Stockings and Sugarplums (Hearts of Snow Lake) Page 5

  Brandon makes a face, then pulls the blanket tighter, nodding.

  Sean nods too, then looks over at Liam. “Call Social Services in the morning,” he says.

  Liam, to his credit, doesn’t try to argue. “Thank you,” he says, leaving it ambiguous just what he’s thanking Sean for. Probably for not taking Brandon away right now more than showing up when I called.

  Sean heads out, and I make my way toward the door too.

  “I’m sorry for all the trouble,” I say to Liam, glancing over at Brandon who’s finally started to settle down on the pillows provided.

  Liam shrugs, leads me outside, pulling the door closed behind him.

  “Thanks for trying to make it right,” he says softly. “At least now someone official knows where he is and that I haven’t kidnapped him,” he adds with a shrug.

  “Sean’s a really good guy. A friend. I know you haven’t been around long enough to know him well, but he’s got a big heart, especially when it comes to troubled kids. We’ll figure out how to help Brandon.”

  Liam arches a brow. “That’s quite the one-eighty you’ve done.”

  I shrug. “I know I’m a cynical asshole, but I don’t think he deserves my cynicism. You definitely don’t. You have better judgment than I was giving you credit for.”

  Liam offers a tiny smile and a shrug. “Now you know better,” he teases, leaning in to give me a quick kiss. “Have a good night.”

  “You too,” I answer, voice a little hazy. I wasn’t expecting a kiss after everything that happened, but my lips are tingling from it, my heart a little lighter. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Of course,” he says, one last small smile sent my way before he slips back inside.

  Chapter 6

  Liam

  Despite everything I said to Phineas and Brandon, I am worried when I go to bed. I’m worried I’m going to wake up and Brandon will be gone. I’m worried that he’ll decide this isn’t a safe place.

  I’m not worried about my things, but that doesn’t make it easier to sleep. I toss and turn, on high alert while listening for the sounds of anyone moving through the house, creaking floorboards, a squeaky door opening. I drift in and out of sleep for a few hours, then drag myself out of bed when the sun starts to come up.

  Mom’s still asleep, Brandon’s still asleep, all is well as I tiptoe through the chilly house and bump the thermostat up. With the heater humming to life, I head into the kitchen to start on breakfast. He wouldn’t let me cook for him last night, but I know Brandon’s got to be starving. The way he gulped down his cocoa and the sunken look in his eyes? He hasn’t had a good meal in months.

  Coffee’s brewing, bacon’s frying, eggs are scrambling, and there’s bread in the toaster when Mom comes staggering in in her robe. She goes right for the coffee, and I’m not sure she noticed the lump of Brandon on the couch.

  “Morning,” she says, drawing the robe closer.

  “Morning,” I answer.

  “That’s a lot of food,” she comments, not much of a breakfast eater herself.

  “We’ve got a guest,” I say, jerking my head toward the living room.

  Mom frowns, then pokes her head out the doorway to take a look.

  “What in heaven’s name?”

  “His parents kicked him out,” I say. “I caught him bedding down in the Nativity scene and told him to come stay with us. He’s been on his own for a few months.”

  Mom clucks her tongue, shaking her head. “Poor thing. What is wrong with his parents? Drug addicts?”

  “Homophobes,” I say, jaw clenching over the word.

  Mom gasps, hand going to my arm, giving me a gentle, supportive squeeze.

  There, but for the grace of God, go I…

  I was Brandon once upon a time. I was fourteen when I came out to my parents, fearful and ashamed. It took them some time to come to grips with it. It wasn’t an easy adjustment, but I don’t think they ever considered kicking me out. When it became clear that our church wouldn’t support them, or me, my parents changed denominations, unwilling to be part of a community that would shun their only son.

  It would have been easier for them in some ways to disown me. To let the church be right, to pray for me but never talk to me. My mom’s got too big a heart for that, though. She never tried to change me, never bought into any of that conversion therapy bullshit. She knew there was a place for us. She knew God has love for all his children, and she wasn’t going to let anyone tell her any differently.

  Brandon needs that. His parents let him down, but he needs to know that they’re wrong.

  The couch creaks, and we both turn toward the living room at once. Minutes later, Brandon cautiously pads into the kitchen, looking even more worried and hungry in the light of day.

  “Breakfast is just about ready,” I tell him. “This is my mom, Meryl. Mom, this is Brandon.”

  Mom smiles brightly. “It’s nice to meet you, Brandon. Are you a hugger? I’d like to give you a big hug.”

  Thank God, she took that little talk about consent to heart. Mom’s from a different time, when you could just go around hugging whoever you wanted and they just had to deal with it if they were uncomfortable. I told her these days, people like to be asked. It took some practice, but I think she’s got it now.

  “Um… okay,” Brandon says, not sure.

  Mom’s still smiling. She sets her coffee down and pulls Brandon into a big bear hug. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she says, squeezing him tight.

  It takes him a moment, but his arms come up, and he hugs her back. My heart is pretty much a melted puddle by the time I bring the food to the table.

  “Bon appetit!” I say, pulling out a chair for myself.

  Mom takes a small spoonful of scrambled eggs and a slice of bacon for herself. Brandon hesitates, before taking a similar amount. I get a big spoonful and three slices of bacon, then pass the spoon back to him.

  “You’re gonna want more than that. Help yourself.”

  He looks at me, then at Mom, and she nods reassuringly.

  “Why are you so nice to me?” he asks suddenly, the spoon clattering against the bowl.

  I frown. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

  “You don’t know me… You’re not my family…”

  “Family can be those you choose more than blood relations sometimes,” I tell him. “We’re all God’s children. No one should go hungry or be cold.”

  He frowns, shoving scrambled eggs around his plate with his fork. “But what about…” He presses his lips together and looks over at my mom. “You know.”

  Just when I thought my heart couldn’t ache for him any more. He truly believes he deserves to be abandoned and on the street just for kissing a boy.

  “You’re not the only one at this table who’s kissed a boy ,” I say, smirking.

  “Am I the only one who’s kissed a girl?” Mom asks innocently.

  “Mother!”

  She grins, adding a shrug. “The seventies were fun,” she says, a sparkle in her eyes. “Your father certainly didn’t mind.”

  I just roll my eyes, sighing when I look back at Brandon. It’s hard to be mad at Mom though, because for the first time since I’ve met him, Brandon’s smiling.

  “We don’t judge here,” I say. “That’s up to the big man upstairs. He told us to love one another, and that’s what we do. Unconditionally.”

  Brandon frowns, looking down at his plate. “That’s not what my church was like.”

  My heart squeezes, and I fight to keep a neutral expression as I nod. “Some people lose their way. You will always be welcomed here, and at our church if you ever want to give it a try.”

  “Thanks,” he says, eyeing the bacon. Without a word, Mom plops more slices on his plate.

  “You need some meat on your bones. When was the last time you ate a decent meal?”

  Brandon shrugs, practically inhaling the bacon now that it’s in front of him.

  I watch him, heart growing
heavier by the minute. I know I need to call Social Services. I promised Sean I would, and I don’t expect him to forget about the situation. But as soon as I call them, they’re going to take him away, I just know it.

  And then what? Where will he go? Who will be taking care of him? Will they understand what he’s been through? Will they care?

  “You know, I’ve been trying to get Liam to help me with the tree trimming for over a week and he still hasn’t. I bet you’re a great tree decorator, aren’t you?” Mom asks.

  Brandon shrugs. “I dunno.”

  “Well you know how to hang ornaments, don’t you?”

  He shrugs again.

  Mom frowns.

  “Have you never decorated a tree?”

  Brandon makes a face. “I wasn’t allowed to touch it.”

  I think this might be the thing that breaks Mom. She looks like she’s having trouble making sense of what he’s just said to her. Tree trimming is a long-standing tradition in the Kendrick family. Christmas tunes on the radio, me and Mom carefully placing each ornament so the tree is properly baubled. It was always Dad’s job to untangle the lights and get them and the star on, but that’s fallen to me now, and I’ve been a little busy with other stuff.

  There are half a dozen decorated trees in the church. I just haven’t felt the need to have one here too, but I know Mom’s been itching for it to be done. There’s only a few weeks till Christmas and our tree is still naked and dark.

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything, yeah? I’ll bet you’re a natural.”

  Brandon’s smiling again, and it feels like all is right with the world for a moment.

  “Okay,” he says, completely won over by my mom. I’m lucky she’s here. He’s been a tough cookie to crack.

  When everyone’s done with breakfast, I collect the plates and start working on dishes while Mom gets the radio going with some classic Sinatra Christmas tunes.

  “Um… Liam?” Brandon asks, startling me. I thought he was with Mom in the living room. He’s too quiet. I spin around too fast and he jumps back, equally startled.

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “Um… Never mind,” he says, starting to retreat.

  “It’s okay, what’s up?” I try again, gentle as I can manage.

  “Do you think… Could I have cocoa?” he asks, like he’s asking for the whole world.

  “Yeah, of course!” I say, relieved. I grab the pot out of the dishrack and look around for the carton of milk. “I’ll bring it to you when it’s ready, okay?”

  He beams. “Thanks!”

  While I’m in the kitchen, I can hear Mom being her normal silly self, and then I hear Brandon laugh, warmth flooding through me all at once. This kid needs us. I can’t stand the thought of him going to someone else.

  “Liam! Come here please,” Mom calls a little while later. They’ve got the lights on, but neither one of them is tall enough to get the star on top of the tree.

  “Careful,” Mom warns, as I lean forward, making the tree tilt with me. “You’re going to knock it over!”

  “I’m not going to—” My phone starts ringing, and I nearly stumble, the vibration in my pocket spooking me. I recover at the last minute, shove the star in place, and straighten up. “—knock it over. See?” I say triumphantly as I brush off my hands and retreat to answer my phone.

  I pause before answering. Snow Lake PD is on the caller ID and my stomach sours.

  “Hello?” I answer, already knowing who’ll be on the other line.

  “Afternoon, Pastor. Just checking in that you’ve had a chance to call Social Services?” Sean asks, so matter-of-fact.

  “I was just about to,” I lie. I’ve been putting it off all morning now, and it’s officially not morning at this point. I’ve postponed as long as I can and I know it.

  “Good, good. I’ve got Lonny’s number right here for you,” he says, rattling it off in his good-natured way. There’s no doubting that Sean’s exerting some pressure here because of his position, but I understand why he’s doing it. I can’t fault him for it.

  “I appreciate it,” I mutter, ending the call after some more pleasantries.

  One call to the county office, and there’s someone scheduled to come by this afternoon to talk to us. Probably to take Brandon away.

  I can’t let that happen without trying to stop it.

  “Hey Mom, can I talk to you for a second?” I ask, pausing in the doorway long enough to admire the work they’ve done on the tree. Already it’s nearly covered in ornaments, each one placed with care.

  “You’ve got this, honey,” Mom assures Brandon before she follows me into the kitchen.

  “What’s the matter?” she asks. Mom powers on at full-blast, reading my emotions like they’re written in plain text on my face.

  “There’s someone from Social Services coming over later to talk to Brandon… and us, I guess,” I say, mouth dry. “I know it’s fast, but I feel like if I don’t do something, he’s going to slip through the cracks…”

  “What are you saying, honey?” Mom asks, everything about her exuding the same concern I feel. At least there’s that. My mom’s as much of a bleeding heart as I am.

  “What would you think about us fostering him?”

  Her eyes go wide, jaw dropping slightly. “You’re serious? That’s a big step—”

  “I know, but—”

  “I think it’s a great idea,” she says, smiling brightly before wrapping me in one of her patented bearhugs. “I’m so proud of you. He’s such a sweet, bright boy, and he desperately needs a stable, loving environment.”

  “I’m so angry with his parents. How could anyone do something like this?”

  Mom hugs me again. “You don’t understand it because you’ve got such a big heart, baby. That’s your superpower, always has been.”

  “I get it from you, I’m pretty sure,” I say, smiling at her, the overwhelming rush of anger and sadness fading away into love for my mother. She always knows how to make me feel better. I can’t believe we went so many years without living close together. I’m so happy she wants to settle in Snow Lake too.

  “All right, then I guess when the social worker gets here, we’ll see what the next steps are,” I say, my stomach flooding with butterflies at the thought.

  Me, a parent?

  I’ve always loved kids. I’ve loved working with kids, helping them grow into amazing people, and I’ve always thought I’d make a good parent, but with my preferences and my career, it didn’t seem possible.

  This is a lot, though. I’m already dealing with a new congregation, a new town, my mom living with me, possibly a new relationship with Phineas, and now I want to add parent to the list? Am I setting myself up for failure?

  He never gives you more than you can handle, I remind myself, eyes going skyward.

  “Is this Your plan for me?” I ask, stomach still swarming. I hear Mom and Brandon laughing again, and I swear the sound is enough to fill me with warmth better than a shot of whiskey. It all just feels right. Like this is what my Christmas should be.

  Well… almost. There’s still one person I’d be willing to add to the mix.

  Speak of the devil, my phone rings, Phineas’s number popping up fast enough to chase off the panic that it’s the social worker calling back so soon.

  “Hey,” I answer with a small sigh, unable to hide my relief that it’s him.

  “Hey,” he replies. “How’s everything?”

  “Good,” I answer. “Nothing stolen, no one murdered.”

  “Ha. Ha,” he deadpans. “What about Social Services?”

  “They haven’t showed up yet. They’re coming sometime this afternoon.”

  “That’s good,” Phineas answers. “Are you okay?”

  I’m not expecting the question, or its sincerity. It cuts right through my protective layers and I find myself opening up without meaning to.

  “I’m nervous,” I say, a heavy sigh following. “He’s already been t
hrough so much, and he actually trusts me. What if I’m screwing up? What if this just makes things worse for him?”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Phineas assures me. “Do you want me to come over? Moral support or something?”

  My chest squeezes, and the thought of seeing him again makes my whole body respond with eager anticipation. I hadn’t considered asking him to come over, but with the offer, it sounds like the best thing I can think of right now. I love my mom, and she’s great support, but she’s no Phineas.

  “That would be amazing. Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, of course. Paul can watch the shop. I’ll be over in a few.”

  “Thank you,” I say, sure my voice doesn’t fully convey my level of gratitude.

  Maybe this will be okay. Yes, the social worker is coming, and yes that could be an unmitigated disaster, but I’m not going to be alone. I’ll have Mom, who’s already agreed we should try to foster Brandon, and I’ll have Phineas, who makes me feel like I can accomplish anything.

  We might just come out of this all right after all.

  Chapter 7

  Phineas

  “You’re rushing out of here again?” Paul asks, incredulous as I quickly shove my arms through coat sleeves.

  “Kind of an emergency, sorry,” I mutter.

  He sobers, all hints of teasing leaving.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I think so. I just need to go. I’ll fill you in later, okay?”

  Paul makes a face, but nods. “Okay, be careful. Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Thanks,” I say, pausing for a moment to let that sink in before I run out. For all the drama and fighting between me and my twin, we’ve always got each other’s backs when it really matters. He doesn’t have to know what’s going on to know that he’ll support me and jump to my aid if needed.

  I’m lucky to have him.

  But I don’t have time to dawdle. I don’t know when the social worker is going to show up at Liam’s, and I want to be there when they do. Liam sounded so worried on the phone, so hopeless. He shouldn’t be alone.