John leaned back in his recliner, paging through the editorials. “Son.”
Romeo came down the stairs, having changed after church into a pair of sweatpants and a Huskies sweatshirt Ingrid had purchased from the booster club. He’d given her not even a mumble of complaint when she woke him for church that first Sunday or in the weeks since. But although he sat quietly in the pew as if listening, she noticed he didn’t sing along, didn’t crack the pew Bible.
At least he attended.
He came over, took the plates from Ivy. Brought them to the table.
Ivy glanced at Ingrid, wearing an expression of approval. But that was Romeo—a charmer to the bone. Ingrid had figured that out about two days into his stay, and he hadn’t broken her heart yet.
He returned for glasses while Ivy tossed the salad. Ingrid pulled the lasagna from the oven, then the garlic bread wrapped in foil.
“Smells good, Mom.” Darek got up, taking the casserole pan to the table. “I can’t remember the last time we had lasagna.”
“It’s Romeo’s favorite.”
Romeo glanced at her, wearing a hint of a smile. “How did you—?”
“You told me about that time you visited Grandma and Grandpa Young on your birthday and they served you lasagna. This is my mother’s recipe.”
He gave her a full grin now, and she could feast on it.
She put the garlic bread on the table and surveyed it. “Water—”
“I’m on it,” Romeo said, grabbing a pitcher from the cupboard.
John came to the table. “Tiger, it’s time to eat. Go wash your hands.”
Tiger gave Butter a kiss on her head, then ran to the bathroom, emerging a moment later with the front of his shirt sopping wet.
Ingrid hid a smile as Ivy dried him off, then scooted him onto his chair. Romeo sat next to him. “Hey, kid.”
He held up his fist, and Tiger bumped it, saying, “Pow!” Apparently they’d developed a ritual.
John watched, wearing a frown.
Ingrid held out her hands. “Let’s pray.”
And for a moment, as John’s voice rose, all felt right. As it should be. Her family around her, safe. Whole.
“Amen,” John said.
Indeed.
They dug into the meal and Ingrid dished up extra for Romeo. He grinned at her.
“So you started in Friday’s away game, huh?” Darek passed him the salad.
“Yeah. Rigley is out, so they put me in.”
“What was it that they were calling you before the game?”
Romeo made a face. “Chunks.”
Ingrid raised an eyebrow.
“Because I sorta lose it before every game.”
“Ew,” Ivy said. “I suddenly don’t feel well.”
Darek turned to her, concern on his face. “Are you sick?”
She laughed. “I’m just kidding, Darek. Stop worrying.”
Why would Darek worry? The question landed on Ingrid’s lips just as John reached for the bread and said, “If you keep playing like this, you’ll wind up in the play-offs.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Maybe your brother will make it back in time to see a game.”
Romeo set his fork down and reached for his glass of milk. “Yeah. Maybe.” He took a drink.
Ingrid wanted to turn her husband to ash. “You know what you should do after lunch? Take Tiger outside and play some football. See if Darek and Tiger can keep up with you and Romeo.”
Now John was frowning at her.
Romeo looked at her, then at John. Swallowed. “That sounds fun.”
“Yeah! And Butter can play too!” Tiger waved his fork in the air as if in triumph. Ivy grabbed for his wrist before he cast tomato sauce onto the walls.
John nodded. “Sure.”
“I’ll help work on the costumes for the live Nativity,” Ivy said. “I can glue wings.”
“What is a live Nativity, anyway?” Romeo said.
“It’s a community project. Every year, one church hosts the Christmas Eve live Nativity scene, complete with a small petting zoo for the kids—goats, bunnies, sheep, and a live Mary and Joseph. The kids dress up as angels and shepherds, and the community gathers to sing carols together. It’s really quite festive. I signed us up a couple years ago and then forgot about it.”
“Sounds . . .”
“Cold?” John said. “Yes, it is. Mary and Joseph have to stand there for at least an hour while the community sings songs and the pastor of the church gives a sermonette.”
“When did you become the Grinch, Dad?” Darek asked. “Tiger can’t wait to be an angel, right?”
“I wanna be a shepherd.”
John smiled. “You’ll be a cute shepherd.”
“Scary. I want to be a scary shepherd.” Tiger set his fork down, put his hands on his hips, and growled.
“He’s got shepherds on the brain,” Ivy said.
“What are you going to be for Halloween, big guy?” Romeo asked.
“A shepherd!”
“See?” Ivy said.
Ingrid laughed.
“You know what I’m going to be?” Romeo said. “I’m going to be seventeen.”
“It’s your birthday?” Ivy asked.
“Yep. I’m a Halloween baby.”
“I’ll make you a scary cake,” Ingrid said.
“So you had to choose between trick-or-treating and celebrating your birthday?” Darek said.
He shrugged. “I never really went trick-or-treating. Or celebrated my birthday. Or any holidays, really. My mom tried, but she worked a lot, and she got overtime when she worked a holiday, so . . .”
The table went quiet. Romeo took a drink. Put his glass down. “But we still celebrated. I mean, my mom would bring home leftovers from the restaurant where she worked, and one year we went to Grandma and Grandpa’s house for Christmas. I’ll never forget that Christmas morning. I came downstairs and Santa had been there.” He looked at Tiger. “You know Santa, right?”
“I have a special stocking he puts candy in. Nana made it. It has my name on it and everything.”
Romeo looked at her. “Wow. I had a stocking that Christmas too—something fuzzy and red. It didn’t have my name on it. But it was a great Christmas. Just Mom and me—my brother was at his dad’s. It was about a year after Eddie died, but we were okay, you know? And Mom was happy. She was . . . doing good.”
He swallowed then, his voice dropping. “Yeah, that was a good Christmas.”
Ingrid had stopped eating, the food in her stomach going cold, sour. She looked at John, who met her eyes with a dark expression and pursed lips.
“How about if I heat up the apple crisp, and you guys can go play some football.” She cleared her plate, and the conversation behind her turned to Vikings football and their chances against the Lions.
She blinked back tears as she rinsed the plate in the sink. Why hadn’t her sister replied to even one of her letters? If she’d known . . .
Romeo brought over his plate. “That was really good, Aunt Ingrid. And don’t worry about a Halloween cake. But I would be happy with some of your chocolate chip cookies.”
“As you wish.” When she looked at him, he grinned, and she couldn’t help it. She popped him a kiss, right there on his cheek.
He didn’t wipe it off as he went back to the table to bus the dishes.
“Go long!” John took the ball off the line, backed up, and began to dodge Tiger as Romeo bounded through the veneer of snow toward the makeshift goal line.
John laughed, putting his hand on Tiger’s head. The boy had him by the jacket.
“Grandpa, you have to fall down!”
Romeo faked one way, then sprinted the other, waving his hands. John spiraled it out to him, right in the breadbasket, and Romeo caught it a second before Darek wrapped his arms around him, slamming him to the ground.
John let Tiger take him down, grabbed the little boy, and tickled him.
“I think that was a touchdo
wn!” Romeo said, getting up.
“I think we’re going to miss kickoff,” Darek said, giving him a hand. “And I think I’m too old for this.”
“You’re too old?” John said. “Whatever. Tiger, push Grandpa off the ground.”
Tiger put all his weight into John’s shoulder, grunting. “You’re too big!”
John hauled him over his shoulder like a sack of grain as Tiger laughed. “Look, another football!”
Darek came running up, and John flipped Tiger into his arms. “A handoff!” He let Darek carry the rascal into the house. They’d made a mess of the snow, but he could admit that Ingrid’s suggestion had loosened the tension in him from lunch.
Romeo had the power to steal his wife’s heart right out from under her, and frankly John could feel himself losing the battle to hold back his own affection for the kid. But Romeo had a future that they had no right to, and John needed to keep that in the forefront of his brain. In the meantime, maybe he could step up and help give the boy what he needed—freedom and the opportunity to make something of himself.
Away from the vices and mistakes of his mother.
Romeo walked over, a flush to his cheeks. “Great game. You might have played defensive end, but you throw like a quarterback.”
“And you have soft hands, kid. You could be a wideout if you wanted.”
Romeo flipped John the ball.
John caught it, lined up his fingers along the laces. “In fact, you could do anything you wanted. Including join the military. I’ve been thinking about it, and I’d be happy to sign the papers for your emancipation, if you’d like. Ingrid says you’re doing well in school. You could get your GED and enlist, maybe even be stationed near your brother.”
Romeo had stopped, his expression enigmatic. “Oh.”
John frowned. “Isn’t that what you want? You said you did—or at least I thought the social worker mentioned it—”
“Yeah. Sure. Whatever. That’s awesome, man. Thanks.” He extended a hand to John, but the handshake felt weak, fast. “I’ll talk to the school, see when the next GED test is.”
He took off for the house, leaving John in the muddied snow.
Inside, the house smelled like gingerbread, thanks to the candle Ingrid had lit on the kitchen counter. He toed off his boots, drawn by the sounds of football and laughter in the den. Darek had pulled Tiger onto his lap, and Ivy was curled up beside them as they listened to the pregame show.
Romeo sat on the floor, petting Butter, the dog’s head on his lap. He tousled her ear as if it were an old habit.
“Where’s your aunt?”
Romeo shrugged.
“I think she’s upstairs? Or maybe in the basement? I dunno,” Ivy said. She laid her head on Darek’s shoulder, closed her eyes.
John glanced at the time—five minutes to kickoff—and headed upstairs.
She wasn’t in their bedroom, so he descended the stairs to the finished basement. Or partially finished. They’d thrown down a remnant carpet, painted the cinderblock walls, and stored their old furniture. The kids had used it for years as a gaming/television room, and it smelled moist and clammy.
He noticed a light streaming from the storage area near the furnace room. “Ingrid?”
Nothing. He walked closer and poked his head in.
She sat on a box, another open at her feet, a pile of red-and-white felt in her hands.
“What’s going on?”
She took a breath that sounded tremulous. And when she looked up, forcing a smile, he’d have to be an idiot not to notice she’d been crying.
“Honey?” He came in, knelt in front of her.
She wiped the moisture from her face. “It’s nothing. Silly, really. I’m fine.”
He touched her hand. “You don’t look fine.”
“I just miss the kids.” She stood. “I think I’ll box up a few of Grace’s and Eden’s ornaments and send them down to the girls so they have some for their Christmas celebrations. And Darek will need his for his tree.”
“I’m sure they’d like that. . . .”
Reaching into the box, she pulled out an open craft kit stuffed with thread and felt and sequins. She inserted the felt into the kit, then held on to it as she closed the box and shoved it back under the shelf.
“What’s that?” He gestured to the kit.
“Just an old stocking kit. I thought I’d finish making it for Romeo.”
“Ingrid—”
She held up her hand. “For him to take with him, John. I know he’ll be leaving, but you heard him—the boy never had a stocking of his own. Everyone needs to have their own stocking. It’s a reminder that they’re loved.” She pushed past him. “Isn’t the game starting soon?”
“Yeah . . .” But he didn’t follow her. Instead, he leaned down and looked at the box, examining the scribbling on the outside that labeled it.
He heard his wife’s step on the stairs as she went to join the family. But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.
He had no words, just the swish of his heart in his ears.
For Benjamin.
INGRID COULDN’T EXACTLY put her finger on it, but somehow, over the past week, a switch had flipped in Romeo.
He’d gone from being the charmer to the boy she’d expected—aloof, angry . . . trouble. He no longer greeted her when he came home and had even shut Butter out of his room. Ingrid had found the dog sleeping in the hallway outside his door the last two nights.
Lifting a shoulder to hold the phone against her ear, she opened the oven and pulled out a tray of chocolate chip cookies. A birthday treat that she hoped might shake him out of his funk. Outside, the weather had turned pale and bleak, the temperatures dropping. Trick-or-treaters would show up in parkas—if they made the trek to the resort at all. Usually she left the lights off and went to town to celebrate at the community party.
Tonight, however, they’d have a party here.
A full-out jamboree, if she could end this call with a holy family lined up for the live Nativity. Jason and Nicole Backlund would be perfect for Mary and Joseph, and their eight-month-old would make an adorable baby Jesus. “I know it’ll be cold, but you can wear warm clothes under your costumes, and little Neil will be all toasty in his snowsuit—”
“I don’t think so, Mrs. Christiansen. Jason’s family has their annual Christmas Eve party, and we haven’t attended the live Nativity in years.”
Right. “Okay, thank you.” She hung up and crossed the Backlunds off her very short list.
She set the cookies to cool and headed to the entry, grabbing her jacket, her UGGs. The phone rang just as she retrieved her keys. She picked it up in case it was John.
“Ingrid, hey, it’s Seb. I wanted to talk to John about Romeo.”
“John’s in town, and I’m just headed out to pick up Romeo from practice.”
“That’s the thing. . . . Uh, Romeo wasn’t at practice today.”
She sat down on the bench. “What?”
“I didn’t want to mention this, but he wasn’t at practice yesterday either. And he showed up late two days before that. I haven’t talked to Coach Knight, but my guess is that he’s probably off the team.”
“No, Seb—he’s worked so hard.”
“For a month, yeah. And frankly we could use him in the game tomorrow. But you can’t ditch the team and expect to show up and play.”
“Of course not. I’m just—”
“Ingrid, is everything okay with him? Because at practice on Monday, I barely recognized him. He played angry, then picked a fight with another player, and I heard a string of words out of his mouth I had never heard him use. Is he okay?”
“Maybe he misses his mom. I’ll find him. Thanks, Seb.”
She hung up and closed the door behind her. What could Romeo be thinking? And if John discovered he’d missed practice . . .
Just in case he’d returned to the school, she went there first. The school was dark, so she drove down to Licks and Stuff, searched for h
im through the windows, then headed over to the Java Cup. How many places could a kid hang out after school in a town this size?
Maybe he’d gone to the community Halloween party? She parked outside the community center, walked in, and stood for a moment, swept back to the days when her children dressed as hoboes and Jedi and pirates. She jumped out of the way of two zombies and moved toward the cookie table.
No Romeo.
Ingrid walked back outside, a rock in her stomach. Please, Lord. She didn’t know when it had happened, but he felt like her own son, the worry for him as tangible as it might have been for Casper or Owen.
When her cell phone rang, she dug it out of her pocket.
“Hey, it’s me. I’m still in town. I thought I’d swing by the school and pick up Romeo.”
John. She took a breath. “Actually, I’m in town too. Um . . .”
“What’s the matter, Ingrid?”
Oh, why was it that when it came to the kids, he could read her mind? “Nothing—”
“Tell me.” His tone turned solemn, and for a moment, they were once again, standing by Darek when he told them the news of his pregnant girlfriend, gathering at Owen’s side in the hospital when his career might be over, or even watching their two youngest sons brawl on Eden’s wedding day.
“He’s missing, John.”
Silence. Then, “Define missing.”
“He didn’t show up for practice today.” Or yesterday, but she didn’t want to add that.
“How many days has he missed?”
She sighed. “Two. But he’s been upset for a few days.”
“I’ll find him.”
“John—”
“Ingrid, listen, I could have told you this kid was trouble.”
“That’s not fair. He was doing great and then something—”
“He’s a time bomb waiting to go off. I’m surprised it took this long. You can’t blame him for being an emotional wreck just like his mother.”
“Well, maybe she wouldn’t be if someone actually cared. If someone stopped to listen instead of shutting the door in her face.” She didn’t mean to shout, wasn’t sure where the anger came from, but listening to Romeo’s stories and knowing they could have done something had seeded a growing ache inside her.
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