Chapter 17
~ Braden ~
My thoughts and feelings are a mess. What a mistake to come to this family Christmas fiasco. I can’t believe Sammie can act so normally after that erotic lap dance, but I should be glad, since Jolene didn’t suspect a thing.
After Sammie changed her stockings and shoes, and she touched up her makeup, she and Jolene walked off, chatting excitedly about the Yule log.
I don’t see what the big deal about lighting a log is, but at least the three Elfprentices got a lesson in how to use tinder and kindling to get a fire started in order to get a big, green log to light.
I kept away from Lindsay throughout the boring dinner. The food was traditional: glazed ham, mashed potatoes, green beans, and a festive Christmas salad made of spinach, pancetta, beets, and kale—red and green.
My mother had all these creative recipes, and she was casual and fun. None of this dress-up stuff and traditions. She invented things and improvised, using whatever ingredients she had on hand. We used to have plastic Christmas flamingos on the lawn instead of reindeer, and Grandpa made lawn decorations and lights every year that were different and creative. One year, we had a row of surfboards wearing Santa hats, and another year, we put up a roof display of a Christmas caterpillar pulling a sleigh that was a Santa snail.
Lindsay picked at her food all through dinner while glaring at Sammie who was practically on Will’s lap. I couldn’t stomach watching them, so I excused myself during dessert and carried a tray into Grandpa’s room.
He had to miss the Yule log lighting because we didn’t want him to inhale any smoke. I bring him a slice of gingerbread cake with buttermilk frosting.
Grandpa’s still wearing the Santa hat, but Erica, the home health aide, has taken off his beard so she can use his feeding tube.
My heart pains to see him so weak, and even worse, I hate that I abandoned the family because of my differences with Dad. Grandpa told me he, too, didn’t agree with Dad’s quick remarriage, but it doesn’t make me feel any better for leaving and never looking back.
I wander around the tree and look at the ornaments while waiting for Erica to finish feeding Grandpa. A few of them are familiar ones my mother collected. I smile at the porcupine I threw a tantrum for when I was three. Every year, my mother used to take us to a craft store to pick an ornament. She was supposed to give us our ornaments when we left home, and I can always remember her making me promise to put up my ornaments.
Don’t let your wife hide them in the back,she used to laugh and pretend to look under the tree.Unless it’s the pickle.
Mom was the best. I wonder what she’d think about me if she knew how I turned out.
“He’s all yours,” Erica says on the way out the door. “I’ve already given him his medications, so he should be alert for an hour or so. I’m going to church but will be back to help him before he goes to sleep.”
“Thanks. We all appreciate your help.” I shut the door quietly and return to Grandpa’s bedside.
His cheeks are rosy, and he pats my hand excitedly. “This Elfprentice game is the best. They sang carols, decorated the tree, and everyone danced a jig to canned fiddle music. If I had my fiddle, I could have jumped off the bed and kicked up my heels with them.”
“I’m so happy. How did Sammie do?”
“She’s in the lead.” His shaky hand retrieves a spiral notepad from the nightstand. He flips it open, showing me the scores. “I gave them a quiz on the significance of the family heirloom ornaments, and Sammie got them all. She also got extra points for the most creative way of stringing the popcorn and cranberry garlands. Can you guess?”
I study the garlands, alternating between popcorn and cranberries with no discernable pattern. “She’s not doing every other or even one cranberry for every few popcorns. It seems random.”
“Ah, but that’s the genius of your brilliant daughter,” Grandpa says with his finger pointing up. “I’ve never met a young one who knows Morse code. The cranberries are the spacers. Two popcorns signify a dash, one popcorn is a dot, and when there are two cranberries in a row, it’s the end of a letter. What do you think her message is?”
“I don’t know.” I trace my way around the garland with no clue.
“Then I won’t tell you either,” Grandpa says. “I already gave you a clue. Looks like you’ll need to figure it out.”
“I know Morse code,” I explain lamely, because they all believe I’ve been in the military and work for the government. “I’ll read her message later, because I’d rather talk to you.”
“Good. I have a lot of questions for you.” He lays his head back on the pillow and catches his breath. “Your grandmother missed you more than anyone. I know you were deployed overseas, and I don’t want to make you feel bad, but when she got sick, she oftentimes dreamed about you.”
“I missed her greatly, too.”
What can I tell him? That I was imprisoned during Grandma’s illness? True, the charges were trumped up, but all criminals claim they’re innocent, and I don’t want to ruin Grandpa’s impression of me. I did rob that convenience store because I owed money to a few casino owners.
“Ah, well, they say we can’t tell the difference between our dreams and reality. Grandma was always so proud of you—especially after nine-eleven when you deployed to Iraq. You must have hated Christmas in the desert.”
I wonder who told him that lie? It wasn’t me.
“It wasn’t too bad,” I continue with the fib. “My buddies had family to miss. I was so pissed off at Dad I didn’t worry about calling or not getting care packages.”
