An Angel For Christmas

Morwenna hovered, watching as they started up the stairs. “Great kids,” Gabe told Shayne.

He didn’t ask about their mother; somehow, Shayne volunteered information.

“Yes, they’re great kids. They’ve stayed that way through the divorce,” Shayne said.

“Most important thing to remember in a divorce—your children still have you both as parents, the people they love most in the world. I’m glad to hear that you and your ex are respecting one another. You should be proud.”

Morwenna didn’t get to hear her brother’s answer; they were already up the stairs.

Her father emerged from the kitchen, a glass in his hand.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded.

“Honestly, Mike, it’s Christmas!” Stacy said.

“Shayne is giving him something to wear that isn’t soaked with snow,” Morwenna said.

“I’m getting the shotgun,” Mike said. “I just don’t trust that guy. I’m going to have it on hand at all times.”

Genevieve, unsurprisingly for her age, was not an ace at wrapping packages. In a few instances when he didn’t cut the paper quickly enough, she cut pieces that were too small. Small items, stocking stuffers, were wrapped in enough paper to conceal a small elephant.

“Wow, there’s a lot of stuff here!” Connor told Bobby, his eyes wide. Then they clouded. “I guess we won’t get much here,” he added.

“We won’t get presents?” Genevieve asked.

“Of course you’ll get presents,” Bobby told him.

But Connor shook his head knowingly. “We did get presents, Genevieve. Remember? Daddy and Gram and all sent them before, and we opened them at home.” He looked at his uncle apologetically. “We got good presents, Uncle Bobby. Gram likes to give presents, huh—is that why there are so many here?”

“Gram has always loved to make everyone a stocking,” Bobby said, “including Gramps. But I wouldn’t worry—you’ll get presents.”

“Yes!” Genevieve said. She had a little lisp. Her front tooth was loose. “Santa Claus will come here, right?”

Shayne knew that Connor didn’t believe in Santa Claus, so he brought a finger to his lips and winked.

“That’s right. And Santa Claus can find any house,” he assured Genevieve.

Connor rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure.”

Shayne poked his head in the doorway. “Hey, Bobby, thanks. Want to take over in my room for a minute?”

“Sure. Take over what?”

“Watching our—guest. The guy we picked up—Gabe—is freezing. The snow soaked through his clothing. I’ve got him in my room, but I need you to stand by the door while I dig in my closet for something for him to wear.”

“I can find him something—” Bobby said.

“No, that’s cool, I still have you by an inch or so in the shoulder and chest region, and the guy looks like he’s about my size. I just don’t want to leave him standing there. Connor, you can watch your sister for a minute, huh?”

“Yeah, sure, Dad,” Connor said. He made a face. “Bobby still has scissors from when he was in grade school. Can you believe that Gram keeps stuff that long?” he asked with a laugh. “I’ll watch her, but I don’t think Genevieve can hurt herself.”

“I can cut paper!” Genevieve announced proudly.

Shayne walked over to ruffle his son’s hair. “Thanks,” he said. “And, of course you know how to cut paper, Genevieve. You’re a very bright little girl.”

“Mommy taught me,” she said.

“Yell if you need me,” Bobby said, rising quickly to follow his brother out to the hall and to Shayne’s room. Shayne’s room. None of them lived there anymore; actually, they’d never lived there. Well, Mom had, and they had often spent summer months and spring and Christmas breaks there. This place evoked a lot of good memories. His parents were in Philadelphia, Shayne was in Pittsburgh and Morwenna was in New York. Not that far, as the world went. But this was where they had always gathered.

Where it seemed their mother had created a memorial to the past, when they’d actually been a family.

Bobby was suddenly ashamed of his thoughts. They were a family.

The bathroom door was ajar.

“He took a serious crack on the head,” Shayne said when Bobby crooked a brow at him. “He could fall—he could need help. Look, none of us are in high school football anymore. Just hang around outside the door and be ready to rush in if you hear him slip or scream or rip out the shower curtain, huh?”

“Fine, I’ll be ready,” Bobby said. He leaned against the wall by the door that was an inch or so open. The water started to spray.

He heard his brother fumbling around in the closet. Shayne emerged. “I’m just going down to toss this stuff in the dryer—freshen it up. I’ll be right back.”

“Big bro, you’re the M.D. Don’t be gone long,” Bobby said.

“Two minutes. Just going to toss the stuff around because it’s been in a closet,” Shayne said. Two minutes? Hell! What if something happened? What if the guy did fall? Shayne was right—they weren’t accustomed to showering in a mass steam room of sweat anymore.

Awkward.

He could hear the shower spray, and nothing else.

He tapped lightly on the door. “You all right in there?” he asked.

“Yep, fine, thanks.”

“Yell, if—”

“Thanks!”

Bobby was startled when the shower stopped. He backed into the foot of his brother’s bed and sat with a plop.

Gabe Lange came out from the bathroom, one towel tied around his waist as he used a second to dry his hair.

“I can’t tell you how good it feels to be warm,” Gabe said.

“Ah, great. Yeah. I can imagine.”

“Are you from here? Winter can be pretty brutal, huh?”

“My mom is actually from here. I was born in Philadelphia. We were all born in Philadelphia. I mean, Shayne, Morwenna and I,” Bobby said. “What about you?”