Stockings and Sugarplums (Hearts of Snow Lake) Read online

  “Lucky it’s not snowing tonight,” Phineas says, taking in a deep breath of cold air.

  Bible Study has long been over, the church all locked up and asleep for the night, but it’s never fully dark in there. There are always a few lights running, just enough to make the stained glass windows glow from within. I fell in love with the sight the first time I saw it, not believing that this church is mine, but now seeing it coming up makes me nervous.

  It’s time to say goodnight for real this time.

  “Couldn’t have asked for a nicer evening,” I say. “Or better company,” I add with a smile. His answering smile is more bashful.

  “I agree,” he says, both of us stopped on the sidewalk a hundred feet away from the church. The parsonage is hardly even visible from here, so I don’t think I have to worry about Mom being nosy.

  “There’s something I should have done earlier…” I say, turning my body to face him, already only inches apart. Phineas’s brow furrows, confused, but I don’t have time to think about it or question it. I just go for it. I close the distance between us and press my lips to his. He’s understandably surprised, but he doesn’t pull away.

  No, Phineas groans and grabs the front of my coat like it’s a lifeline. It never goes any further, just that level of intensity ratcheting up the heat between us without the need for more. I’m breathless when I pull away, a little dizzy even. Most guys I’ve kissed just shove their tongue in my mouth at the first opportunity and it’s not very pleasant. Phineas clearly understands less is more. It’s even better than I realized it, I think, and now my brain is mush, giddiness warring with the bittersweet knowledge that this is over for now.

  My face is hot, and I can’t stop grinning. I turn away into the cold, hoping to cool the fever in my blood. Just when I turn, I see something.

  My heart stops before my brain makes sense of it. I reach out for Phineas’s hand.

  “I think I saw someone in the Nativity scene,” I whisper, voice as quiet as I can make it. Phineas stiffens, yanking on my hand.

  “What are you doing?” he whisper-hisses.

  “You take that side, I’ll take this side. They can’t get away.”

  “Liam, wait! Damn it,” he mutters. I glance over just long enough to make sure he’s in position.

  I knew I saw something out here the other day. Seeing someone again is too much to be a coincidence.

  I give a silent hand signal to Phineas, and we both converge on the manger, ready for a fight.

  It’s dark behind the manger, the main light focused on the front of it, and now that I’m back here, it looks like the hay has been rearranged, pushed into a pile. Atop the pile, there’s a huddled dark shape, so withdrawn I can’t even tell…

  Phineas pulls out his phone, flipping on the flashlight.

  “I’m gonna call the cops,” he says, and instantly the boy’s head shoots up, eyes wide and panicked, looking for an escape with us blocking his only ways out.

  “Wait,” I say to them both.

  “What’s your name?” I ask, crouching down to get a closer look at the kid. He’s filthy, too skinny, his face sunken in from hunger. It’s hard to tell how old he is in this state, but I’d guess near teens. Not a little kid, but not old enough to be out here on his own by a mile.

  The kid looks at Phineas, blinking at the flashlight.

  “Put your phone away,” I tell him. “No one’s calling the cops.”

  “What?” Phineas protests. “He’s trespassing. He’s—”

  “He didn’t hurt anything, did he?” I say, looking around. Everything’s just where it should be, other than the hay he’s piled up into a makeshift bed.

  “I’m Liam,” I tell him. “I’m the pastor at this church here. This is my friend Phineas. What’s your name?”

  “B-B-Brandon,” he stutters, teeth chattering in the cold. He’s not just huddled up out of fear, the kid’s freezing out here.

  “Nice to meet you, Brandon. I live right over there,” I say, gesturing toward the parsonage. “Do you want to come with me? Get warmed up, maybe have a nice cup of cocoa?”

  I can feel Phineas shuffling awkwardly, probably still thinking we should just let the police handle this and wash our hands of it.

  Well, that’s not what the ministry’s about. That’s not what I’m about.

  “Cocoa sounds good,” Phineas says, encouraging in his own way. I appreciate it. He doesn’t have to understand why I’m doing what I’m doing to support me. It’s more than I could’ve expected from him.

  “I could make some for you too,” I tease, slowly starting to stand, offering my hand to Brandon. “Come on. You don’t want to be out here in the cold, do you?”

  Even in his position now, as low as it is, this kid is hesitant to take my help. I can only imagine how much he’s been hurt in the past to have this reaction, how much his trust must’ve been broken. My heart shatters at the thought.

  He doesn’t take my hand, but he does stand up, taller than I expected, gangly and awkward, definitely pre-teens or early teens. His clothes are filthy, threadbare, not at all seasonally appropriate. It’s a wonder he hasn’t frozen out here already.

  Mom’s already in bed, which is probably for the best. With her nighttime cocktail of medications, she won’t be waking up until morning. Plenty of time for me to figure out what to do here.

  “You guys just make yourself comfortable. I’ll start the cocoa,” I say. Phineas takes a seat on the couch, but Brandon won’t. I put the milk on to boil first, then decide to address that.

  “I’ve got some clean clothes you could wear,” I say. “Might be a bit big for you, but it’ll definitely be warmer, huh?”

  He doesn’t say anything, just looking at me with those deep brown eyes so full of pain he can’t even hide it. My intestines clench, throat tightening. I can’t lose it in front of him. I have to take care of him first. Make sure he’s warm and fed and safe, and then behind closed doors I can have a breakdown over the injustices of the world.

  I don’t expect to get an answer out of him one way or the other, so I head to my room, grab some clothes I haven’t worn since seminary, and drop them off in the bathroom, where I’ve got a fresh toothbrush to add to the offering.

  “Okay, it’s all in there if you want to change, wash up, whatever. Up to you,” I tell him just as the kettle’s starting to whistle.

  While I’m in the kitchen mixing up the cocoa, Phineas joins me. “Are you sure you don’t want to call the cops?” he asks.

  “We don’t even know what happened to him,” I say, handing him a mug. I take the other two back to the living room just in time for Brandon to come out of the bathroom in a pair of faded flannel pants and a T-shirt that’s two sizes too big for him. He looks a lot warmer, but he’s clinging to his dirty clothes like they’re treasure.

  It’s probably all he’s got.

  “I’ll wash that for you. Is that okay?” I ask, setting my cocoa down so I have a free hand. “How about we trade?” He’s eyeing the cocoa as intensely as he’s clinging to his clothes, so it seems like a decent bet.

  He hesitates for a moment, but then loosens his grip, letting me make the swap.

  “Why don’t you sit down and enjoy that?” I offer on my way to the laundry.

  Finally, with the washer going and cocoa in everyone’s hands, butts on the couch, I feel like I can join them and try to crack this egg.

  “Good cocoa,” Phineas says, setting his mug down.

  Brandon’s slurping every last bit of his.

  “I can make you another one if you want,” I say, trying not to laugh.

  “Really?” he asks, incredulous.

  “Of course. Are you hungry? I don’t know what I’ve got, but I’m sure I could whip something up for you.” I’m so excited to hear him speak again that I take off galloping forward, but it’s too fast for him. Brandon’s eyes widen and he shakes his head.

  “No… That’s okay.”

  “Another cocoa
then, at least,” I insist.

  “I can put the milk on,” Phineas offers.

  “Is there someone we can call for you? Are you in trouble? Are you hurt?” I ask, trying to be as gentle as possible. I don’t want to press the kid, but we do need to know what we’re dealing with here.

  Brandon shakes his head at every question.

  “My parents don’t want me,” he says simply, no emotion in his voice.

  “What? Why would you say that?” I ask, heart in my throat. This is probably some misunderstanding and his parents are worried sick.

  “Because they told me so,” he says, still stoic. “I…” He bites his lip, looking from me to Phineas, who’s leaning in the kitchen doorway. “I kissed a boy,” he says, burying his head in shame.

  My stomach drops.

  “And your parents were upset about that?” I ask.

  He nods. “They told me I’m not their son anymore. I had to leave.”

  Phineas isn’t hiding his horror, but I try to keep it together for Brandon’s sake. Inside I’m raging. I can’t imagine disowning your child because of their sexual orientation. I know it happens all the time, but I’ve never understood it. It’s fear rather than gospel.

  “How long ago was that?” I ask, pretty sure I’ve already got a good idea judging by the clothes he was wearing.

  “Summer,” he says with a shrug. The kettle steams, and Phineas is on the job of mixing up the instant cocoa and delivering it.

  Now I really do want to call the cops, but on Brandon’s parents. This is abandonment, neglect, abuse, something, right? But at the same time, I can’t advocate for Brandon to stay with the people who would do this to him.

  I have no idea how this kid has managed to take care of himself for the last four to six months without being discovered; it’s impressive. Almost as impressive as how he manages to gulp down the cocoa like it’s nothing.

  “Well, if you want, you’re more than welcome to stay here. I don’t have an extra bed, but you’re welcome to the couch.”

  Brandon’s eyes get bigger. He swipes the back of his hand across his chocolate mustache. “Really?”

  I smile. “Yeah, I can make up a little bed for you here, how’s that sound?”

  “You’re not going to send me back?” he asks, suspicion etched into his face.

  “Not if you don’t want to.”

  “No,” he says, so fast it breaks my heart.

  “Did you see the toothbrush I left you?” I ask.

  “That was for me?”

  “It is. Why don’t you go get ready for bed and I’ll get it all set up here.”

  Brandon hesitates, looking for a trap or an ulterior motive.

  “Okay,” he finally says, leaving for the bathroom.

  I blow out a heavy breath on my way to the linen closet. This is not what I was expecting tonight. An added complication to my already stressful holiday season. That doesn’t matter right now, though. I don’t care how many complications I have to deal with if it means helping a kid like Brandon not freeze on the streets just for having the audacity of being born gay.

  “Liam, I know you want to help him, but are you sure this is a good idea?” Phineas asks, voice low. I can hear the sink running, Brandon presumably brushing his teeth, and I tuck the sheet into the couch cushions with a huff.

  “It’s fine.”

  “He’s homeless. He could rob you blind, he could—”

  “Risks I’m willing to accept,” I snap. “If you haven’t noticed, this is my life. I don’t have anything worth stealing, but if someone needs it more than me, it’s theirs. I’m not turning the kid out into the cold.”

  “Okay, but what about safety? You only know one side of the story, he could—”

  “Phineas, I appreciate your concern, but I know what I’m doing, I—”

  The back door clicks shut loud enough to make us both start, all the warmth draining out of me at once.

  When did the water stop running?

  How much did he hear?

  I race through the house, Phineas close on my heels, and manage to get to the back door just in time to see Brandon’s form retreating into the misty cold.

  “Think he heard me?” Phineas asks, sounding guilty.

  I scoff. “Yeah, I do.”

  I don’t have time to be irritated. I take just long enough to hop into boots and throw on a coat before taking off after him, snow crunching underfoot.

  “Brandon! Brandon come back!” I call, voice pitched with hysteria. Already I feel responsible for this kid. I feel like I owe him better than he’s been given in the past.

  He didn’t even take his shoes. He’s going to freeze to death if we don’t find him soon.

  Chapter 5

  Phineas

  Shit. This is my fault, and now Liam’s pissed at me. He’s got every right to be, but there’s no time to focus on that now with Brandon out here in the cold all alone.

  I know Liam didn’t want me to call the police, but this is different. We can’t rely on ourselves.

  Besides, Sean owes me.

  The phone rings a couple of times before he picks it up, sounding like I pulled him out of sleep.

  “’Lo?”

  “Hey Sean, it’s Phineas… Molleni,” I add.

  “I don’t know a lot of Phineases, yeah,” he says, impatient. “What’s up?”

  “Do you remember when I helped you pick out that perfect platinum band for Porter and you said you owed me one?”

  Sean clears his throat, sounding less tired when he answers. “That’s what most of us call a ‘figure of speech,’ but yeah, I remember it.”

  I swallow, the lump thick in my throat. I’m probably already digging my hole deeper when it comes to Liam just by calling Sean, but I really need him to come through for me.

  “Well, I need your help. Pastor Liam is trying to help a runaway, but we lost track of him and could use another set of eyes… He really didn’t want me to call the police, so I’m asking for a favor—”

  “I can be there in fifteen, near the church?”

  “Yeah, I don’t expect he’ll get too far in this weather.”

  All in all, the phone call takes only a couple of minutes, and then I’m jogging after Liam to catch up.

  “Brandon!” he calls into the night, breath puffing up in a cloud around him.

  “Brandon, I’m sorry!” I call too, the weight of guilt pressing down on me. “I really am,” I say to Liam, his irritation coming off in palpable waves. “I didn’t mean to scare him off. I just wanted to be sure you were thinking things through… I shouldn’t have questioned it, especially not where he could overhear.”

  Liam sighs, shoulders slumping. “I know you meant well. Let’s just find him.”

  “Please, Brandon. I want to help,” Liam says, his voice fading off into the mist. We’re both using our cell phone flashlights to look for him, the shadows cast long and spooky.

  He’s a far better man than I could ever be. So selfless and giving. He really does just want to do right by this kid, no matter what that takes. It wouldn’t matter to him if he did get robbed blind as long as the kid had a warm place to spend the night.

  I think I’m starting to understand why the ministry is a calling for him. He can’t help himself. Self-preservation isn’t even part of the equation when there’s someone hurting and in need.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a spot of color—Liam’s worn-out flannel he loaned to Brandon. I elbow Liam, just to get his attention, neither of us turning our lights on him. He’s hunched at the base of a tree, arms wrapped around himself, his lips already turning blue.

  “Come on,” Liam says, approaching with his hand out. “Come back with me,” he says.

  Headlights sweep through the trees, Sean’s car pulling up in the snow. Luckily he’s in his personal car, not in uniform, or Brandon might make a run for it.

  “You called him?” Liam hisses.

  “I thought we might need help,” I answer
, fully prepared for his fury. I know I went directly against his wishes. I deserve his anger. I still think it was the right thing to do. We got lucky finding Brandon before Sean pulled up, but if we were still on the hunt, I’m sure Liam would be a lot happier for the assistance.

  “Let’s get inside before we all freeze,” he grumbles, leading the way. Sean follows us, and despite Liam being mad about it, I’m glad he’s here in case Brandon tries to take off again. I understand why the kid is scared. He’s been through hell, but he’s going to get himself killed if he keeps running off like that. Winters up here are no joke.

  Inside, Liam wraps Brandon up in a blanket and pulls out a space heater, setting it right in front of the kid while he answers Sean’s questions about what’s going on.

  Sean looks at me, and I’m silently pleading with him to remember that favor. He sighs, and shakes his head.

  “All right, Brandon can stay here tonight, but you have to call Social Services in the morning. They need to know what’s going on and get in contact with his parents,” Sean says.

  “What do you say?” Liam asks, looking at Brandon. “Think you’ll be okay staying put for the night?”

  “I don’t steal,” he says, words muffled because the blanket’s pulled up to his nose.

  “What?” Liam asks, head tilted.

  “I’m not going to take any of your stuff,” he says again, looking at me this time.

  I sigh, running my hand through my hair. “I’m sorry, Brandon. I should have never said that about you. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “You’re the first person that’s been nice to me,” Brandon says, looking back at Liam. “Why would I steal from you?”

  God, he just keeps rubbing it in, doesn’t he? I already feel like the world’s biggest asshole, and now I’m edging toward monster territory. The kid’s been on his own since summer and Liam’s the first person to offer him any kindness? What the hell? I thought this town was better than that.

  Maybe the kid’s just really good at hiding.

  “Don’t go running off again,” Sean says, wagging his finger at Brandon. “It’s not safe out there, and you’re in good hands here, okay?”