Page 7 of Noel Secrets
“Michael!” His mother rose and wrapped him in a quick hug. She smelled faintly of her familiar lavender lotion. “I’m so glad you’re here. This will be good for you.”
He nearly laughed. She said it as though a train ride across the country would reset all his bad habits and sort out the stalled state of his career. But he kissed her cheek anyway and squeezed her shoulder.
Uncle Henry was next—round, genial, with a booming laugh already spilling out as though the mere sight of Michael was comedy enough. Aunt Caroline gave Michael a peck on the cheek, her perfume still as cloying as ever.
And then, standing just a step behind them, was Simon.
Michael hadn’t seen his cousin since last Christmas, or was it Thanksgiving? Thirty years old now, Simon Blair was tall and looked like he’d stepped straight from the glossy pages of some lifestyle magazine—tailored coat, scarf knotted carelessly in that perfect I-don’t-care way that meant he probably spent ten minutes in the mirror perfecting it. His grin was wide, his teeth blinding, his cologne sharp and expensive. He clasped Michael’s hand in a shake that turned into a half-hug as if they were brothers instead of blood-related strangers.
“Cousin,” Simon said with theatrical warmth. “Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Michael offered the same grin he might to a source he didn’t trust. “Good to see you. I didn’t realize you were coming along,” he said, careful to keep his tone light.
“Last minute decision. Decided to join in just this morning,” Simon said breezily, like he was talking about ordering dessert instead of uprooting to spend days locked in a train car with extended family. “But with Darlene gone, I figured—why not? New scenery. Fresh air. Adventure.”
Darlene. The marriage everyone had quietly tiptoed around at holidays was now officially over. Michael raised an eyebrow. “Sorry to hear it. What happened?”
Simon shrugged as if tossing away a coat. “She wanted different things. I wanted freedom.C’est la vie, right?” Nothingmore. The topic was dismissed with the smoothness of a politician side-stepping scandal.
Michael nodded slowly but wondered about the truth.
It wasn’t just Simon’s glossed-over answers that set Michael’s reporter instincts buzzing. It was the way Simon moved—casual, confident, as though money cushioned every step. When Ginny passed him his train ticket, he tucked it in his breast pocket, exposing a thick wad of cash. Not a few bills. A wad. Michael doubted Simon even realized he’d revealed it, or maybe he did it on purpose. Some men liked to display power and wealth like cufflinks.
“So, what have you been up to?” Michael braced for the onslaught of stories that would spring forth from Simon’s mouth.
His cousin didn’t disappoint.
Simon spouted on and on about his recent trip to Morocco, an acquaintance who knew a cabinet minister in Italy, a party in Dubai where he’d met someone whose name Michael recognized from the news. The details always flowed easily from Simon’s bragging mouth. But there was always a polish to it all, a too-perfect sheen that kept Michael’s instincts on high alert.
Michael let him talk. That’s the thing about people like Simon: the more rope given to them, the more likely they are to hang themselves. Still, Michael plastered on a smile, nodding at the right beats, though his inner notebook was already scribbling questions.
Drugs? Smuggling? Some kind of offshore scheme?
“Boys,” Ed called, snapping Michael’s attention to the twins. They were clambering onto the edge of a piece of luggage, pretending it was a horse. Ginny tried to corral them, exasperation etched in every line of her face. A wisp of her gray hair sprung loose from her low bun and whipped across her face.
“They’re spirited,” Michael said diplomatically.
“They’re four,” Ginny replied, tugging one down before he toppled. “Everything is a game at four. They’ll be fine once the train moves.”
Two sets of identical brown eyes widened. “Will it go fast?” one asked. Timothy or was it Tyler? Michael hadn’t spent enough time with them to tell the difference.
“Faster than any horse,” Michael promised, and the boys giggled before bolting in different directions again.
Simon leaned in, lowering his voice just enough for Michael to catch the cadence. “They’ll exhaust us before we reach Chicago.”
Michael smirked, though his mind looped in on Simon’s expensive wool coat. His cousin was well-fed, well-traveled,andwell-dressed. To his family, Simon was the prodigal cousin returned to grace them with his charm. To Michael, he was a question mark dressed in finery.
Michael shoved his suspicions down where they belonged. No sense airing them now, not on the edge of what Ginny clearly hoped would be a bonding journey for the holiday reunion.
“Glad you’re here,” Michael said aloud to Simon, plastering cheer over his doubt. “This trip just got more interesting.” Not a lie. Though Michael didn’t think Simon would be the kind of story his boss was looking for either. But he sure would fit an editorial piece on con men among us.
Simon flashed that smile again. He glanced down the platform as though he were looking for someone. “Exactly what I thought. Interesting. This trip should be very interesting.”
The twins barreled back toward Michael like pint-sized torpedoes in puffy jackets, mittens flapping, voices high and eager.
“Michael! Michael! Did you bring us presents?” Timothy or Tyler squealed.
“Yeah, presents!” the other echoed, tugging at Michael’s coat sleeve with sticky fingers that smelled faintly of candy canes.
