Bah! Humbug - A Jeff Resnick Story (2 page)

Peter nodded and went back to his other
guests.

Maggie’s cheeks flushed pink as she blinked
back tears.

“
Babe, just go be with your
family. I’m fine. It’ll be okay.”

“
But, you’re part of my
family now, too.”

I gave her a smile. “Thanks.” She took a
breath and forced a smile.

“
Go,” I told her and kissed
her nose.

“
I love you,” she said, and
kissed me back.

She turned and moved to stand next to her
sister Sandy, who was talking to their mother.

I couldn’t take my eyes off Maggie. We’re
good for one another. She kept my mind off other things—and
people—who were off limits. Somehow we’d get through this evening,
and later make love, and then I’d show her just how much she meant
to me.

A grandfather clock near the archway to the
dining room chimed five. Dinner wouldn’t be served for another
hour. I edged around the two tables Irene had set in the dining
room; one for the adults and one for the children. The silverware
had been polished until it glowed. Sparking crystal, starched and
folded linen napkins, and calligraphied name cards graced each
setting. Maggie’s parents would sit in the places of honor at the
head of the table. Maggie and I were halfway down, with my chair
smack against a leg of the table. I’d have to straddle it the whole
meal.

Since no one was paying attention to me
anyway, I wandered off in search of the kids.

The large-screen plasma TV in the family room was
alive with pint-sized warriors doing battle. Two teen-aged boys sat
behind controllers manipulating the televised titans. They didn’t
acknowledge my presence, but since few of their parents had either,
I didn’t take it personally.

A couple of smaller boys played with toy
cars on the rug. They muttered a subdued, “hi,” and crashed
miniature NASCAR racers into the furniture and baseboards.

The lone female had her nose buried in a
book. I stood next to the couch, watching the game in progress. The
girl’s gaze slid over the top of the book.

“
You’re aunt Maggie’s
lover, aren’t you?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that. “She’s my
girlfriend. What’s your name?”

“
Eleanor.”

God, I thought that name went out with First
Lady Roosevelt.

“
Hi, Eleanor. I’m
Jeff.”

“
Are you a millionaire?”
this teenaged-Irene clone asked.

I laughed. “I’m not even a
thousandaire.”

She wasn’t amused. “That’s what I thought.”
She eyed my sweater and slacks, her gaze lingering for a moment on
my crotch. “But you’ve got millionaires in your family, right?”

Funny how that little piece of news always
precedes me. “Just one.”

“
A brother,
right?”

“
Yeah.”

What else did this nosy kid know about
me?

“
How come
you’re
not rich?” she
persisted.

“
The luck of the draw.” I drained
my glass and went off in search of a refill.

Peter wasn’t hovering around his mini bar,
so I decided to serve myself. Irene glanced up at me from her post
holding up the fireplace. Peter was quietly conversing with the
family patriarch when Irene nudged him. What did she think I’d do,
steal her crystal?

Peter crossed the room. “What can I get you,
Jeff?”

“
Another bourbon,
thanks.”

Peter lifted the lid on the ice bucket,
found it empty. “Damn.”

“
Honey, the fire needs
banking,” Irene said.

“
I can get more ice.
Freezer, right?”

“
The kitchen’s through
there.” Peter handed me the ice bucket.

The tension eased as soon as the swinging
door closed behind me. Away from the blast of the fire, the cool
kitchen was a welcome relief. The glossy granite counters were
clear of food prep. There was no heavenly aroma of roasting
turkey--not even a potato boiled on the stove. We must be waiting
for the caterer to arrive.

I opened the freezer, poking at the
seven-pound bag of ice.

“
What’re you doing in my
freezer?” asked a cold voice.

I turned, showed Irene the ice bucket in my
hand. “Peter asked me to fill it.”

Irene crossed the kitchen in four steps and snatched
it from me. I stepped back as she took tongs from a drawer and
opened the freezer door. “I understand you’re Jewish,” she said
with a sneer, extracting ice from the plastic bag.

“
My father was Jewish. I
was raised a Catholic.”

“
That still makes you half
Jewish.”

“
That doesn’t make me
anything.”

Her lips curled in contempt. “You’re right.
You’re nothing.”

The hairs on the back of my neck bristled.
How could this dreadful, tactless, bigoted woman be related to my
sweet loving Maggie? And what did she think of Maggie’s
best—black—friend, Brenda?

“
Why did you invite me
here, since you obviously don’t like me.”

“
For Maggie, of course,”
she said, practically throwing ice into the bucket.

Yes. Maggie. And I supposed I could suffer
for a little while longer. At least until Maggie had had
enough.

“
My sister led a calm, safe
life until the day you barged into it. First, her boss was
murdered—”

“
That happened before I met
Maggie.”

“
She lost her
job—”

“
That wasn’t my
fault.”

“
Your lousy driving nearly
killed her.”

“
We were run off the
road.”

“
Only weeks ago some kook
broke into your brother’s house and cracked her over the head,
giving her a concussion.”

No doubt about it, I was a trouble magnet.
Maggie had faced moments of danger and unpleasantness at my
side.

“
You’re not good enough for
my sister,” she grated, finished filling the bucket and slammed the
freezer door. “You’ll never amount to anything, and if you were any
kind of gentleman, you’d leave her alone and let her get on with
her life.”

I exhaled angrily. “I love Maggie. I would
never do anything to hurt her.”

“
You’re a loser. Now, get
out of my kitchen.”

I would’ve liked to have smacked that sneer
from her face. Instead, I just glared at her.

The door from the living room swished open.
Maggie poked her head inside. “Oh, there you two are. Irene, the
caterer’s at the front door. Do you want them to set up now?”

“
They’re early,” Irene
groused, abandoned the ice bucket and rushed from the
room.

“
Did I just miss
something?” Maggie asked.

I gave her a smile. “No, babe, everything’s
okay.” I retrieved the now-full ice bucket and followed Maggie back
to the living room.

Irene blossomed into the equivalent of a
Broadway producer as she directed the catering firm where to place
the food. Next she bossed the family to the table, and dutifully
every one fell into line like drafted soldiers, taking their
seats.

The caterers were dismissed and Irene directed the
dissemination of turkey, cranberries and vegetables. The Brennan
clan dished out huge portions of stuffing and all the other
accouterments, while I took a small scoop of potatoes, a slice of
turkey and a spoonful of stuffing.

I glanced at my watch and figured Richard
and Brenda were probably halfway to Cozumel. Brenda had been
disappointed when Richard announced he’d booked the trip for
Christmas Day. She’d wanted to put on a complete holiday feast, but
I’d convinced her that January 6th—Epiphany—could be her last stab
at making merry for this holiday season.

The Brennan family weren’t great
conversationalists, but Irene was asking each in turn how they
liked the food. While occupied, their collective disdain for me had
diminished, but I still found it weird that they’d taken on Irene’s
dislike for me as a form of family unity.

I pushed a morsel of stuffing around my
plate before forking it into my mouth.

“
What’s the matter, Jeff,
isn’t the food good enough for you?” Irene eyed me with
scorn.

Well, at least she
addressed me by my name and not
Hey,
you
. I swallowed. “It’s very good. I’m just
not a big eater.”

“
I wish I had your lack of
appetite,” Maggie said and gave a hollow laugh. “Everything’s
delicious, Irene.” Maggie would’ve said that even if she was
choking on it.

Irene turned her attention to her father and
I poked at the mashed potatoes on my plate. Maybe we’d only have to
stay another hour. But there was still that mound of gifts to open.
Did the Brennan clan open them one-by-one, or did they have a
rip-fest with wrapping paper flying and demolish the pile in record
speed? I could only hope .…

I took a bite of turkey, chewing slowly when
I was hit by a sudden sense of panic emanating from nearby. I
swallowed quickly and for a moment the meat caught in my throat. I
grabbed my drink and took a swallow, but the panic I felt kicked
into overdrive.

Someone at the table was choking—couldn’t
communicate it—and a flame of fear coursed through me.

My gaze darted to those at the table, but
everyone seemed to be conversing or fixated with the food on their
plates.

Then I knew.

I shoved back my chair with such force that
the table shuddered.

“
Jeff?” Maggie
asked.

I ignored her and stumbled against Peter’s
chair, shoving him forward and nearly into his plate.

“
Hey!”

Like magnetic force, I felt drawn to the
kids’ table, panic nearly choking me, too.

The smallest boy at the satellite table had
placed a hand on his throat. I grabbed him from behind, pulled him
off his chair and placed my clenched fist against his sternum and
gave a mighty jerk. The boy made croaking sounds, and his panic
kicked into overdrive.

I gave him another two quick jerks and a
hunk of turkey ejected from his mouth, landing on Eleanor’s
plate.

“
Eeeoooooo!” she wailed,
and jumped to her feet. Her plate went flying and crashed against
the wall, where it shattered into a dozen pieces.

Irene shot out of her chair like a missile.
“What the hell are you doing?” she screamed.

The boy—Brian?—was limp in my arms,
coughing, struggling for breath.

“
Put that child down,”
Irene hollered, and launched herself at me.

I dropped the kid back into his seat, but
Irene crashed into me, her arms flying—windmill style—slapping at
me, shoving me backward.

“
You goddamned
bastard—you’ve ruined our Christmas!”

I tried to get around her, but Irene had
forty or fifty pounds on me, and I crashed into the buff-painted
wall. A framed picture crashed, glass shattering as it hit the
hardwood floor.

“
Mama, Mama!” the little
boy wailed.

Peter was suddenly there, yanking his wife
off of me, grabbing her arms and pulling her away.

Sandy had grabbed her son in a fierce hug, patting
his back.

“
I couldn’t breathe, I
couldn’t breathe!” the boy cried, and buried his face in her
sweatered shoulder.

“
How did you know?” Sandy
asked, her face taut with fear. “You couldn’t see the kids from
your seat. How did you know?” she demanded.

All eyes were on me. Maggie
hadn’t told them about my gift. Instead of gratitude, the entire
family looked at me with suspicion—as though
I
had caused the kid to
choke.

“
What
are
you?” Irene asked.

I saw a wild-eyed Maggie standing behind her
confused parents. “I’ve had enough,” I told her, and headed for the
front door. Grabbing my jacket—from the closet floor—I struggled
into the sleeves and yanked open the front door, letting it slam
behind me.

I made it to the car by the time Maggie came
running after me, sans coat. “Jeff, wait!”

I opened the driver’s door, the dome light
spilling wan light onto the darkened, snowy drive.

“
Where are you going?”
Maggie said.

“
Where else,
home.”

She stood there, hands cupping opposite
elbows, shivering in the cold. “I don’t think they realize you just
saved Brian’s life.”

“
Yeah, well, I don’t think
I’ll hang around to wait for their show of appreciation. Give my
regrets to Irene, will you?”

“
Jeff, please come back in.
I’ll explain everything. I’ll make them understand.”

“
You can’t. Don’t you see,
Maggie, Irene has already poisoned them against me. Maybe she’s
right. Maybe I’m nothing but trouble for you. You might just be
better off without me.”

“
But I think I love
you.”

That would never be good enough for her
close-knit family. With a failed marriage behind her, Maggie
already had a blemished record where men where concerned.

“
I love you, too, but—”
They were never going to accept me, and shoving that fact down her
throat on Christmas Day was too cruel for even me to
attempt.

“
Can someone drive you back
to Richard’s to pick up your car?”

“
I’m coming back with you
now.”

“
No, you’re not. That’ll
just put a bigger wedge between you and your family and I don’t
want that for you. Sandy and Dave live in Tonawanda, don’t they?
That’s not too far from Richard’s house.”