Page 53 of All The Things: The Last Thing He Needs Omnibus

With another shrug, Mike said, “We did a unit on it in English, and I kinda liked it.”

“Gonna let me read any?” Tommy asked, watching Davey out of the corner of his eye.

The kid was picking off any loose needles and fluffing the branches. He was pretty damned proud of that tree.

“Sure. Judy’s got my folder right now, though.” Mike shifted on his feet like he was embarrassed. “She said she was gonna put ’em in a book or something, so I could keep it and read it when I’m older.”

That idea would never have occurred to Tommy. “That’s real nice of her. Be sure and thank her for it, ya know?”

“I will. I mean, I already did, but I will again when she’s done.” Mike paused for a beat and chewed his lip, looking like he was thinking hard about something. “She’s real nice, like… I think it’s what a grandmother is supposed to be like. Baking cookies and doing nice stuff like that.”

Davey was digging in the closet under the stairs when Mike sat down next to Tommy.

“You’re probably right,” Tommy agreed.

Grandma O’Shea had died before any of them were born. Cirrhosis of the liver, of course. But he and Mike were old enough to remember their grandmother on their mother’s side. Tommy figured if he ever looked up a definition for mean as a snake, her picture would be there with it for reference.

She had a tiny dog she would sic on them when they were little because she thought it was funny as hell when they’d run screaming through the house from it. That old bat would cackle like a maniac when they cried and ran to their father to be picked up. She liked to smack Tommy with her cane for no reason at all, and she once told Colleen, who was barely older than Zoe at the time, that she was the ugliest child she’d ever seen and she should have been drowned at birth. Tommy was seven then, and he told her one day he was going to kill her in her sleep. That, for whatever twisted reason, made Tommy her favorite. She still wasn’t nice to any of them, but she said he at least had balls, which was more than she could say for his father. Tommy hated her. She finally died when he was twelve years old, and Tommy cleaned out her jewelry box and sold the few trinkets down at a pawnshop. He had taken Colleen and Mike out for ice cream and stashed the rest of the money.

Mike pulled him out of his thoughts when he said, “Ya know, sometimes I think maybe Bobby and Judy are, like, God’s way of apologizing for how shitty things were.”

Tommy let the comment about God go. He figured he still owed the guy one for the night Bobby was shot. Or maybe he didn’t owe him one, but maybe they were almost even.

“Were?” Tommy asked, laughing as he looked around their shabby home.

It looked to Tommy like Mike was trying to decide if he meant it.

“Yeah,” Mike said after a moment. “Things are better, and they keep getting better, ya know?”

Tommy didn’t bother to point out there were a lot of ways things could still go to hell. He didn’t tell Mike, starting where they had, things getting better wasn’t necessarily progress, more like floating on shit in the right direction for once.

Mike was looking at their life like they could see a light at the end of the tunnel. Tommy could too, he just couldn’t tell if it was the sun or a locomotive getting ready to knock them over for good. He decided to let Mike keep the promise of a better future he was starting to believe in.

He decided to let the specter of hope haunt them for a while. “Maybe so, kiddo.”

Tommy wasn’t surprised when the doorbell rang a couple of hours later. The kids were digging through old Christmas decorations and getting ready to trim the tree. Colleen had just gotten home from work, and Tommy needed to leave soon for his shift.

Tommy got up from the floor, but Carrie jumped ahead of him. She had red garland draped over her shoulder like a scarf and a few old Christmas bows in her hair.

Judy stood on the porch with a bright smile on her face. She had a wreath dangling from her arm and a few plastic containers with—Tommy was sure—cookies and fudge in them. Bobby stood behind her looking guiltier than Tommy had ever seen him. He was wearing a Santa hat. Judy was too, for that matter, and she had a stack of them on top of her trays.

“We were told there was a tree-trimming party,” Judy said happily.

Carrie was practically bouncing in front of her. “There is! There is!” she shouted as she lifted her arms to take the trays from Judy.

Tommy took a step back and opened the door wider. He didn’t know who had given the kids Judy’s number, but he was considering shutting off the house phone.

When Carrie made off with the treats, Judy turned and hung the wreath on a rusty nail on the front door. She looked at Tommy and said, “Don’t give me any shit, Tommy O’Shea.”

He felt his eyes go wide with shock. The closest thing to a curse he’d ever heard from her was on the night they’d met, when Bobby’s condition was still a big question mark.

She went on. “For once, could you just say ‘It’s good to see you, Judy. Come on in.’ And maybe give me a hug?”

Bobby poked his head in over her shoulder and said to Tommy, “She’s had three spiked eggnogs. You might wanna do it.”

Tommy let out a bark of laughter and wrapped his arms around her petite body, giving her the hug she asked for. “It’s good to see ya, Judy. Come on in,” he said obediently. When he pulled back, he added, “I kinda like ya like this, Mrs. M. You’re all feisty.”

Judy laughed, but said, “You’re just pleased that you’ve finally driven me to drink.”

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