Now Playing On The Jukebox In Hell Part 20

She looked at me for the first time since she'd opened the box. No, I didn't recognize that expression, not at all. But it changed my mind about going to sleep.

The ring fit. As for what she gave me...well, it wasn't in a package, exactly. And it turned out to be the best Christmas Eve of my life.

(c) 2000, K. Simpson To Part 17 The Devil's Workshop (c) 2000, M.C. Sak Disclaimers, Credits, & E-Mail: See Part 1.

CHAPTER 17.

Christmas Day *

What shall we hang? The holly, or each other?

-- The Lion in Winter The condemned arrived promptly at ten. It was too bad I'd quit smoking, because the cigarette and blindfold were starting to sound like good ideas.

"Cheer up," Ca.s.sie demanded as we walked up the drive. "It's Christmas."

"Exactly."

"Cranky. Why are you cranky after last night?"

"That was then. This is now."

She sighed. "We really have to work on the romance thing, honey."

I knew from hard experience to ignore remarks like that. Besides, if she wanted romance, she could go buy a cheesy paperback at the drugstore.

"Devvy?"

"Light of my life?"

"You're not fooling anyone, you know. You're sappier than I am."

I stopped walking. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, don't worry -- I won't tell. But you are."

There she went, leaping to conclusions again. Just because I'd given her jewelry didn't make me sappy. Maybe she meant the poetry later. But that didn't prove anything either. A person ought to be able to get some use out of all those years of English lit.

"Are we going to go in and get this over with?" I asked, with injured dignity. "Or are we going to stand out here and make false accusations all morning?"

Ca.s.sie just laughed and pulled me the rest of the way up the driveway.

We walked into a tableau out of Madame Tussaud's. They were all sitting around the living room like waxworks, not talking, not doing anything. For my family, that was beyond weird, and I didn't like it.

"h.e.l.lo," I said experimentally.

Mom turned her head slightly and frowned. "Oh. It's you."

Who was she expecting? Reindeer? "Yes, it is. Good morning. Merry Christmas."

I couldn't quite hear her response, but it didn't sound festive. Oh, well, she'd probably just gotten up on the wrong side of the moat. So I tried again. "Where's Dad?"

"Out looking for you," she snapped.

G.o.d, give me patience this instant. "Well, he won't find us unless he's looking here. Why would he be doing that anyway?"

"You should have been here an hour ago. He thought something happened to you."

Ca.s.sie shook her head slightly in warning; I pretended not to notice. "n.o.body said anything about a schedule. I told Connor and Ryan we'd be here by ten. And we were. Why didn't he just call the hotel?"

"He was worried."

Impatient, I speed-read the situation. My brothers weren't talking. Dad was out driving. Yup, Mom was on her horse. It was going to be one of those Christmases.

"Coffee," I said to no one in particular and went to the kitchen.

By the time Dad got back, everyone was more or less done sulking. It had taken several threats and a few blunt reminders that we had company, but I'd finally gotten them talking again. On Planet Kerry, this pa.s.sed for progress.

So we sat down to open presents. Ryan played Santa, which he'd done every year since he was 6, and we were teddibly, teddibly polite about it all. We took turns; we didn't rip the paper off like savages; we didn't even count packages first. That last part was for Ca.s.sie's benefit, though, because Connor, Ryan, and I always counted first. One year, we'd also measured and weighed. But Mom had thrown a fit, so we rarely did that anymore, and only in private.

"Don't shake this one," Ryan told Connor as he handed him another package. "It's from Dev. It's probably ticking."

Ca.s.sie smiled at him. "Not that one. But be careful you don't cover the air holes. They get really mad when they can't breathe."

Very funny. My brothers actually thought so, however, so I let her get away with it. Anyway, it was just another of the toys that we always gave one another: laser guns, guns that launched little helicopters, little containers of goo and eyeb.a.l.l.s. This one was a Magic 8 Ball. Connor had broken the one he got last year when it didn't give him the answer he wanted.

Ca.s.sie looked on, bemused. Mom had been decent enough to get her a couple of small things so that she'd have something to unwrap, but they were along the lines of scarves, which she didn't wear. Neither of her daughters-in-law did either, but they got them every year anyway.

Never mind, though -- Ca.s.s and I were going to have a private Christmas when we got home. I didn't know what might be in all those packages from her parents, but I knew for a fact that there were no scarves in the ones from me.

"I love it," Connor said, displaying the 8 Ball for general admiration. "It's stunning. Just stunning. What is it? Does it come with directions?"

"Wise guy," I muttered.

He winked and sailed a small package across the room at me. Then he tossed an identical one to Ca.s.sie.

"Hey!" Ryan huffed. "I'm Santa around here."

"These aren't from Santa. They're from Jen and me."

Skeptical, I opened mine. Ca.s.sie watched a little apprehensively; the last thing from Connor and Jen had been one of those singing fish. Ryan had liked it, but then, Ryan was weird.

"What is this?" I asked Connor, staring at the plastic egg.

"Open it and see."

I pressed the latch, and the top popped up. Inside was a miniature ocean with plastic whales. "I see. But I still don't..."

"You have to open it all the way," Jen directed.

So I did. The little egg shuddered, and the scene came to life in my hand, the tiny whales swimming and the tiny waves churning. Totally against my will, I was enchanted.

Relieved, Ca.s.sie opened hers. She got a pond with little ducks, which was almost -- but not quite -- as cool as mine.

"I love this," she told them. "Thank you. I'm going to take it to client meetings and play with it when I get bored. Which will be all the time."

She started her toy again, and as she did, Mom leaned forward, suddenly alert.

"Something wrong?" I asked her.

"I don't remember seeing Carrie wearing a ring yesterday."

Ca.s.sie looked up from her ducks with a quizzical expression.

"Ca.s.sie," I corrected wearily. "And she has lots of jewelry, Mom. She can't wear all of it every day."

It wasn't a lie exactly. I wasn't even sure why I'd told it. But it was none of my mother's business where the ring had come from, and if she pressed the issue, Ca.s.sie could simply lie and say...

"It was a Christmas present from Devvy," Ca.s.sie said.

h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation. I mentally subtracted one of the packages under her tree back home.

Everyone else, of course, was all ears about this news. Amy jumped up to have a closer look, and only then did I realize which finger Ca.s.sie was wearing the ring on. It didn't mean anything; it wasn't a diamond; we weren't doing that. But did she have to wear it on that finger, in front of my mother? Mom took the etiquette books so seriously that she probably didn't wear white underwear after Labor Day, and she wasn't going to care that people wore rings everywhere nowadays. Including some places I didn't even want to think about.

"Let me see that," Mom said brusquely, moving Amy aside.

Ca.s.sie patiently let Mom study the ring from all angles. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"It looks expensive," she said. "I thought you didn't have a job anymore, Devlin."

I scowled at her. "We're appealing. We'll be back to work any day now. And how is it your affair anyway?"

"You shouldn't be giving such expensive gifts to a girlfriend. People will talk."

Of course they would. Talk was the only thing most people of my acquaintance were good for. But it was none of their business either. "Well, she is my girlfriend."

"That's not funny."

Ca.s.sie started to excuse herself, but I spiked her in place with a look. "You're right, Mom; it's not. Which part are you having the trouble with? 'Girl'? Or 'friend'?"

"You know very well what I mean, young lady. It's..."

"Immoral?" Connor supplied.

Jen backhanded him hard in the stomach. Fortunately for him, he was getting a little paunchy, so it couldn't have hurt much.

Mom frowned -- not at the violence, but at the interruption. "Indecent."

"Indecent," I repeated. "I see. It's indecent. Ca.s.s?"

"Devvy?"

"Will you answer a question? For my mother's edification?"

"Shoot."

"Are you wearing underwear right now?"

Ryan spat coffee several feet across the living room. For her part, Ca.s.sie was dumbstruck.

"It's a serious question," I a.s.sured her. "My mother has really specific ideas about decency. When I was little, she said it wasn't decent to go around without underwear, even if it was August."

Ca.s.sie relaxed visibly. "That's interesting. My mother said it wasn't decent to say the word 'underpants' in front of company. So I don't know if we should even be having this conversation."

I didn't try to hide the goofy smile. G.o.d, I adored her.

"But since you ask," she added sweetly, "yes, I am. My very best underpants, because it's Christmas."

My brothers and sisters-in-law collapsed in snorting, hiccuping laughter. Dad looked as though he wanted to laugh too but didn't want to pay the price his wife would charge him for it.

Satisfied, I turned back to Mom. "Does that clarify your thinking?"

"You get this from your father's side of the family," she said darkly.

Dad cleared his throat. "Now, Martha..."

"Stay out of this, Patrick."

For a moment, we all thought he was going to stand up to her. It happened as often as once or twice a year. But the moment pa.s.sed, and before anyone could stop him, Dad had grabbed his coat, hat, and keys again.

No one spoke until the sound of the Oldsmobile's motor faded in the distance. And when she did, she said exactly the wrong thing.

"I hope you're happy now," Mom growled. "You've ruined Christmas."

Was that all it took nowadays? Exasperated, I turned to my brothers for help -- and got none, which I would remember. "Me? This is your fault, Mother."

She gave me a severe cla.s.sroom stare over the rims of her gla.s.ses. "I don't mean just you. I mean both of you. You and...Carrie."