“So’s freedom of religion,” Zoe replied.
Reid grinned. “You try all you want, but you can’t take Christ out of Christmas, honey.”
“Zoe—” I interrupted.
“He brought it up,” Zoe replied.
“Maybe it’s time for the next course.” Liddy, always the peacemaker, jumped up and cleared the dinner plates, then disappeared into the kitchen.
“Let me apologize for my wife,” I said to Reid, but before I could finish the sentence, Zoe turned, furious.
“First of all, I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself. Second of all, I’m not going to sit here and pretend I don’t have an opinion about—”
“You came here spoiling for a fight—” I argued.
“Then I’ll happily call a truce,” Reid interrupted, smiling uncomfortably. “It’s Christmas, Zoe. Let’s just agree to disagree. Stick to topics like the weather.”
“Who’s ready for dessert?” The swinging door to the kitchen opened, and Liddy stepped through, carrying a homemade cake. Written across the top in white icing it read:HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY JESUS.
“My God,” Zoe murmured.
Liddy smiled. “Mine, too!”
“I give up.” Zoe backed away from the table. “Liddy, Reid, thank you for a lovely dinner. I hope you have a great Christmas. Max? There’s no need for you to leave if you don’t want to. I’ll just meet you at home.” She smiled politely and headed toward the foyer to get her boots and her coat.
“What are you going to do, walk?” I called after her. Excusing myself quickly, I thanked Reid and kissed Liddy good-bye.
By the time I got outside, Zoe was already trudging down the street. The snow, unplowed, reached up to her knees. My truck barreled through it easily and stopped beside her. I leaned over and opened the passenger door. “Get in,” I snapped.
She thought twice, but she climbed into the cab of the truck.
For a few miles, I didn’t speak to her. I couldn’t. I was afraid I might actually explode. Then, when we hit the highway—which had been plowed—I turned to Zoe. “Did you ever think howhumiliatingthat was for me? Is it really too much to ask for you to make it through one meal with my brother and his wife without being a sarcastic bitch?”
“Oh, that’s really nice, Max. So now I’m a bitch, because I don’t feel like being brainwashed by the Christian right.”
“It was a fucking familydinner,Zo. Not a revival meeting!”
She twisted toward me, the seat belt cutting against her throat. “I’m sorry I’m not more like Liddy,” Zoe said. “Maybe Santa could slip a lobotomy into my stocking tonight. That would help.”
“Why don’t you just shut the hell up? What has she ever done to you?”
“Nothing, because she doesn’t have a mind of her own,” Zoe said.
I’d had plenty of discussions with Liddy about whether people like Jack Nicholson and Jonathan Demme owed their success to B movies; aboutPsycho’s impact on film censorship. “You don’t know anything about her,” I argued. “She’s a . . . a . . .”
I swung the truck into our driveway, letting my voice trail off.
Zoe jumped out of the truck. It was snowing so hard now that there was a curtain of white behind her. “A saint?” she said. “Is that the word you’re looking for? Well, I can’t be one, Max. I’m just a flesh and blood woman, and apparently I even suck atthat.”
She slammed the passenger door and stomped to the house. Furious, I spun the wheels in reverse and tore down the street, skidding.
Between the fact that it was Christmas Eve and the heavy storm, it seemed like I was the only one on the roads. Nothing was open, not even McDonald’s. It was easy to imagine I was the last person left in this universe, because that’s sure as hell how it felt.
Other men were busy building bicycles and jungle gyms so that their kids could wake up on Christmas morning and get the surprise of a lifetime, but I couldn’t even manage to produce a kid.
I pulled into an empty shopping center lot and watched a plow go by. I remembered the first time Liddy had seen snow.
I reached for my cell phone and dialed my brother’s house, because I knew she would answer. I was just going to hear her say hello, and then hang up.
