“Who asked you to do this?”
“Elisa.”
“When?’
“Today?”
“Wha? Why?”
“The guy they hired to play Santa got pinched.”
“Where did they find him? The top ten most wanted list? What did he do? Killed the real Santa?”
Nobody’s laughing.
Especially me.
“Booze and illegal substances while driving.”
“He’s a fucking peach.”
I drag my eyes down, stare at the bag, and inhale slowly while looking for a way out.
“I’d hurry if I were you,” Ezra says, and I almost notice a pang of amusement in his voice.
I hurl a glare at him.
“When is the…?”
I stop, biting back the bad word, as my son chides me with his eyes.
“The lovely party?” I go on.
“It started…”
He looks at some digital clock pinned to the wall.
“About an hour ago. And I was supposed to be there ten minutes ago. I’m sure they blew up my phone with messages, but my cell is busted, as you know.”
He points at a pile of broken stuff sitting on a towel.
His eyes hold mine. He’s the only soul in this room who’s not afraid of me.
“They’re at Bradley’s,” he says in even cold syllables. “I wanted to do a good thing,” he adds, sealing my fate.
How can anyone walk back from that?
Grunting, I pick up the duffel bag and toss it over my shoulder.
“You’ll forever owe me for this,” I mumble before gesturing at his smashed phone. “I’ll send someone with a new phone. And you can use my driver in the morning. Just leave the address so I know where to find you.”
“Thanks, Dad,” he says while I peel my eyes away and push out of the door, hating my life.
Oh, fuck.
Wait a minute.
I spin around and go back in. I find them where I left them, only looking at each other as if they have narrowly escaped an atomic blast.
