“Are we playing pranks?”
“Shhh,” she pressed her finger to her lips.
“Are we supposed to be quiet?” I whispered.
“It’s meant to be a surprise,” she said in a hushed voice.
I nodded.
She gently walked across the floor. We jumped at every creak and squeak. The wood groaned beneath her delicate feet.
Denver pushed open each door, and silently chortled at her game. Holding her tiny belly, her body shook with festive glee. I couldn’t help but crack up at her covert antics.
She walked over to each and every bed. She pulled down the covers like one might at a fancy hotel, or on a cruise ship that offered turn down service. On each pillow she placed a small treat. Candy canes with pipe cleaner antlers. Bell shaped chocolates wrapped in red and green foil. Individually wrapped, tree shaped brownies with green icing. Brightly colored, twisted candy ribbons cut with floral patterns in the center.
I helped Denver place the treats down on the beds. As she lovingly described each friend and family member that occupied the room, we searched for the perfect candy, together. With double stick tape, Denver mounted a stocking on the wall above where their head would lie. Those stockings also came in all shapes, colors, and sizes.
Denver stuck her hand deep inside the velvet sack. She pulled out a wrinkled, brown lunch bag. She pulled out tiny scrolls that were tied shut with red twine, little diplomas for each family member. She stuffed each stocking with a scroll of paper. She chucked with elation.
“What do they say? Those little scrolls.”
“Nothing special. Sweet nothings for all of our guests. We like to send sugar plum dreams, and starry wishes to all as they sleep tight, nestled in their beds.”
“Who wrote them?”
“The three of us kids.”
“Do I get one?”
“You never know,” Denver gave me a sly grin. “But, don’t look yet. If you do, your dreams might not come true.”
“How can they not? Being here with you is a dream come true.”
“I can’t believe you said that!”
“Well, I did. And . . . it’s true.”
Denver shifted in her seat. She was squished around the small kiddie table at the far end of the dining room along with the rest of us. She squirmed. Seemingly miserable, she muttered and complained under her breath. Dereck and Debbie had taken their places at the head table. I had followed Declan and Poppy to the kids’ place settings.
“Remind me, why are we sitting here again?” Denver grumbled.
“W-W-W-e-e-e w-w-w-a-a-a-nted t-t-t-o e-e-e-s-s-s-c-c-c-a-a-a-pe s-s-s-o-o-o-me l-l-l-e-e-e-ss t-h-h-h-a-a-a-n p-p-p-leasant m-m-m-e-e-e-mbers o-o-o-f t-h-e-e-e f-f-f-a-a-a-mily.”
“You do not have to sit here if you don’t want to,” piped in Poppy.
But it was too late. I had led Denver here. It was my fault that she got stuck with the little ones.
“Now you get to eat with me and my coo-coo head brother,” a little girl giggled.
“Yeah, right, I also get to eat with my coo-coo head brother,” Denver grumbled. She adjusted herself at our crowded quarters.
Declan stuck his tongue out at his sister. The little girl cracked up even harder at the siblings’ spat. Denver high-fived the girl and winked, then broke out laughing as well. The contagion spread, and soon Poppy and I joined in on the joke.
The setting this night was more formal. Fragrant, traditional dishes from Christmas Eves around the world made their way around the large dining room. They passed from hand to hand, table to table. Plates of hot pasta, grilled eggplant, lamb chops and horseradish sauce, raw oysters, bottles of champagne, all crowded tabletops. Guests clinked their crystal goblets. They dabbed their mouths with cloth napkins, and piled their fine china plates with heaps of food. Silverware clanked. People talked, laughed, and filled their bellies.
At our table, the little girl and her brother applauded as Declan juggled a small handful of green and black olives. The oblong objects flew in the air, a floating Ferris wheel sans support beams, a magical spectacle cementing the permanence of Declan’s wondrous aura and energy.
“Your brother is so talented! So hilarious!” the little girl snorted.
Denver rolled her eyes, and shoved an entire chop into her mouth. She chewed, grimacing at the olive show. When she finished chewing, she swatted at the floating orbs. The olives went flying everywhere. They bounced off the tables and the walls around the room.
“Hey,” an annoyed voice from the crowd commented. Bull’s eye!
“Quit fooling around and eat your dinner, or I’m telling Mom and Dad!” Denver grumbled at her brother.
Declan stuttered out a comeback, but it was too incomprehensible for me to interpret.
“You’re just stupid,” Denver spat back.
Poppy chortled nervously, then went back to eating.
“Declan, you wanna watch some TV after dinner?” the little boy finally looked up from his food to talk.
“S-S-S-u-u-u-re, P-e-e-e-ter. I-I-I’d l-l-l-o-o-o-ve t-t-t-t-o.”
Declan’s eyes glowed at the mention of television. He clapped and wiggled his fingers, which led into another conversation about Batman. He kept the boy enthralled and excited while he flipped and flapped. His eyes rolled around in his head. He stammered funny things about villains and heroes saving the day, and how he wanted to climb the roof and install a ‘bat signal’ for Poppy to use, so he too could come to the rescue.
The boy turned to his sister and whispered, “He called me Pee!”
The dinner wound down. Platters emptied. Bellies bloated. Several guests pushed their chairs back from the table, stuffed and happy, too full to move or stand up. Declan and Denver’s grandparents helped Dereck and Debbie clear the table. I could see them wrap up leftover food, and load the dishwasher from around the bend. Little Dancer tagged along in hopes of scoring some scraps of food. He followed their every move around the kitchen, finally capturing a lamb bone to chew which Dereck tugged out of his mouth in exchange for a squeaky chew toy in the shape of a red and white stripped candy cane.
A sudden piercing screech halted the busy chatter. Larry pushed his chair back in the loudest, most annoying way possible, ensuring he snatched everybody’s attention. Bald, sweaty skin reflected from the light under the sparse hairs on his head. He smirked, relishing in his pathetic vie for an audience. He smacked his lips, and ran his tongue against his teeth. He reached for a toothpick in the center of the table.
He turned to his wife. “The chops were dry, and overcooked. A microwave meal would have been better,” he snarked loud enough for us to hear him.
Larry cleared his throat, and horked up a ball of phlegm which he spit into the Davies’ cloth napkin. He balled it up, and tossed it back on the table. It landed too close to the edge. The napkin toppled to the ground. Larry took his foot, and kicked it under the table. He pulled his wife’s arm, and walked away from the garbage.
“Folks, we need to let the dogs out. So we’ve got to go. Can’t stay too long when you have real responsibilities. That whole slumber party thing is an inconvenience for most. We have our priorities straight in our family. Yep!”
And without as a much as a thank you to the hosts, the Larry and Terry family left. They refused to say goodbye. They slammed the front door shut so hard, and with such a triumphant, arrogant force, that the frame emitted a harsh crack. The stained glass rattled. The bells attached to the door handle jingled, and jangled. Dancer barked enthusiastically from the kitchen.
Denver slumped down in her seat. “Thank goodness, my Christmas prayers have been answered.”
“R-R-R-e-e-e-ally? T-h-h-h-a-a-a-t’s w-w-w-h-h-h-a-a-a-t ya-ya-ou p-p-p-r-r-r-a-a-a-yed f-f-f-o-o-o-r?” Declan flapped his hands, fanning my face from across
the tiny table. My hair flopped about from the wind he produced.
“No. Not really. Well, kind of,” Denver admitted. “They were horrible to me this year. Unbearable. Thank goodness they hate everything we do, and can’t wait to leave. They find fault in our food, hate our home, loath our beds, and . . . always seem to have dogs that need to be let out. Do they actually have dogs, or do they make that up once they arrive at our house?”
Poppy’s face looked relieved by their departure.
“I’m glad you stayed,” I turned to Poppy, and grinned.
She shrugged. “I did not have much going on at home anyway. Do you know where I would have gone if I did not come here?” she asked.
“Where?” I wondered.
“Out for kung pow chicken and noodles.”
“Seriously?”
“Are you kidding me? I’m Jewish, it’s a tradition around these parts!”
“Huh!” I hated to admit I didn’t know a lot about her. We were both juniors. It seemed like I had been going to school with her forever, but only recently met her.
“But, I usually skip going out with my family on Christmas Eve, since I come here for the holidays.”
“T-h-h-h-a-a-a-t m-m-m-a-a-a-kes m-m-m-e-e-e s-s-s-o-o-o h-h-h-a-a-a-p-p-p-y.” Declan hugged Poppy’s arm. He closed his eyes, and embraced her tight.
Denver stood up. “I, for one, can now relax, and let my hair down.”
Declan opened his eyes. “W-W-W-a-a-a-it, a-a-a-r-r-r-e ya-ya-ou j-j-j-o-o-o-k-k-k-in? B-B-B-e-e-e-cause, ya-ya-our h-h-h-a-a-a-ir i-i-i-s-s-s a-a-a-l-l-l-ready d-d-d-own! A-A-A-r-r-r-e ya-ya-ou b-b-b-e-e-e-ing s-s-s-aracastic?”
“It’s an expression, you idiot! Aaah!” Denver stomped away. She dragged me with her.
She stopped and turned to me. “Sorry about that. My brother frustrates me, a lot. And when I say something to him, sometimes, he doesn’t get it across his dumb, thick skull, and acts dopey about it. And other times, he does this dopey act just to annoy me. And, the worst part is, I can’t always tell when he doesn’t understand, or when he’s intentionally messing with me!”
“Isn’t that what siblings are for? Sounds pretty normal to me.”
“I guess.”
“Despite the bickering, you two seem to have a solid relationship. You’re lucky.”
“True.”
“I’m envious.”
“You are?”
“Not every family shares the close bond that yours does. Many families don’t stand together like the Davies. At Christmas, some families fall apart. Things get rough during the holidays. Things get tense, heated. Holidays bring out the worst in people. But not your family. Christmas unites you together. I can tell. I wish I had what you have. A sister or a brother, I’m an only child. I would kill for cool parents, and a sibling to pal around with on rainy days or on vacation, tease, share secrets with, and fight with on occasion, and whatnot.”
“Yeah, well, you should see what we’re like the rest of the year. Chaos, sheer chaos.”
“Maybe, I will.”
“Maybe, you will.”
We stood toe to toe in another awkward silence. Guests moved around us, and disappeared. Time stood still.
“Um,” Denver cleared her throat, and shook her long hair. “Let’s bundle up. Grab your coat, hat, and gloves. We are going back outside.”
Her eyes sparkled. The departure of her cantankerous relatives, and my pep talk revived her zest.
After layering on the warm clothing, Denver led me out the back entrance. Paper bags populated either side of a shoveled pathway. Someone had cut out decorative holes in each bag, resembling snowflakes, turning the sacks into lanterns. Candles were placed inside the bags which lit up a long trail. The flames flickered, and glowed yellow. The trail filled with a yummy, vanilla scent. The candles created a festive yet eerie atmosphere, a happy nightmare.
Denver and I stood outside alone in the blustery winter night. The wind prickled my nose. A gust of white flakes swirled around Denver. The snow bowed down around her, honoring her as if she were an ice queen.
At the foot of the path was a basket. Denver picked out two long objects. She dipped them into one of the glowing bags, and pulled them out with tiny flames. She handed one to me. It was a long, white candle stuck in a plastic holder to catch the wax. A red and green plastic poinsettia plant with red berries, surrounded the candle. The bouquet had that nice, waxy, nostalgic fake flower smell, reminiscent of shopping in the craft department with my mother as a child. It brought me back home to my childhood. A bout of sadness enveloped me. I momentarily missed my family, whom I left for this mysterious adventure.
Denver playfully knocked into me with her elbow. She snapped me out of my homesick state. Guided by the flickering lights, we began walking down the snow-covered path. We passed the snow hill, and entered the forested area. An animal howled from a distance. The dark trees surrounded us in the woods. The sound took Denver’s breath away, and startled her. She gulped, let out an eek, and bumped into me again.
“Oops.” She jumped.
We both laughed.
“I’ll protect you.”
“I’m not afraid,” she defended herself.
“I am,” I said.
We laughed again.
We wandered to an opening near the lake. A crowd of people gathered. They all held the candlelit poinsettia bouquets. We joined them. Debbie and Dereck nodded. The crowd started singing Silent Night. The warm cheerful voices grew in volume. The carolers began to walk around the property, arm in arm. They embraced their candles to light the way.
Denver chanted the words in a soft, dreamy tone. Her voice echoed across the lake. It took my breath away. We walked arm in arm. Silent Night turned into Winter Wonderland. At some point, I stopped singing. My mouth gaped open as I listened.
“What?” Denver asked.
The two of us stopped. The rest of the crowd moved on, in song, without us.
“I guess . . . I guess I didn’t realize you had such a beautiful singing voice.”
“I don’t.” Denver blushed.
“Not true at all! You do have an amazing voice, you really do. I should have you sing for me some time so I can record it, and sample it over my mixes.”
“Seriously? Honestly, Dexx? Do you really mean it?”
“Yes! Why are you so surprised?”
“I don’t know. I never actually thought about it. I figured nothing I do is that great.”
“Why would you say that? How come you feel that way?” I pried.
Denver’s insecurities shocked me. She carried herself with such confidence at school, so sure of herself. But here, she questioned everything she did.
“Everything you do, Denver, is great,” I laughed, reassuring her.
She swatted me playfully on the arm.
“What about Declan? Can he sing? I read somewhere that people who stutter are able to sing without stammering, because they use a different part of their brain.”
“That’s interesting,” Denver clicked her tongue. “But, I’m not sure if Declan can sing or not, because he doesn’t enjoy music with lyrics. In elementary school, during the student concerts, he would either refuse to sing, or open and close his mouth like a weird puppet, or a broken nutcracker.”
“That might explain why he enjoys jazz and classical music.”
“Probably.”
“Where is he?”
“Um, he’s most likely hiding inside. Caroling is his least favorite part of the holiday. But once my parents discover he’s missing, they’ll drag his behind back outside. I’m willing to bet he parked himself in front of a TV somewhere. Poppy will entice him to come outside.”
“How’s that?”
“She loves to dance. He wouldn’t want to m
iss out entirely on our Christmas Eve festivities if she is going to perform like a skittish chicken. Plus, Declan loves Christmas Canon. Once the singing stops, and the tunes flood the backyard on the loud speakers, he’ll come barreling down the hill, pulling his dopey girlfriend from behind.”
“Your brother cracks me up,” I laughed. “And, so do you.”
Denver narrowed her eyes. She put her candle down in the snow, and picked up and handful of powder. She quickly balled it up, and tossed it at me. The snowball smashed against my jacket.
“Hey,” I shouted.
Before I could retaliate, Denver had already armed herself with several more snowballs. One flew, and hit my hat. It showered me with fresh, cold, soft flakes. I laughed, and tossed a handful back at her. We commenced a snowball fighting frenzy in the dark, set to the sweet a-cappella voices in the background.
Chapter 21
Declan
My tongue wagged. I drooled accidentally. My arms raised themselves up to my chin. My hands flapped, excited that Peter wanted to join me in the den.
“C-C-C-o-o-o-me o-o-o-n P-e-e-e-ter, l-l-l-e-e-e-t’s g-g-g-o-o-o w-w-w-a-a-a-tch B-a-a-a-t-m-m-m-a-a-a-n!”
Peter pounced around my legs as enthusiastically as Dancer. He even yipped like a dog. I clapped, and pranced with him over to the den.
I pulled open the door, and plopped down on my favorite spot on the couch just in time for the opening credits. I rubbed my hands together. A euphoric sense of relief shot through my body which relaxed me. I didn’t miss a moment of my show. The quiet buzz from the television lulled me into a safe, fixated state. I concentrated on my favorite superhero.
Odd noises buzzed in my ear. I blocked them. They didn’t stop. Static, and snapping threatened my concentration until a sharp rattle to my body broke it. Someone shook my shoulder. Startled, I turned around.
Mama stood over me with an angry glare.
“Declan, what are you doing?”
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