her husband, David, snapped irritably.
In her mind’s eye, Skyler could see them, David on the floor, trying to wedge the tree into the stand, and Frazier, standing, trying to hold the tree straight. That was what happened when you decided “home for the holidays” meant everyone gathering in the old family house out in the country. It meant throwing everything together at the last possible moment, because everyone had to juggle their school and work schedules with their holiday vacation.
“The frigging needles are poking my eyes. This is the best I can do,” Frazier complained in what sounded suspiciously like a growl.
His tone was sure to aggravate his father, she thought.
Some people got Christmas cheer; she got David and Frazier fighting over the tree.
Where the hell had the spirit of the season gone, at least in her family? Actually, if she wanted to get philosophical, where had the spirit of the season gone in a large part of the known world? There were no real Norman Rockwell paintings. People walked by the Salvation Army volunteers without a glance; it seemed as if the only reason anyone put money in the kettle was that they were burdened by so much change that it was actually too heavy for comfort. Then they beat each other up over the latest electronic toy to hit the market.
“It’s nowhere near straight,” David roared.
“Put up your own fucking tree, then,” Frazier shouted.
“Son of a bitch…” David swore.
“…walkin’ in a winter wonderland.”
Please, God, Skyler prayed silently, don’t let my husband and my son come to blows on Christmas Eve.
“Hey, Kat, you there?”
Great, Skyler thought. Now David was getting their daughter involved.
“Yeah, Dad, I’m here. But I can’t hold that tree any straighter. And I hope Brenda didn’t hear you two yelling,” Kat said.
Skyler headed out toward the living room, ready to head off a major family disaster, and paused just out of sight in the hall.
Had she been wrong? Should she have told her son he shouldn’t bring Brenda home for the holidays? He’d turned twenty-two. He could have told her that he wasn’t coming home, in that case, and was going to spend the holidays with Brenda’s family. And then she would have been without her first-born child. Of course, that was going to happen somewhere along the line anyway; that was life. With the kids getting older, it was already hard to get the entire family together.
“Oh, so now I have to worry—in my own house—about offending the girl who came here to sleep with my son?” David complained.
David wasn’t a bad man, Skyler thought. He wasn’t even a bad father. But he had different ideas about what was proper and what wasn’t. They had been children themselves, really, when they had gotten married. She had been eighteen, and he had been nineteen. But even as desperately in love as they had been, there was no way either of them could have told their parents that they were going to live together.
Current mores might be much wiser, she reflected. Most of her generation seemed to be divorced.
“What century are you living in, Dad?” Frazier demanded. Apparently his train of thought was running alongside hers. “There’s nothing wrong with Brenda staying in my room. It’s not as if we don’t sleep together back at school. You should trust my judgment. And don’t go getting all ‘I’m so respectable, this girl better be golden.’ We’re not exactly royalty, Dad. We own a bar,” he finished dryly.
“We own a pub, a fine family place,” David snapped back irritably. “And what’s that supposed to mean, anyway? That pub is paying for college for both you and your sister.”
“I’m just saying that some people wouldn’t consider owning a bar the height of morality.”
“Morality?” David exploded. “We’ve never once been cited for underage drinking, and we’re known across the country for bringing the best in Celtic music to the States.”
“Dad, it’s all right,” Kat said soothingly. “And you…shut the hell up,” she said, and elbowed her brother in the ribs. “Both of you—play nice.”
Skyler held her breath as Frazier walked away and headed upstairs, probably to make sure his girlfriend hadn’t heard her name evoked in the family fight.
It was probably best. Her husband and son were always at each other’s throats, it seemed, while Kat was the family peacemaker, who could ease the toughest situation. She’d gone through her own period of teenage rebellion on the way to becoming an adult, and getting along with her had been hell for a while. But that was over, and now Kat was like Skyler’s miracle of optimism, beautiful and sweet. A dove of peace.
She wanted to think that she was a dove of peace herself, but she wasn’t and she knew it.
She was just a chicken. A chicken who hated harsh tones and the sounds of disagreement. Sometimes she was even a lying chicken, for the sake of keeping the peace.
But this was Christmas. She had to say something to David. He really shouldn’t be using that tone—not here, not now and not with Frazier.
Frazier just…He just wasn’t a child anymore. He didn’t always act like an adult, but that didn’t make him a child. David was far too quick to judge and to judge harshly, while she was too quick to let anything go, all for the sake of peace. There had been hundreds of times through the years when she should have stepped in, put her foot down. She’d failed. So how could she blame others now for doing what she’d always allowed them to do?
At last she stepped out of the shadows of the hallway and looked at the tree. “It’s lovely,” she said.
“It’s crooked,” David told her, his mouth set in a hard line.
“It’s fine,” she insisted softly.
“That’s what I say, Mom,” Kat said. She was twenty-two, as well, their second-born child and Frazier’s twin. She walked over to Skyler and set an arm around her mother’s shoulders. “I’ll get going on the lights.”
“I’ll get the lights up,” David said. “You can take it from there.”
Skyler looked at her daughter. Kat could still show her temper on occasion, but she could stand against her father with less friction than Frazier. Maybe the problem with David and Frazier was a testosterone thing, like in a pride of lions. There was only room for one alpha male.
But this was Christmas. Couldn’t they all get along? At least on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day? Other people counted their blessings; shouldn’t they do the same? They had three beautiful, healthy children: Jamie, their youngest son, was sixteen, and then there were the twins. None of them had ever been in serious trouble—just that one prank of Jamie’s, and that should be enough for anyone, shouldn’t it?
“Mom,” Kat said, “I’ll decorate. Anyone who wants to can just pitch in.”
David was already struggling with the lights, but he paused to look at Skyler for a moment. He still had the powerful look of a young man. His hair was thick and dark, with just a few strands of what she privately felt were a very dignified gray. She had been the one to pass on the rich red hair to her children, but the emerald-gold eyes that were so bewitching on Kat had come from her father.
Where have the years gone? she wondered, looking at him. He was still a good-looking and interesting man, but it was easy to forget that sometimes. And sometimes it was easy to wonder if being married wasn’t more a habit than a commitment of the heart.
Skyler winced. She loved her family. Desperately.
Too desperately?
David cursed beneath his breath, then exploded. “They can put a man on the moon, but they can’t invent Christmas lights that don’t tangle and make you check every freaking bulb.”