Page 123 of Keep

“He gets that from you.”

A dog barked down the road. Another one answered.

“My mother used to leave the tree lights on,” Chad said.

Hank went still.

“Not all night. Just until everyone was in bed. She’d sit in the living room by herself. I used to sneak out and watch her from the hallway.” His voice was even—carefully even, held at arm’s length. “She looked different in that light.”

He stopped.

The silence had weight. Hank sat in it. He didn’t reach for Chad. Didn’t offer anything. Just sat in the chair with his bourbon and let the silence be what it was.

Manassas was six hours north. So was a woman who’d seen the speech, the photograph, the whole public unraveling and rebuilding of a life she’d decided was no longer connected to hers. Two years of silence that had its own gravity, pulling at something Chad kept covered, protected.

“Anyway,” Chad said. The armor, back on. “Pie tomorrow.”

“Pie tomorrow.”

“And biscuits. Shelby says, don’t overwork the dough.”

“I have never once overworked the dough.”

“Shelby has a different recollection.”

The porch swing—empty, on the other side of the porch—creaked in a gust of wind. The Christmas lights along the railing made small colored pools on the floorboards.

“Hey,” Hank said.

“Hey.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Where else would I be?”

He’d said that before. Election night in the community center, when Hank had thanked him for being there. The same words. But the meaning had shifted—then it had been a choice, a declaration. Now it was just a fact. Where else would he be? Here. Obviously. Where else?

They sat on the porch until the cold drove them inside.

Christmas morning arrived at the volume Owen considered appropriate, which was all of it.

“IT’S CRIMMIS! FUZZY! IT’S CRIMMIS!”

Hank opened his eyes. Gray light. The guest room. Chad was a warm weight against his side, face in the pillow.

“What time is it?” Chad said.

“Six-twelve.”

“That’s still night.”

The door burst open. Owen, dinosaur pajamas, vibrating.

“Fuzzy.” He climbed onto the bed. “Fuzzy, it’s Crimmis.”

“Merry Christmas, buddy.”

“Merry Crimmis.” He settled onto Hank’s chest. Then he looked at the pillow where Chad was hiding. Patted it. “Chad. Crimmis.”