Page 56 of Miss Humbug
Without a word, they tackled each other at the same time.
“No!” I broke through the crowd. I had to do something.
Ashe attempted to pull Shawn back, but the guys had fallen to the ground and wrestled in the snow. Ashe didn’t see it coming when Rafe smacked a hand full of wet snow against the back of his neck. “Ah—that’s cold!”
“Get him, Dad!” Rafe’s kids squealed.
I inched forward, unsure what to do other than to yell at them to stop.
TL appeared beside me. “What an embarrassing display of male rage.” She held up her phone, recording.
Great, just great.
“My mom’s there too,” Reece told TL. “The guys always take credit for everything. Look—my mom shoved Uncle Rafe. Did you record that?” She sounded proud.
“Fighting isn’t something to brag about,” I said to Reece.
Ethan and Shawn were on their feet now. Both ran at Rafe. Ashe followed. Something had shifted—I must have missed it with my sad attempt at a lecture.
They raced across the square. Why? For what purpose?
“They’re headed for the display!” Arlene cried out. Still with the mic on, amplified in the tent, but audible outside in the square.
Sure enough, they ran toward the big Christmas tree in the center of the square with its surrounding holiday decorations.
An elderly white man peered past me. “I can’t see. Arlene, tell us what’s happening.”
Arlene switched her voice to the tone of a sports announcer. “We’ve got Rafe Holly in the lead with Shawn Holly hot on his heels. Don’t count out the Sawyer boy making strides or Ashe Holly coming up on the left. Rafe will need to pivot fast if he wants to avoid—oh! There goes the Menorah.”
I winced as the ten-foot-tall Menorah tipped over. Thankfully, it was inflatable.
A high-pitched squeak sounded. It was coming from the Menorah. They’d punctured the Menorah.
The crowd gasped and inched forward to ogle the chaos.
“Shawn Holly hits the ground tackled by brother Ashe,” Arlene continued to narrate, having now unclipped the mic from her lapel to hold it close to her mouth. “Ashe played running back for Crystal Cove High and made division all-state two years running.”
Light chatter surfaced among the crowd about Crystal Cove’s current football stats.
This was obnoxious. Someone would get hurt. I advanced toward the display, hoping I could talk sense into them. “Stop embarrassing us, you dummies!” I shouted to unhearing ears.
Shawn rolled out of Ashe’s reach and stumbled to his feet. Ashe, attempting to stand, caught his foot on the edge of a hay bale bordering the display manager. He fell backward and knocked over a wise man. At least there were two wise men left standing, which sure didn’t include my brother.
Shawn pointed at Ashe and cackled. “Told ya you couldn’t catch me.”
Seriously? Two grown men playing chase? In a public square?
I wouldn’t call Ashe quick to anger. Even with three kids, he had the patience of twelve church ladies on bake sale day. When Ashe got mad—really mad—he got quiet. And still.
Ashe ceased all movement. He did not speak. His glare toward Shawn could be seen from space.
He flipped to all fours and scuttled around. “You better run,” he ground out.
Shawn’s smirk faded. Actual fear lit his eyes. He turned to bolt just as Ashe scrambled up and reached for something.
Oh…oh no.
“He’s got the baby Jesus,” Arlene gasped into her microphone. “I repeat, Ashe Holly is in possession of the baby Jesus!”
