Page 29 of Take Me Home

She smiled into the mirror and gave a shrug that turned into a nod. That was enough. “Merry Christmas, Asher,” she said.

“Merry Christmas, Hazel.”

Chapter

Seven

The house was dim and quiet. And cold. A glance at the thermostat on his way through the foyer surprised Ash. It was sixty-four degrees in here. The fireplace was empty. Two space heaters faced his father’s recliner, but they weren’t running. A full, squat Christmas tree stood in its usual place by the front window, its branches burdened with handmade ornaments, ribbon, and lights—unplugged.

“Hello?” he called, crossing the living room. He dropped his bag and set his model down on the kitchen counter next to a battalion of orange medicine bottles. He lifted one to read the label. As if an unfamiliar drug name would reveal anything. Something simmered in a Crock-Pot, its savory scent mixing with a hint of the cinnamon candles his mom favored during the holidays.

A door whined open down the hall. Muted footfalls approached. “Took you long enough,” his mother said, voice soft with sleep, crossing to hug him.

“Where is everyone?”

She went straight to the refrigerator and began pulling out Tupperware containers. She was wearing an oversize sweater and a turtleneck underneath, jeans, and thick wool socks with slippers. “The little ones got stir crazy. Maggie and the twins tookthem to the park. June will be in late tonight. Says she’ll Uber from the airport.”

“What time? I’ll pick her up.”

“Eleven-thirty. Now, minestrone or meatloaf? I’ve got stew for dinner, but I’m sure you’re hungry.”

He wasn’t, but he wouldn’t pass up his mother’s cooking. “Meatloaf.” He meandered back through the living room, knelt to plug in the tree lights. The rainbow bulbs instantly illuminated the whole room. Now it felt more like home, but he couldn’t ignore the cold. “Is something wrong with the furnace?”

She shook her head. “It was doing that clicking thing again. Someone’s coming to fix it tomorrow.”

“What clicking thing?”

“Happens every couple of years, and they have to come out and replace a switch. It’s fine. It’s under warranty.”

“Mom, there’s snow on the ground out there. You haven’t been able to run the heat at all?”

“We’ve got the space heaters. Go turn one on if you’re cold.” She popped a plate of meatloaf into the microwave and ducked back into the fridge for orange juice.

“What about the fireplace?”

She raised one eyebrow at him, a warning.

“What?”

When she reached for a glass from the cabinet, he beat her to it. She had a stool that she slid around the kitchen because she was too short to reach the top shelves, but it was over by the pantry. Shaking her head at him, she took the glass and poured the juice. “I know what you’re doing, and I wish you wouldn’t.”

“What am I doing?” he said, defensive, though he didn’t know why.

“All your questions.”

“All I said was what about the fireplace? You’re dressed for the Arctic.”

For a moment, she stared at him, stubborn. Evading. He hadn’t yet attached meaning or judgments to his observations, but now, concern solidified.

“A friend of your father’s had an old tree that died. He gave us a few cuts of it for firewood. They need to be chopped into smaller pieces, but of course no one around here is up for splitting wood, so it’s been sitting out there.” Her tone was offhand, casual.

“You can buy firewood, Mom. Go to any gas station. There was a guy less than a mile from here selling it on the side of the road.”

She flicked her wrist as if shooing a fly—it was settled, no point debating it. When the microwave beeped—saved by the bell—she pulled the steaming plate of meatloaf out and set it in front of him, then nudged him back to pull a fork from the drawer he was blocking. “You know your father won’t pay for firewood when he already has it for free in the backyard.”

“That’s ridiculous. You can’t use it.”

She laughed, loud and hearty. He was preaching to the choir.