A Carol Christmas Read Online Free Page A

skinny, bow-legged chain-smoker who looked like a Marlboro Man reject, and Mom never did anything to encourage him, which, according to Aunt Chloe, was why he was so hot for her. “Bake him cookies,” Aunt Chloe advised. “That’ll make him think you’re husband hunting and scare him off.”
    I was glad Mom hadn’t gotten around to scaring him off yet. At least it meant tonight we’d be warm.
    Two aid cars and a fire engine pulled up at our curb, their lights circling the neighborhood, sporadically bathing everything and everyone in red light.
    The EMTs put Ben on a gurney, and one examined his leg.
    “Oh, I think I’m going to faint,” Aunt Chloe whimpered, clutching Grandma’s quilt.
    Keira put a hand on her head and bent her in half. “Put your head between your legs, Auntie.”
    That made quite a picture. Now I was going to faint.
    “Hanging Christmas lights, huh?” guessed the older EMT as they worked on Ben.
    “How’d you know?” he asked.
    Well, duh. There was the tipped ladder and the dangling string of lights.
    The guy shrugged. “It happens a lot this time of year. Usually not this close to Christmas, though.”
    “It would have happened sooner if he’d done this when I first asked him,” Mom said, giving Ben one of those looks moms use on their kids when they’re bad. Now that the crisis was over, Ben had been taken off Mom’s critical list and moved to her doo-doo list. He’d have gotten a lot more sympathy if he’d chopped off his leg.
    “I think you’re probably going to need a few stitches,” said the EMT.
    Mom let out a faint moan at that.
    “It’s okay, Mom,” Ben said.
    Okay or not, we all trooped down to the hospital to wait while Ben got his leg stitched. Everyone had a reason why she needed to tag along. Aunt Chloe brought the quilt. After all, it was cold in those emergency operating rooms, and besides, something homemade would bring him comfort. Mom knew her son would need her by his side to comfort him with questions like, “How could the ladder have tipped?” and “Why didn’t you do this when it was daylight so you could see what you were doing?”
    Keira was the bearer of the clean jeans and tennis shoes. “They’ll probably have to cut his pants and boot off,” she predicted as she got into the car.
    And me, well, I thought maybe my brother would like someone who could hold his hand and keep her mouth shut.
    The doctor wouldn’t let us keep Ben company while he got his leg stitched, though, so the only thing that went into the nether regions of the hospital with him was his pants. And the shoes. We, his ministering angels, sat in the emergency room waiting area, the quilt keeping us company.
    As we waited, I drummed my fingers on the arm of the chair and tried to stave off boredom by people-watching.
    An old couple huddled together in one corner. I couldn’t tell which one was supposed to be sick. They both looked bad: pale, frail, and red-eyed. The man didn’t say anything, but every once in a while, the woman spoke. Loudly. Either he was deaf, or she was. Having to listen to her was enough to make the rest of us wish
we
were.
    “I just can’t do it this year. I don’t feel good, and I don’t want all the kids over.”
    Hmmm. A mother-of-the-year award nominee.
    Her husband nodded but didn’t say anything. Maybe he figured she wouldn’t hear. Maybe he’d given up talking to her years ago.
    “I just wanted a quiet Christmas,” she said after a minute.
    And I just wanted to stay in New York, I thought. We don’t always get what we want, although it seemed by the time a person got to be that woman’s age, they ought to.
    “Wendy never watches the kids,” the woman said after another minute of silence. “She lets them run everywhere. My nerves can’t take it. You’re going to have to call them, tell them I’m sick.”
    So, that was why they were in the emergency room. This woman was faking illness to get out of seeing her obnoxious family. Why