The Christmas Throwaway (5 page)

BOOK: The Christmas Throwaway
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"Ben, not Benny," Ben automatically replied, "and his name is Zach, Zachary Weston. He's a runaway until the twenty-seventh when he turns eighteen."

"What was he running from? Do I want to know the answer?"

"Homophobic parents by the sound of it. I don't know much, but he needed somewhere to stay."

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Ellie narrowed her eyes briefly. "I changed the label on one of the gifts for you," she said quickly. "It was just some small stuff, but if he is staying…" Her voice tailed off as he pulled his little sister into a hug of affection.

"Thanks, Ellie," he said simply, squeezing her tight then releasing her. "Mark donated as well, or rather, Melanie donated Mark's stuff."

Ellie held up the bright red sweater with the fluffy snowman on the front, from the pile of clothes Ben had brought from Mark.

"Oh, my God," she snorted. "She donated last year's fugly sweater."

Ben indicated the package under the tree, the large suspiciously squishy package. "And this year's," he pointed out, before snorting his own amusement. His mother, in full-on mom mode, held up the jeans that Mark had donated, eyeing the waist and remembering the thin boy that was upstairs in her spare room. Even Mark saw the jeans might well be the right length, but the waist was huge and the material would swamp him.

"Pass me my sewing box, Ben," she asked, settling back down on the sofa, and he imagined she was gauging just how much of an alteration she was going to have to do to the thick unwieldy denim. She thanked Ben as he handed 47

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her the carved wooden box that held buttons and thread and needles of all sizes. Ellie held the denim straight as her mom started to adjust the material, and Ben just smiled fondly at them both.

"He's gorgeous, isn't he, Ben? All sharp angles and those amazing eyes," Ellie commented carefully, looking up at him all innocent-eyed, "and all that long floppy blond hair soft about his face."

And the smile, Ben thought to himself, a smile that, while shy and uncertain, was a glimpse of the grin Zach could have if he tried. It was so sad to see this boy so very wary and nervous, almost like a kicked dog.

"I wasn't looking," he denied quickly as his brat of a sister smirked again.

"I gotta go straight back, Mom. Heggerty said the fence is down at the upper quarter, and Jeremiah is swearing the unbranded mixed cattle are his and not Heggerty's."

"Will you be back for dinner, Ben? Jamie is here for twelve."

"I'll be here, Mom, promise, and…" He indicated the upstairs with a movement of his head. "If you need me for anything…"

"Go, Officer Hamilton." His mother smiled. "Go 48

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keep the peace."

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Chapter 4

Zach didn't move in the bed, not one inch. He had gotten used to not rolling over, of perching precariously on the edge of benches, or of sleeping upright on steps. Now his sleep was marked by its lack of movement, the quilt tidy and neat around him. It had been a long journey from Richmond to here, wherever
here
was: bus rides and train rides as far as his money, what little there was, could take him, until he had gotten off the train in this small town that he didn't even know the name of.

It was the polar opposite to his suburban hometown.

A convenience store, a square, three sets of traffic lights, and a school that was maybe a quarter the size of the one he had attended until four years ago. It was the oddest sensation when he had walked back here with the cop, his skin prickling with the need to run at the same time he realized he had nowhere to run to.

He'd avoided personal conversation with anyone

until the cop yesterday. He had managed to avoid seeing anyone by literally hiding in the graveyard until the Christmas Eve worshippers left the Church with laughs, Christmas secrets, shouts, family, and everything he didn't have. His Christmases had certainly not been about 50

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laughter and gifts. They had centered on what people thought. Dressed in a suit that was too tight, too short, too

—just not right— seated next to his dad wearing his uniform, medals on his chest. He had been his parents' first child, the one who was academically so gifted, but athletically not quite up to his dad's standards. His dad would say things like he would be 'okay' if only he learned how to play football, or basketball, or anything really.

He was his father's great hope. His dad was an ex-special forces sergeant who wanted his son to follow in his footsteps and enter the service of his country. He never listened when Zach said he wanted to be a writer and would tell Zach and everyone else exactly what Zach was going to do with his life. That tendency was never more prevalent than at Christmas, when the family unit was shown off at their annual visit to church.
This is my son. He has plans to
follow me into the army, and yes, we are so proud.

He opened his eyes carefully. There was none of the usual disorientation of waking to sirens and other discordant noise, just the peace of a quiet house and the warmth of layers of blanket and sheet. He sat up carefully, his neck tight and his eyes scratchy with lack of sleep, wondering what he was supposed to do next, and how easily he could get away.

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As he moved he realized that something was lying

heavy on his feet, and he saw jeans, a shirt and a sweater, something red, and assumed they were for him. He was slightly unnerved that someone, Ben he guessed, had crept into his room without him waking. That was so this very side of wrong. He shouldn't be letting his guard down like that, and he scrambled up and out of bed to pull on the clothes left for him.

There were jeans that were long enough, shirts that were loose on him and —jeez— that there was one snugly, soft, and totally ugly Christmas-themed sweater. He opened the door carefully. The hallway stretched empty, and quickly he used the bathroom, taking advantage of the toothbrush they had given him and the soap and hot water.

It was good to feel so clean. It had been a long time. He resolved to find somewhere to stay, a warm place, no more sleeping on the streets. He was going to find some kind of a hostel.

He went down the stairs. The house seemed so quiet for Christmas Day, and he wondered if everyone was at church. When Zach thought about that, though, he realized it seemed odd that the family would leave a total stranger alone in their home. Odd. Or trusting.

"Hi." Zach spun round, grabbing at the wall as his 52

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RJ Scott

legs tangled and he stumbled. "Sorry, dude," the voice added, and Zach blinked at the young woman who stood in front of him, trying to remember her name. Elsa? Ella?

Ellie?

"It's okay," Zach said quietly, edging back until he leaned against the wall, wondering how it was he could be so nervous with this slip of a teenager in front of him.

"You found the clothes then?" Ellie smirked, indicating the red sweater with the soft fluffy snowman.

Zach looked down at the mockery of a sweater he wore, wanting suddenly to defend it. "Ben has this really tall, freakishly tall, friend," she continued. "Well, when I say freakishly tall, I mean tall like you, not that I am saying you are freakish. Err…" Ellie's words subsided.

"S'okay," Zach reassured her quickly.

"You need coffee, or maybe cereal," she summarized and moved past him into the kitchen. She switched on the kettle before rummaging in cupboards for various cereals. "Ben likes this stuff," she said, dumping muesli-type cereal on the table with the carton of milk.

"And this is what I like," she said, adding various brightly colored kids' boxes to the pile. Zach just nodded, shyly grabbing at the box of Lucky Charms and exchanging a quiet smile with the girl who shared his love of a morning 53

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sugar high. She nodded back at him, turning to pile the cereals Zach didn't want into the cupboard, shutting the door before they all tumbled back out on her.

"I so hope it's Ben who opens this cupboard next, just to see his face as muesli tips out over him. It would be so cool." She slipped onto the chair opposite Zach, watching him as he ate. For the first time in weeks, he didn't feel odd that someone was staring at him.

Ben's mother, Donna, came in to the kitchen, a

phone trapped between neck and shoulder, a large box in her hands and words pouring out of her mouth in a torrent of instructions. "It's the red box, not the green one." She emptied the contents of the box onto the table. "No—

Jamie, no— okay, yes, and don't rush here. I know it's only a short drive… okay— no— the snow…" Zach half listened at the fond amusement in the cop's mom's voice, at the glint of exasperation in her eyes. Her other son was obviously useless at following instructions. "Have you written it down, Jamie?" Laughing, she gathered the contents of the box into piles, gifts and ribbons and bows, and then finished the call. "Morning, Zach, did you sleep alright?" Zach blinked at the rapid change of subject and rose from his seat, his Lucky Charms half eaten.

"Thank you, ma'am, yes, I did."

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"Good. Sit, finish your breakfast, honey." She started rummaging in the box, pulling out smaller boxes and bags, paper, and glitter, and Zach didn't hesitate long before scooping more crunch into his mouth. He needed to stock up before he left. He really couldn't take advantage of this change in fortune for much longer. He needed to fill up on food, grab his stuff, say his thanks, and then go. Of his own accord before they told him to leave. Zach finally stood, slinking past her with a murmured
'thank you'
, climbing the stairs as if he had fire on his tail, and she just watched him leave.

The front door opened and shut, and Ben was

stamping snow off his feet as Zach came back down the stairs with a bundle of clothes in his hands, his thin jacket pulled around his frame. He stopped, looking at Ben cautiously.

"Zach?" Donna asked carefully. "You can't leave, sweetheart." Her words were calm, but Zach reacted badly.

There was a sudden spark of defiance in Zach. Defiance and fear.

"You… you can't make me stay," he whispered.

Ben stood between him and the door.

"I can," Ben said simply, folding his arms. He didn't add anything about arresting Zach, but it was unspoken. He 55

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looked menacing and authoritative until Donna smacked him upside the head.

"Benjamin Andrew Hamilton, we will not be

making Zach stay. Zach is invited to stay for Christmas dinner, and he is free to go at any point."

"Christmas dinner?" Zach asked, in what he hoped was his least pathetically hopeful voice, standing in the hall with his life's possessions in his hands.

"Take your clothes and stuff back upstairs. Ben can sort you out a duffle when you leave. Then come back down." She clapped her hands. "And then presents." Zach's heart sank.
Great
. He knew there had to be payback, and now he knew what it was. He was going to be made to watch other people open presents. Presents wrapped with love. Not books based around the army, or schoolbooks, but fun presents, things he wished he had received at five, at ten, at fifteen, things he had realized would never be his.

The front door opened again. Startled, Ben shifted away from his guard dog position.

Zach identified a pathway through, past Ben's mom, past Ben, past the man and woman and two small children in the doorway, and to the snow and freedom beyond.

Frozen in that moment, he saw Ben looking directly at him, hazel eyes curious, worried but largely accepting. Zach 56

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remembered Ben's hug. He made a decision, possibly the only decision he had ever really made for himself, and climbed back up the stairs to his room. He felt Ben's eyes on him the whole way up the stairs.

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Chapter 5

Jamie went straight to the kitchen when he arrived, not ten minutes after the conversation with his mom. He was wary of the stranger in his mom and sister's house. His wife Beth was curious, and their two children, Daniel and Charlotte, simply loved the whole present thing and didn't really have an opinion. Jamie called Ben into the kitchen, Beth and Donna raising eyebrows.

"He's big enough to hurt both mom and Ellie,"

Jamie started. "I can't believe you let him in the house.

What were you thinking?"

"Jamie—"

"Don't Jamie me."

"Jamie, seriously, I don't know why. There is something about him. I trust him. Jeez, it's Christmas, man.

Season of goodwill and all that."

"Season of axe murderers in our mother's house,"

Jamie grumped back, worried and not afraid to show his brother what he thought.

"I wouldn't hurt anyone," Zach blurted out, standing in the doorway, empty mugs in his hands. It seemed he'd been sent out by Donna for refills. Jamie winced, and then moved quickly, crowding the teenager. Ben watched, 58

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almost dispassionately, as Zach cowered in front of his five foot ten brother.

"Ben trusts you, fuck knows why," Jamie snapped out, grabbing Zach's arm and spilling coffee dregs onto the kitchen floor. He pushed back Zach's sleeve. "Did you check?" he asked over his shoulder.

Ben felt guilt sweep over him, quickly followed by self-disgust, knowing exactly what Jamie was looking for.

Desperately he looked at Zach. The boy was trying to pull away from Jamie's grip, even as Jamie twisted his arm looking for track marks, scars, anything that indicated drug use.

BOOK: The Christmas Throwaway
6.3Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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