Brice laughed like it was a good joke, but Leslie gave me a nervous smile.

“The flowers are gorgeous. Let’s put them in the dining room in the good crystal vases,” she said.

Vah-zes. Turned out they were fancy glass, and too small for the flowers, so I used my pocket knife to cut down the stems.

“It’s like Hell’s Angels Floral Arrangements,” Brice said, staring at the tattoos on my arms while I messed with the flowers.

A mistake, wearing a T-shirt, except that Wavy liked to see her name running down the inside of my forearm in three-inch letters.

“I wasn’t ever in a gang. I pretty much managed to get into trouble all on my own,” I said.

“Who was at the door?” Brenda Newling walked into the dining room, drying her hands on her apron. Behind her was a tall redheaded woman I didn’t know. Right when I needed it, the bourbon kicked in.

“Hey, Brenda. It being Christmas and all, will you at least give me a head start before you call the cops?”

21

AMY

He actually called my mother Brenda. I waited for Armageddon, while Mom gaped at her prodigal niece and the much-maligned and long-reviled Jesse Joe Kellen. A flush crept up his cheeks, as he folded his knife and put it in his pocket. We were all holding our breaths, expecting a scene, but then Mom saw Donal.

I sympathized with the shock in her face. At fourteen, he was taller than Wavy and even thinner. Everything about him was defensive, his shoulders hunched inside a gray hooded sweatshirt, and his hands jammed in the pockets. He may have been Sean’s son, but he looked so much like Liam I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. I can only imagine what Wavy felt when she looked at him. Like seeing a hybrid of someone you love and someone you hate.

In the awkward silence, I could see Mom trying to feel a bunch of things at once—anger, annoyance, relief, and then—when she looked at Donal—love and guilt. However he’d been brought back to us, we were all at fault for how he was lost.

Mom came around the table and tried to hug him, but he backpedaled, scowling. I think he might have escaped out the front door, except that Kellen laid a hand on his shoulder and kept him there.

“You’re just in time! Dinner’s ready!” Trisha said. She stood there looking beautiful and welcoming. I was so glad I’d invited her.

“I’ll put more place settings out,” Leslie said.

She added three more places to the table, while Trisha and I got kitchen chairs to make up enough seats at the dining room table. Then we started carrying in the food. When I brought out the ham, Trisha was shaking Kellen’s hand.

“Hey, Trisha. Good to meet you,” he said.

“I’m Amy’s roommate,” she said.

My roommate. Hearing that stopped me cold, because I remembered that drunken night in high school when Wavy had tried to comfort me. “Nothing left to be afraid of,” she’d said. Even if that wasn’t true, I wanted to live like it was. I wished that I had introduced Trisha properly to Mom and Leslie, but all I could do was correct the mistake.

“Actually,” I said. “Trisha is my girlfriend.”

Trisha’s mouth dropped open for a second, and Leslie snapped her head around to look at me. Like a reward for my bravery, Wavy reached out and shook Trisha’s hand.

In an act of diplomatic caution, Leslie put as much distance as she could between Kellen and Mom, but the result was that they sat at opposite ends of the table, facing each other. Still, it probably wasn’t much worse than most family holiday dinners. Mom was torn between glaring at Kellen and smiling tearily at Donal, who sat next to him. The rest of us tried to keep the conversation going with as much harmless chatter as we could muster. We talked a lot about the weather, and Leslie and Brice’s honeymoon to Mazatlán.

Wavy seemed different but I couldn’t tell why. She managed to eat half a dinner roll and a bite of ham that took her almost five minutes to chew and swallow. Kellen ate slowly and methodically, clearing his plate, while Donal picked at his food.

“How are you, Donal?” Mom asked over dessert. She’d asked that a couple of different ways during dinner, but all she got were mumbled responses.

“Where did you find him?” Leslie said, like it was a scavenger hunt.

I tried, “How did you find each other?” Because that was the question nagging at all of us. After seven years, how had Donal come to be sitting at our table for Christmas dinner?

“My parole officer knows this private detective,” Kellen said. “Got him to look through juvenile records in a couple states. He found Donal out in California.”

“What about Sean? Where is he?” Mom looked at Wavy when she said it, even though the answer was likely going to come from Kellen.

At the mention of Sean, Donal stood up from the table, sending his fork and his napkin tumbling onto the floor. He shoved his chair back and stomped out into the entry. A moment later the front door slammed.

Kellen picked up the fork and napkin, while Wavy whispered something to him. He and Mom stood up at the same time. He followed Donal out the door, while she headed toward the front windows. Part of me wanted to give them some privacy, but it wasn’t the strongest part. I peeked out the edge of the curtain.

Donal and Kellen stood on the front walk, just about where Wavy and Kellen had been reunited earlier in the year. Donal was hunkered down against the cold, while Kellen leaned over him, talking. Donal nodded. Kellen took out his wallet and handed Donal some money. Then he pulled something out of his front pocket and palmed it to Donal, while giving him a rough pat on the shoulder. As Kellen came back up the sidewalk to the house, Donal got into their car, started it, and drove away.