Page 12 of At Midnight Comes the Cry

“Was your husband—what’s his name?—was he in the military?”

“Russ. And we were both in the army.”

“Get out! Mad respect. How long were you in for?”

“Ten years. And I’m in the Guard right now.”

Meghan grabbed her hand. Clare braced for it. “Thank you for your service.”

Clare had heard that a lot of times since she came home from Iraq, and she had never yet figured out a good response. They rounded another turn. She caught a glimpse of Santa on his throne this time. She hoped Russ wouldn’t miss it.

“You know what? You and your husband should come out to our place for an afternoon. We have this great deck-gazebo combination with a fire pit and everything. We’re still grilling if it’s not too cold! And Rick has a shooting range set up, so the men could blast away while we visit.”

“Oh! Um…”

“And we could talk about free-range parenting. Before you say yes, I should probably let you know Rick and I don’t drink. Alcohol, I mean.”

“Yeah, neither do we.”

“Oh my God, really? It’s perfect. Let’s do it this Saturday.”

Clare didn’t particularly want to deepen her relationship with this perfectly nice mother who thought the “New World Order” controlled the world, but something or some One did, because she opened her mouth and said, “Yes. Sure. Let’s do that.”

Russ arrived just before Ethan was due to sit in Santa’s lap. “Sorry. Apparently every other dad whose wife and kids were here decided to go to the same place for an oil change.”

“It’s fine. You haven’t missed anything.” Meghan had gone ahead with her two kids, dressed in red and green, and waved cheerfullyas they left side by side with an elf taking the photo package orders. “Okay, little man, here’s Santa!”

He reallywasa great Santa—his cheeks were indeed like roses and he had a real white beard. Even better, he waited to see how Ethan would react before taking him in his arms.

“Ho, ho, ho,” Santa said. “I’m guessing it’s this little guy’s first Christmas.”

“Ethan.” After all the waiting and the weirdness, she suddenly felt close to tears. “He’s not old enough to ask for any presents, I’m afraid.”

“Well, Ethan.” Santa bent his head and whispered something into the baby’s ear. Ethan’s eyes went wide and he burbled.

“Got it!” There was a note of triumph in the photographer’s voice.

Clare took the baby back. He stared curiously at the jolly old elf. “What did you say to him?”

“It’s a secret.” Santa winked. “I speak baby. Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas!”

One of the helpers ushered them to the table where they could look at and order pictures. Meghan and her kids were just leaving the Santa’s Village enclosure. “Saturday!” she called. “Don’t forget!”

“Clare.” Russ’s voice was pleasant. “Is that the woman from the parade?”

“It is, yes.”

“And did you commit us to some sort of social engagement with her and her white supremacist family?”

“I, um, I might have, yes.”

He closed his eyes briefly. “Next time, I wait in line andyouget the oil changed.”

5.

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 3

They had joked about Kevin Flynn being Irish, but Russ had no idea he was Irish-Irish until meeting his father. “This is it. Turn here.” Sean Flynn sounded like a tour guide from the auld sod, but instead of a castle in Limerick, they were approaching a street of modest houses hard against the bank of the Seneca River in Baldwinsville. “Here ’tis.” Sean pointed to a small, neat house with a red door and green metal roof. No curb in this neighborhood; Russ parked at the edge of the frost-stricken lawn.