Page 9 of Hooked

She stops talking again. Now there’s a Christmas miracle.

“You can dress reality up however you want, but when it comes down to it, most families hate each other. The holidays are the worst because you’re supposed to force a greeting card façade when you’d rather be eating Chinese food alone.”

I shoot a glance to her. She’s shrinking into the giant coat borrowed from her uncle. Very Tiny Tim. At least she’s consistent. She pales a little, and I wonder if she ever gets her worldview challenged.

“That might be how you see it,” she says, finally, her voice tight. “But I think that’s cynical and sad. Christmas is when you’re supposed to remember why you love each other. Why family, why tradition, matters.”

“What about people who don’t have families?” I can’t help but push things. She turns to me, looking far more guileless than any grown person should. She never would’ve survived my childhood.

“It doesn’t have to be blood relatives, Vinny. Chosen family is just as important.”

My early years were spent desperately hoping to be someone’s chosen family. With every new foster placement, I prayed that some family would want me. Keep me. But I always got sent back to the State, usually with new scars, literal or figurative. Hope is dangerous.

“Some people don’t get chosen.” I shrug. “I don’t expect you to understand that. You’re a beautiful woman from a wealthy family who obviously loves you.”

She’s pissed now. It’s too satisfying to leave there.

“You can spend time with silly things like deciding which exact shade of red bow matches your picture-perfect poinsettias because you’ve never had to deal with the uglier things life offers up.”

She stares straight ahead, her cheeks flushed. When we finally get to Vineyard Haven, she fixes me with a pointed stare.

“You make a lot of assumptions, Vinny. About me, and I’m guessing about yourself, too. Thank you for the ride. I’ll get an Uber back. I know you have work to do on your house and I don’t want to keep you with my silly endeavors.” She climbs from the truck with difficulty. The bulky coat and her stiff, sore hands slow her down.

She shuts the door behind her and drifts off into one of the stores.

I feel slightly guilty. Well, not exactly guilty, but it’s better this way. If we’re sharing a space, I need her to direct her Christmas ramblings elsewhere. It’s a waste of time, and I won’t get caught up just because she’s beautiful.

She’ll be gone before long anyway.

5

Sia

That presumptuous son of a bitch.

I can’t believe he had the gall to say that to me, as if he knows anything about me. I asked my uncle about him this morning. Not a doctor, like I’d guessed in my hypothermic brain haze, but a friend of Kieran’s from their Coast Guard days who operates a fish shack on my uncle’s land.

A bit of a loner, Uncle Danny had said.But a stand-up guy.

Before that car ride from hell, I would’ve agreed. Maybe no one invites him to parties because he’s a sullen asshole.

Ugh.

Okay.

He’s not going to spoil my plans. In fact, I’m going to make it impossible for even that Grinch to resist the Christmas spirit.

But first I need to get something to wear.

Walking into the fancy boutique, I feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, except I’m the hobo to her sex worker. A young woman with shiny black curly hair sits behind the counter looking bored as hell. She raises one finely groomed eyebrow when I enter.

“Hi,” I say. “As I guess you can see, I’m in the market for some clothes.” Thank the sweet baby Jesus my wallet and phone had survived their trip in my newly sainted zip-top Frye leather tote bag.

“We have plenty of those,” she replies, gesturing around apathetically. Obviously fashion is not her passion.

“I’ll level with you.” I trip on my uncle’s giant loafers. God. “I’m here for a week. My clothes are in a bag at the bottom of the ocean. At least I think they are. I have nothing beyond what I was wearing yesterday, but even when those are back from the dry cleaner’s, I’m going to need a few more things to get me through.”

The young woman sits up, suddenly interested. “Oh shit. That was you on the Ivy Bay?” She glances at my hands. “I heard you held Oscar up until we got there.”

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