Merry Humbug Christmas (29 page)

“What? No!”

“Yes. I don’t have my prescription pad with me, so we’ll need

them to check you out and write you a script for an antibiotic.”

“Reese, nooo. Please.”

“There’s no please or thank-you about it, honey. We need to do

this right.”

“But I don’t want to!”

So much for being quiet,
Reese thought just as a knock sounded at the door.

“Hannah?”

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Before they could even react, the bedroom door slipped open,

and Hannah’s mother poked her head inside.

“Hannah?” Courtney exclaimed, but her eyes were fixed on

Reese. “What’s going on here? What’s that on my daughter’s back?!”

“Mom, calm down, I—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, young lady,” she said as she stalked into the room. “What’s going on here? Where’s your father?
Matthew!
”

“DR. PENDERGRASS.”

Reese popped up from her chair and hurried toward Rick

Dalton, the emergency room attending physician who had examined

Hannah.

“Dr. Dalton. How’s she doing?”

“Her mother’s with her, and the nurse is reviewing the care pro-

cedures. You were right to hold off on the Neosporin. I’ve written a script for an oral antibiotic, and she’s going to keep the tatt clean and dry for a couple of days before applying antiseptics.”

“Thank you so much, Dr. Dalton.”

He grinned at her and pushed the glasses up the bridge of his

long nose. “Didn’t I see you here earlier today, Doctor?”

Reese chuckled. “Yeah. That was for my fiance’s brother. Hannah

is his niece.”

Arching one of his bushy eyebrows, he asked, “Are you sure you

want to marry into this family? Two emergency room visits in one

day. Are they safe?”

“I think they’re wondering that very thing about me.” Rather

than explain, she simply thanked him and hurried down the hall.

Damian stood outside the curtained cubicle when she reached it,

and Reese heard Courtney and Matthew grilling Hannah about her

tattoo. She slid her arm around Damian’s waist as they waited.

“This is so not cool, Hannah,” Matthew said. “You’re way too

young for a tattoo. What made you pull a stunt like this?”

“Well, I think that’s obvious, don’t you?” Courtney snapped.

“If it was obvious, I wouldn’t have asked.”

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Reese pinched the sleeve of Damian’s coat and nodded toward

the nurse’s desk. He followed her out of earshot, and they found a couple of chairs nearby.

“Mattie and Court have always been like the perfect couple,” he

said, shaking his head. “I’ve never heard them bickering like this.”

“Hannah said they’ve been arguing a lot at home.”

“She did?” The concern showed on Damian’s face, and a storm

brewed in his eyes. “That really comes as a surprise.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know what to do for them.”

“It’s not up to you, Damie,” she told him with a stroke to his

hand. “It’s something they have to work out as a family on their own.”

“I’m really sorry, Reese.”

She smiled. “For what?”

“I thought I was bringing you up here for this idyllic Palmer family Christmas,” he said. “It’s turned into a bad episode of
Meet the
Parents
times ten.”

“Well, it would have been much more joyful if I hadn’t run over

your brother.”

Damian snickered. “Or somehow made my sister-in-law think

you’d taken some ink and a needle to her thirteen-year-old’s pink skin!”

Reese leaned into Damian’s shoulder and chuckled. “I guess Joss

doesn’t seem so strange to you now, does she?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.”

She playfully smacked his arm just before glancing down the hall

as Hannah and her parents approached.

Standing up, Reese asked Hannah, “How are you doing, honey?”

“I’m okay, but I’m grounded for life.”

“Life,” Damian repeated. “I remember your father serving out

that sentence a time or two. There was this one time, Hannah, when your dad—”

“All right, that’s enough,” Matthew interrupted, and he threw a

chokehold around Damian’s neck and dragged him along down the

hall toward the door.

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“Wait!” Hannah cried as she ran behind them. “Tell me what

Daddy did.”

Reese and Courtney followed, silent until they reached the glass

doors.

“I need to thank you,” Courtney said with her hand on Reese’s

arm. “I don’t know what would have happened to her if she hadn’t

come to you. There’s no telling how long she might have hidden it from us.”

“When I saw it, I wanted to find that tattoo artist and give him a tonsillectomy on the house,” she joked, and Courtney laughed.

“If you get a postcard from my prison cell after we get home,

you’ll know my effort to control myself was an epic fail.”

“Seriously, I hope you plan to file charges.”

“Matthew and I will talk about it and decide how to go about it,

but he’s certainly not going to escape consequences. I just thank the Lord that Hannah’s been seen by two doctors now, and she’s going

to be fine.”

Reese buttoned her coat as they passed through the breezeway

and stepped outside. The occasional flurries had progressed into a full-fledged snowfall, and she surmised that more than an inch of new powder had fallen in the couple of hours since they’d rushed

through those hospital doors.

“Don’t you have a hat and gloves with you?” Courtney asked as

they hurried toward the car.

“I left my hat back at the house in the rush to leave,” she replied.

“But I threw away those horrible gloves I brought along.”

“Jeane has a chest full of scarves, gloves, and hats out in the mudroom. We might even find some snow boots that aren’t complete

eyesores. We can hit that for you when we get back. It will be like a condensed shopping trip.”

Reese laughed. “Sounds like a plan.”

By the time the five of them returned to the house, the sun had

descended for the day. Despite the falling snow, the midnight blue night sky twinkled with countless silver stars, and the Christmas lights framing the Palmer house completed the picture.

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“It looks like the front of a Christmas card,” Reese said as they pulled down the long driveway.

Hannah reached the front door first, and the savory scent of

vegetable beef soup wafted on the winter breeze to greet them as

they filed up the sidewalk behind her. Inside, a fire roared in the huge stone fireplace, and the lights on the massive Christmas tree reflected off the windows behind the line of tables set with burning candles, mismatched stone bowls, and baskets of fragrant warm rolls wrapped in festive red-and-green linen napkins.

“Perfect timing!” Jeane exclaimed. “Hang up your coats and have

a seat. Dinner’s on the table.”

Paul Sr. stood at one end of the table and Jeane sat down at the

other end, both of them using large stainless steel ladles to fill each bowl with chunky vegetable beef soup that looked more like stew

than soup.

“Wait,” Jeane called to Ezekiel at the middle of the table as he

dipped his spoon into the bowl set before him. “Let Grandpop say

the blessing first.”

He pushed the spoon into the bowl and waited obediently.

With the last of the bowls filled, Paul sat down. “Father God,” he said, and everyone around the table, from the youngest to the eldest, bowed their heads. “The Palmers are one grateful family, but never more so than when we sit together, all of us around one table. We ask that You bestow your blessings upon each of us here with safety, good health, and peace, and we ask that You bless the food we eat as well as the hands of its preparers. In Jesus’ holy name we pray. Amen.”

As the amens resounded all around, Reese couldn’t help tack-

ing on a silent thanks of her own. She’d always wondered what it

must be like to be part of what her brother Hersch called “a
Normal
Rockwell” type of family with actual meat and dairy products on the dinner table, Christian prayers exchanged before the meal, and packages under the tree wrapped in shiny foil and crinkled ribbons rather than plain brown paper and undyed twine.

Please don’t let me mess this up,
she prayed.

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“Grandmom, when are we making the birthday cake?” young

Abigail asked, and Reese wondered whose birthday they planned to

celebrate.

“You know what, Abigail,” Jeane replied. “I heard about this won-

derful bakery in the village, and I got one from them there.”

“Then they made it for us? Where is it?”

A sudden low growl punctuated Paco’s arrival at Reese’s feet,

and she glanced down to find the dog standing next to her chair. The moment their eyes met, he began to bark and spit at her.

“Paco, can it!” Matthew exclaimed, and the dog backed away.

“It’s in the refrigerator out in the laundry room,” Jeane contin-

ued. “Why don’t you kids have a look after dinner, and if you don’t like it, then we’ll have to make a different one.”

“Can I go now?” her younger brother asked. “I want to see Jesus’

birthday cake.”

Reese’s heart squeezed.

“It’s a family tradition from when we were all little kids,” Damian said as he leaned close to her. “Our dessert on Christmas Eve is

always a birthday cake for Jesus.”

Reese chewed the corner of her lip in an effort to hold back the

tears that threatened to crest over the top of her emotions.

A birthday cake for Jesus.

She’d never even heard of such a thing, but what a beautiful

tradition.

“What kind is it?” Sarah asked.

“It’s Grandpop’s favorite this year,” Jeane told them.

“Red velvet!” Zeke piped up.

His grandfather nodded and raised his hand, allowing Zeke to

smack it in a high-five.

“With cream-cheese icing,” Jeane said. “And chocolate sprinkles

all around the sides.”

“We gotta see!” Jeremy cried, and he flew from his chair.

Once Jeane gave her blessing, Sarah, Zeke, and Abigail followed

on his heels.

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The children thundered into the laundry room, banging the door

against the wall behind it. As the adults and teens left behind reacted to the children’s squeals of joy, Reese felt a sudden warmth hit her ankle.

Glancing down at the floor, she discovered Paco had seized the

opportunity to return, and while poised at her feet, the dog lifted his leg in an expression of how he truly felt about her.

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On the eighth day of Christmas,

Murphy’s Law gave to me . . .

eight geese a-roasting,

seven backs a-blazing,

six ER visits,

five frozen thiiiings!

four yapping dogs,

three wrenched necks,

two mismatched gloves,

and a big rockin’ Harry Winston ring.

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8

“Just grab the bean firmly between your thumb and index