A Carol Christmas Read Online Free

eggnog waiting.”
    I hoped Aunt Chloe wasn’t driving home tonight, not with her history with that particular drink.
    By the time I came to the kitchen to help, everything was pretty much done, and Keira and Aunt Chloe were sitting on stools at the counter, watching Mom pour 7-Up into mugs of eggnog.
    “I like it better with rum,” Aunt Chloe said.
    “Well, it likes you better with 7-Up,” Mom told her. “This way I know you’ll get home in one piece.”
    Here was a good change, I thought, and took hope that my Christmas in Carol would be nostalgic, peaceful, and uneventful.
    That was right before I heard the strangled cry and saw the booted foot crash into the living room window.

Chapter Two
    Aunt Chloe let out a scream that was almost as terrifying as seeing my brother crash into the window like some kind of movie stunt guy. Well, a bad movie stunt guy, because instead of coming all the way through the glass and landing gracefully on the floor, Ben smashed the window to smithereens, then fell backward into the azaleas.
    “Someone call 911,” Mom cried, and raced for the front door with all of us stampeding behind her in a panic.
    We stumbled into each other at the door, then regrouped long enough to get it open and rush outside.
    I had visions of finding my brother in the bushes and his severed leg in the flowerbeds. Poor Ben. Could the doctors get him a prosthetic in time for his big concert?
    Happily, we found Ben’s leg was still attached to the rest of him, but it was a bloody mess.
    “Oh, Ben!” Mom cried. She rushed over to him and tried to haul him out of the bushes.
    “Don’t move him,” Aunt Chloe commanded. “He could be in shock. Wait ’til the ambulance gets here.”
    “Did anyone call 911 yet?” Mom asked.
    Of course not. We’d all been busy freaking out.
    “I’ll call,” I said.
    As I went in the house to grab my phone I heard Ben moan, “Sorry, Mom. The ladder tipped.”
    Okay, I told myself. No need to panic anymore. He can talk and his foot is still attached. As I dialed, I felt a very nippy breeze coming into the house. I didn’t know anything about fixing broken windows. Maybe Mom would have to call Dad.
    He’d ride to the rescue and make the necessary repairs. Mom would take a look at him in his tool belt and get a zing. Maybe she’d talk to him in something other than a growl, and maybe they’d find their way back to, if not love, at least friendship. And maybe I was dreaming.
    I was giving the dispatcher our address when Aunt Chloe rushed into the house. “I need a blanket!”
    She disappeared down the hall and came back a moment later, dragging the handmade quilt Grandma gave Mom for Christmas five years ago. Oh, boy. If Ben bled on that and wrecked it, there’d really be trouble. Grandma would let Mom have it for not appreciating a family heirloom, and Mom would blame Aunt Chloe, who would burst into tears and claim that no one appreciated her, and it would all escalate from there.
    As soon as I got off the phone, I ran into my old room and snatched the spread off the bed. It was a mauve floral number. The blood would blend right in.
    When I got back outside, Ben was crashing out of the bushes and throwing off the quilt Aunt Chloe kept trying to drape over him. Okay, forget the spread. I opened the front door and tossed it inside.
    Some of our neighbors had come over to comment on the broken window, Ben’s stupidity, and his state of health. “I’ve got some plastic,” Mr. Winkler from down the street said to Mom. “I’ll cover that window for you.”
    “Thank you, Bill,” Mom said. “That’s very sweet of you.”
    “You know why he’s doing that, don’t you?” Aunt Chloe said as Mr. Winkler walked back across the street.
    “Don’t go there,” Mom warned.
    Bill Winkler—Aunt Chloe referred to him as Wee Willie Winkler—was single. He had the hots for Mom, and ever since Dad left he’d been trying to find ways to get into her good graces. He was a