The Man Under The Mistletoe

He was sure Sonny was a good woman. Though she didn’t relate to her daughters very well, Francie’s free spirit particularly, he had no doubt she loved them. And she’d always been kind and welcoming to him since the first time Rosie had brought him home. But she was the stiff and slightly superior product of a privileged background and a life he guessed had turned out to be less than she’d hoped for.

She had appeared to have everything—beautiful home, handsome and successful children, an intelligent and successful husband loved by everyone. But there was always a certain disappointment in her eyes and in her manner, and everyone who loved her seemed willing to assume the blame for it.

That had always intrigued him. He’s been an only child in the most dysfunctional family this side of a Jerry Springer marathon. His father had been addicted to drugs, his mother an alcoholic, and by the time he’d been taken away by the state at fourteen and put in foster care, his father was in prison for armed robbery. His mother died of liver failure not long afterward.

But he’d never felt responsible for his parents’ lives the way the Erickson offspring felt responsible for their parents. Maybe it was because he hadn’t loved his. He’d wanted to, but neither had been sober or conscious long enough for him to really get to know them well enough to love them. Their bodies had been present, but no mind or heart for him to connect with.

He’d grown up strong and self-sufficient, and mercifully philosophical about coping with the life he’d been given. But he’d been lonely. Sometimes very lonely. Then he’d met Rosie at a party and everything had changed. Life was no longer simply acceptable, but happy, fun, filled with hope. He’d moved to Maple Hill and gone to work for the Mirror.

And then he’d lost it all again. He didn’t think he was to blame, but he had kept secrets from Rosie. When her emotional distance had made it impossible even to talk to her, he’d taken his secrets and left.

The move had seemed like the noble thing to do at the time, but he’d wondered since if it had really been cowardice.

That was something he intended to find out while he was here.

Matt hung up the few things he’d brought, put socks and underwear in the highboy, then put a pair of dress shoes and his bag in the bottom of the closet.

“What’s in here?” Chase asked, handing him the briefcase he’d carried up.

“My laptop,” he replied, “and some stories I’m working on.” He took the briefcase and placed it beside the bag.

“But that’s work.”

“Yes. I thought if I needed something to do…”

“But it’s Aunt Francie’s wedding. Grandma says she’s going to work everybody like slaves until it’s over.” The boy grinned happily. “Then she’s going away for a while and Aunt Rosie’s going to move in and stay with me until Grandma comes back. We’re gonna go to the movies and have pizza and take long walks around the lake. And sometimes she’s going to take me to the new arcade.”

“Sounds like fun.” Long walks around the lake had once been his and Rosie’s specialty. They’d identified all the flora and fauna around the lake, had loved spotting any new ones. “But right now I guess it’s just you and me.”

“That’s cool, too,” Chase said with enough enthusiasm to convince Matt that he meant it.

At the Breakfast Barn, they found a booth near a window. Rita Robidoux, a redheaded, middle-aged woman who always knew what was happening in Maple Hill and why, brought them menus and glasses of water.

“Well, will you look who’s here!” she exclaimed, grinning broadly at Matt. “Prue and Gideon Hale just got back together, you know. And now you just appear like a miracle. Goes to show you love’s catching. Where’s Rosie?”

“Hi, Rita.” Matt smiled into her welcoming face. “That’s great about Prue and Gideon. I read that she had a fashion show in Boston. But unfortunately, unlike them, Rosie and I are still separated. I’m just here for Francie’s wedding.”

Rita nodded skeptically over her order pad as though she knew better. “Yeah, that’s how it starts. Gideon came through on his way to Alaska and, well, you see how that turned out.”

“That’s them, Rita. This is Rosie and me.” He shook his head. “So, what’s the special?”

“Sirloin tips over noodles, comes with soup or salad and a roll. Or chicken-fried steak. Same deal.”

Matt consulted Chase.

Chase handed Rita his menu. “Hot buffalo wings, please, with blue-cheese dipping sauce, and…” He paused and turned to Matt. “It comes with celery, but I don’t like that. I usually get a side of coleslaw, but that’s extra.”

“And a side of coleslaw for my friend,” Matt told Rita. “Same for me, except that I like the celery.”

She wrote quickly. “Okay. And to drink?”

“Coffee, please. Chase?”

“Banana shake.”

“Wait a minute.” Matt stopped Rita’s hand before she could write that down. He leaned toward Chase and asked quietly, “Are you sure?”

Chase beamed. “I have hot wings all the time and I never get sick. I’m eight now, you know.”

Matt noticed the careful wording. “But does Grandma let you have a banana shake with them?”

“Grandma doesn’t come here. I come with Aunt Rosie.” His beam dimmed. “She never lets me have a banana shake. But I’d really like to have one now.”

“What if you get sick?”

Chase shrugged his bony shoulders. “Then I’ll still have had my two favorite things together.”

That was logical and rather profound; he was willing to pay for what he wanted. Matt found it hard to argue with such a sane philosophy.

“Okay. Banana shake,” he told Rita.

“Okay,” Rita said. “Be back with your drinks in a minute.”

“How’s school?” Matt asked. Rita returned almost immediately with the coffeepot and filled his cup. “Are you in third grade now?”

“Yes.” Chase made a face. “Multiplication tables. Yuck. But art is fun. I made Grandma a bill holder out of paper plates, and I glued a picture of me and my dad on it. She misses him a lot.”

Matt looked into his nephew’s open face and saw the sadness there. “You miss him, too?”

Chase nodded as he opened out his paper napkin. “Yeah. But Grandma doesn’t like to talk about him. Aunt Rosie does, though. Did you know that she used to ride on the handlebars of his bicycle when they were little? You’re not supposed to do that, but sometimes they did it anyway ’cause they were late for dinner and only Dad had a bike. Aunt Rosie almost drowned when she borrowed the bike and tried to ride it into the lake.”

Matt smiled. He’d heard that story. Water levels had been way down and a precocious seven-year-old Rosie had thought that meant the whole lake was knee deep. “Yeah, your dad told me,” he said.

Chase looked pensive for a moment. “Sometimes I miss him a lot, but then it’s okay ’cause I loved him very much and he really loved me. Aunt Rosie says not everybody gets that, so you have to be happy that you had it.”

“That’s right.” Matt wondered if that meant she’d come to terms with the losses in her own life or if she was just giving her nephew advice that she knew would help him cope.

Chase’s banana shake arrived with a large dollop of whipped cream on top, a little, round slice of banana sticking in it. The boy suddenly lost interest in the conversation.

ROSIE WAS PERCHED on a stool at a small bar in the kitchen, watching the news on a tiny television, when they came home. There was a bowl of cereal in front of her and a cup of tea. She slipped off the stool to give Chase a hug.

“Did you have a good time, Chaseter?” she asked.

“We had dinner,” he replied, sending Matt a look that asked him to honor the male code of silence about the banana shake. “Then we went to the store ’cause Uncle Matt forgot his toothbrush.” He held up the battery-operated toothbrush with a Nemo figure on the top that he’d exclaimed over and Matt had felt compelled to buy. “And look what I got!”

She admired it, then handed it back. “Cool. You should get to your homework, Chase.”

He rolled his eyes and blew air noisily. “But Uncle Matt’s only here for two days and I have to go to school tomorrow, then it’s the wedding, and then—”