfect gifts, I have something for everyone.”

“Seriously?” I ask. “It’s not even Christmas.”

“It’s a whole month of Christmas,” Edmund says matter-of-factly. “I think it’s okay if we open presents.”

Luke nods. “Yeah.”

Owen jogs to the master bedroom and returns a few seconds later carrying a single piece of paper. Did he draw something too?

He hands it over. It’s a picture of a house—a house for sale.

“I talked with Maggie over at the bank,” he says with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. “I know I went behind your back, Carter, but she helped me through everything and…. It’s three bedrooms, three bath, and right next to Edmund’s elementary school.”

“We would get our own rooms?” Luke asks.

Edmund squeals in delight.

I look over the picture, examining the shabby roof and busted door. “The place looks like a fixer-upper.”

“Yeah,” Owen says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought you’d like that better. Plus, it’s cheaper.”

Heh. I do like fixing things. How does Owen always know the best darn answer?

I toss the paper onto the table. “Well, as long as we install a little cat door, I think it’s the best Christmas gift that anyone could have given anyone this year.”

Both the boys jump up and down, excitement flowing through their blood with each heartbeat. I don’t blame them. I’m pretty excited as well. Damn Owen for always coming through on Christmas. The man is going to make me a believer of miracles.

Then everyone stops celebrating and turns to me with expectant eyes.

“What?” I ask.

“Well?” Owen asks. “Don’t you have a gift you want to give out?”

Edmund and Luke wait patiently. I glance back down at the glorious picture of the lake, and my resolve breaks.

“Well, I was planning on putting them under the tree tonight,” I say, everyone holding their breath. “But I guess I can tell you.”

“What is it?” Edmund asks, scooting up close on the table, his eyes as big as quarters.

I sigh. “I got a TV and video game… thing.”

“Really?” both Edmund and Luke shout in unison.

“Calm down,” I snap. “It’s nothing special. A normal TV. One video game system, or whatever you call it.”

“A PlayStation?” Edmund asks with a gasp.

“Yes. I think.”

“Ohmygosh!”

“And a game called Lego Batman.”

I swear Edmund’s heart practically stops. Luke laughs, and I give him a sideways glance.

“I can just imagine you in a video game store,” he says with a snort and another loud laugh. “That would have been a better Christmas gift!”

Owen nods. “Yeah. I would pay money to watch Carter attempt to talk to the clerk about video games.”

“Ha ha, you guys,” I say with a grin. “I get it. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Without warning Luke and Edmund rush around the table and hug me. I tense up, unaccustomed to blatant shows of affection, but I loosen a bit when Owen comes to complete the family embrace.

“Merry Christmas, everyone,” Owen says.

I glance at the clock. 12:02 a.m.

“Merry Christmas,” I say, enjoying the warmth.

Best damn month of Christmas a man could ever have.