“The display!On your roof!”Brookman’s voice hits a pitch that probably wakes the entire neighborhood.
Dad stares at him like he’s grown a second head.“What are you talking about?”
“Your roof, Bob!Look at your damn roof!”
Dad pushes past Brookman, storming out onto the front lawn in his bathrobe and slippers.I follow, my bare feet hitting the cold wood of the porch, and watch as he tilts his head back to look up.His jaw drops.
Santa and his nine reindeer blaze in the early morning light, each LED bulb glittering like a diamond.The sleigh overflows with presents, and somehow, in the daylight, it looks just as majestic.
For a moment, Dad just stands there, frozen.Then his hand slowly rises to cover his mouth.
“Surprise, Dad,” I mumble weakly, coming to stand beside him.
He spins to face me, his eyes wide.“Did you—Did you do this?”
“Not me.It was Alexander.”
Mr.Brookman’s face turns purple as he stomps onto the yard beside us.“You expect me to believe this was a coincidence?That my display goes missing and suddenly you have this fancy new one?”He gestures wildly at our roof.“This has you written all over it, Bob!You just can’t handle that I was winning the Silverbell Christmas Cup, so you’re trying to sabotage me!”
“This wasn’t me!”Dad protests, but there’s uncertainty creeping into his voice now as he looks between me and the display.
“Oh, really?Then how do you explain it?”Brookman crosses his arms.“My snowmen were on my roof last night.This morning they’re gone, and you’ve got th-this spectacle up there!”
“How was I supposed to take down your damn display anyway?”Dad throws his hands up.“I’m a plumber, not a cat burglar!You think I climbed onto your roof in the middle of the night and hauled down those giant snowmen?”
“You can say whatever you like.I know it was you.”Brookman’s eyes narrow.“And I’m going to file a complaint with the police.”
He pauses, and I watch his expression shift—calculation sliding over anger like oil over water.His voice drops, becomes almost conversational.“But I could be encouraged not to.If you agree to give me that Santa display of yours.Fair trade, wouldn’t you say?”
Dad’s entire body goes rigid.The color drains from his face, then floods back twice as red.“My son-in-law got me that display, and I’ll be damned if I let you steal it, too!”
I nearly choke on my own spit.“He’s not your son-in-law?—”
But Dad’s not listening.He’s too busy jabbing his finger back at Brookman.“You’ve got some nerve, Danny!Coming over here, making accusations, trying to steal from me again!”
“Again?”Brookman sputters, but his face flushes a guilty crimson that spreads from his neck up to his receding hairline.“I never?—”
“My snowmen!Three years ago!Don’t think I forgot!”Dad’s voice rises.“They disappeared from my garage and showed up on your roof two days later!”
Brookman’s jaw works, his face getting redder by the second.“You can’t prove—I’ll see what the police have to say about this.”Brookman tries to recover, straightening his bathrobe like he’s adjusting a power suit.“I’m calling them right now.”
“I hope you have the receipt to back up your claim.”
Alexander’s voice cuts through the chaos like a knife through butter.I spin around to find him standing in the doorway, fully dressed in jeans and a dark sweater, looking completely composed despite the fact that ten minutes ago I was straddling him in bed.
Don’t think about that.Do not think about that.
“Who the fuck are you?”Brookman demands.
Dad puffs up instantly, pride radiating from every pore.“My son-in-law.”
“He’s not your son-in-law, Dad,” I moan quietly, desperately, but it’s useless.Dad’s on a roll.
Alexander steps onto the porch with that measured, powerful stride I’ve seen him use in boardrooms.“Because if you don’t have a receipt proving ownership, my lawyers would love to know how you can claim someone else’s property.”
Brookman goes still.“What?”
“You heard me.”Alexander stops beside Dad, crossing his arms.“Do you have proof of purchase for the display you claim was stolen?”
