A/N: I was thinking a few loyal people (who stuck with me the whole way during Knots) would enjoy a sequel...but, WOW, the reception for this story was well beyond my expectations. Thank you for the support and encouragement for this story and for all the birthday wishes.
I am trying to keep the chapters on the shorter side so this, and the next few chapters, are just setting the stage. Apologies if it lacks a lot of action.
"It's not straight," Norman offered his unsolicited opinion.
Sig let out an exasperated sigh. With Edgar's full weight on his shoulders, the eldest brother lifted his head and gave his younger brother a scathing look. "It's fine, Norman."
"Naw, he's right," Edgar said, cocking his head wistfully to the side and observing the newly mounted angel on the top of the Christmas tree. Without warning his brother beneath him, he leaned over to adjust the white porcelain angel and almost collapsed into the blue spruce.
"Jesus," Sig exclaimed when he felt Edgar's weight shift. He barely had time to balance the both of them without letting his brother fall to the floor. "You gotta let me know what you're doing up there, kid," Sig exclaimed as he tightly wrapped his arms around Edgar's legs as they dangled on either side of him.
"Sorry," Edgar said, unable to stymie a giggle that pretty much negated the apology. Elated that his family was together again, he couldn't help but ruffle Sig's thick, blond hair and squeeze his knees into his oldest brother's armpits like he would guide a horse, "Could you move a little closer to the tree?"
Complying with the request, Sig moved closer to the tree so that Edgar could get everything 'just right.' The eldest brother could feel the happiness coursing through Edgar's entire body and he wondered if the excitement was being transmitted downward by osmosis and into his own.
"That's better," Norman said satisfied, and returned to sorting the box of Christmas tree decorations resting on the coffee table.
"Thank God," Sig gratefully murmured. As he knelt down to let Edgar get off his shoulders, he commented, "Edgar, I know you're all about traditions but I don't think we're gonna be able to hang the angel like this much longer. You're getting too big and my back can only take so much weight."
"He's a freaking string bean…100lbs soaking wet," Norman grumbled without looking up from the box, "Maybe you're just getting too OLD."
Sig made a face that his younger brother completely missed.
"He's not getting too old," Edgar said, coming to his oldest brother's defense, then giving Sig a hard look, "Although you do look a lot older with your beard."
"Well," Sig said slowly, leaning down to start the arduous process of untangling the string of lights, "If I would have had time this morning, I would have shaved it off. But…" he flashed Edgar a meaningful look, "…SOMEONE had to start decorating the tree the minute we woke up. Except we HAD to wait for someone else to get home," he added, glancing over at Norman, "So where were you so early this morning?"
Norman pretended not to hear the question.
"Paper route," Edgar cheerfully answered on Norman's behalf, "He was delivering newspapers."
Sig raised a curious eyebrow in Norman's direction.
Still, Norman focused on organizing the decorations according to size. Heavy items for the bottom of the tree, smaller ones for the top….I know you're looking at me and YES, I am ignoring YOU.
"What, get fired from the hardware store, little brother?" Sig pressed.
"No, he's still working there," Edgar eagerly replied, taking a string of lights and tossing the end onto the top of the tree, "He's even working more hours than before."
Norman suppressed a groan. Little brothers! Always good for sharing your business with the world!
"Really?" Sig said softly, "With all those AP classes this year…like Calculus and Physics…you're working two jobs? What on earth for? We have money for college and…"
"Look," Norman piped up, his voice booming with nervousness regarding the conversation, "Look at this." He held up a small, pink Christmas ball with the word 'Baby' and the year 1970 painted on the sides. "This was the first Christmas ornament Mom got for Edgar. She was really, really pregnant that Christmas. You remember that, Sig?"
"Yeah," Sig eyed the Christmas ball, "At the time, considering I was four-years-old and didn't know any better, I was hoping Santa Claus would leave the baby on Christmas Eve and take YOU back to the North Pole where you came from."
"No such luck," Norman smiled wickedly, "You think Mom thought Edgar was a girl?" He spun the ball in his hand, highlighting the pink metallic finish and laughing.
Edgar backed away from the tree and snatched the ball from Norman's palm, "Put this one back in the box. I always hated that decoration. Mom never hung it up because she knew I didn't like it."
"But she kept it," Norman crooned, watching Edgar bury the offending item alongside the sad collection of broken ornaments. Their mother didn't have the heart to throw away the damaged pieces. More than a few of the broken ornaments were the casualties of young boys disobeying their mother and roughhousing in front of the Christmas tree.
Now each broken piece brought on a sense of guilt and remorse for not minding their mother when they were little boys.
"Spent a lot of time looking at the corner on behalf of these," Sig peered over and observed the broken collection.
"We could glue some of these back together," Norman offered.
Sig gave him a weak smile, "They have been glued so much that they're probably toxic."
Just then, the door between the garage and the kitchen opened with a bang and a rush of frigid air seeped into the house. Sig felt his spine quiver and not from the drop in temperature.
Since waking up that morning, Sig suspected his father would be anxiously waiting for a full report on the trip. But, while Sig and Edgar slept, the Old Man had left with Daisy in the wee hours of the morning, out on some secret adventure, and had yet to return.
"Sigurd," a deep voice called from the kitchen, "Come help me with the groceries!"
Sig glanced at Norman, a silent plea of some kind or just a wish for sympathy, and got up from his tangled mess of knotted lights.
As Sig entered the kitchen, Daisy came bounding into the living room. She stopped dead in her tracks and stared at the now prominent fixture in the middle of her living room. The tree that had once been shoved in the corner was now front and center, next to the fireplace.
"You don't get to pee on this one, little girl," Norman laughed softly at the dog's reaction.
Edgar frowned, "She would never do that."
Instead, Daisy whimpered, turned tail and high-tailed it upstairs to sulk under the master bed.
"What's wrong, Daisy girl?" Edgar called after her, "It's just a tree." He made a step in the same direction to chase after her.
"Let her go, Edgar," Norman chided him gently, "She's just not used to it. Give her time."
"Maybe she's scared," Edgar said, his tone laced with worry.
Norman stood up and placed a kind hand on his youngest brother's shoulder. With a squeeze and then a gentle rub of Edgar's neck, he said, "She'll come back downstairs when she's ready. Obviously, she wants to be alone…probably to get away from US because she assumes we've gone crazy, bringing a 'squirrel condominium' into the house and decorating it with lights."
Unbeknownst to either brother, Daisy was in a full panic regarding the presence of the Christmas tree. As far as she was concerned, cold weather, snow and the damn tree were foreboding symbols of bad times to come.
Being a 'present' herself as a puppy, Daisy had no fondness for Christmas. The old home where she was as easily discarded as the torn wrapping paper was the only memories she had regarding the festive holiday. Although she desperately hoped things would be different in her new house, the symbols of the past were disturbingly haunting and cruelly eating at the young lab's confidence.
Back downstairs, after a confirming glance into the kitchen to find it empty, Norman pulled Edgar close and whispered in his ear. "Sig didn't have time this year to buy Christmas presents for everyone so please don't be disappointed if he didn't get you anything. It doesn't mean he doesn't love you. OK?"
Edgar leaned back and eyed his older brother with an appalled look, "I don't expect presents from anybody…not even Dad."
"Sure, kid," Norman sarcastically patted Edgar on the back, "You say that now but I know how crushed you'd be if you came downstairs Christmas morning only to find nothing under the tree except some fallen decorations."
"It's true," Edgar protested, "I'm not one of those spoiled kids from school who expect to get big, expensive gifts from their parents. I'm not hallow."
Norman smiled brightly, "I think you mean shallow…and I know you're not. I'm just saying…" he struggled for an adequate explanation, then threw up his hands, "…you know what, I don't know what I'm saying. I just don't want to see you let down this Christmas, I guess."
"I won't be," Edgar said, his voice trailing off as turned his attention back to stringing the lights. Because I already know Dad got presents. I found them. The Old Man's hiding spots aren't as nearly as creative as Mom's used to be. And it's really too late to be let down anymore…without Mom, this Christmas, and all the ones after it, will always be missing something. But at least Sig is home and that means more than any stupid present.
Norman knew his kid brother so well that he could almost read Edgar's mind. All four Hansen men secretly sensed this Christmas would be difficult, just as every holiday and birthday was difficult this year, this first year without HER. And the 'big guns' are still left to come; Christmas, Edgar's 14th birthday and finally, the anniversary of Mom's death.
Shaking off the impending doom, Norman forced a wide grin on his handsome face and said cheerfully, "Let me help you with those lights."
Meanwhile, Sig aided his father with bringing in the brown paper grocery bags from the trunk of the Mustang.
"Damn lazy bastards," Dad was already complaining as tried to cart in two bags within his strong arms. The man was notorious for pushing his limits with heavy objects, almost like he was challenging some unknown force. "How damn hard it is to plow the streets after a snow storm? We shouldn't have to wait days to get our street cleared. I almost wiped out twice just getting out of our development."
"Maybe it would have been a better idea to take the truck," Sig blindly offered, completely forgetting that he was talking to his father and not to one of the older deckhands on the boat, "The Mustang isn't known for handling in the snow."
Sverre froze in the doorway between the garage and kitchen. He turned slowly and purposefully, bags in hand, and prevented his oldest son from getting back in the house with his middle-aged bulk and piercing blue eyes. "YOUR brother needed the truck to deliver newspapers. Did you think of that before you decided to pass judgment, boy?"
Sig was instantly contrite. His eyes couldn't find the floor fast enough and he pondered how his father managed to reduce him to feeling like a schoolboy with such lightning efficiency. "Sorry, sir, I forgot you sold your Chevy."
"Humph," Sverre grumbled, continuing on into the kitchen and putting the bags down with a thud, "I sold the Chevy just for extra money for Norman's college tuition…." Lowering his voice, he glanced in Sig's direction, "…but with the way Norman's working himself to death, you would think he had to pay the damn bills all by himself." Practically hissing with displeasure, Sverre asked, "What the hell has gotten into your brother? He's barely home anymore. He's either at school or working one of two jobs…or with that girlfriend of his."
"I've been wondering that myself," Sig's eye's trailed off into the living room, "Have you asked him what's going on?"
"And WHEN should I ask him, smarty britches…if he's never home?" Sverre snorted in frustration, "Edgar….Edgar, on the other hand, hardly ever leaves the house. He's a bright boy. I've seen how smart he is with his hands but, God help me, I just don't have to patience to deal with his schoolwork. I swear if it's written on paper, the boy just can't retain it…like in one ear and out the other." Sverre shook his balding head, "If that even makes sense."
Quietly, Sig assisted his father in putting away the groceries and realized HE was the one getting the 'full report' and not the other way around. Apparently Sig wasn't the only one who needed to unload some baggage.
"Your mother was the one who was good with school, homework and all that bullshit." Sverre commiserated, "I tried, Sigurd, heaven help me, I tried. But, I'm just a simple fisherman who, might I add, came to this country as a kid without knowing a lick of English. What the hell do I know about 8th grade poetry and the Boston Tea Party?
That shit was irrelevant when I went to school…hell, it's STILL irrelevant! Why can't they teach these kids how to read a God damn map and balance a check book…you know, shit they'll ACTUALLY need to survive?
Norman could be more of a help to Edgar than I ever could be," Sverre angrily emptied one of the grocery bags, slamming the Christmas pork roast onto the kitchen counter in the process, "If YOUR brother was ever home."
Sig watched the hunk of meat get unintentionally tenderized and inwardly mused how Norman went from 'my son' to 'your brother' when Dad was annoyed with him.
"I'm sure Norman has his reasons. Maybe we can get a tutor for Edgar," the eldest brother tried to defuse his father's frustration.
Peering into another bag and coming across the sheaf of wheat specially purchased for the Christmas season, Sig pulled it out for inspection. "You remembered the wheat for the birds," he pointed out the obvious.
"Did you leave your brain in Alaska, boy? Of course I did," Sverre glanced sideways towards his oldest son, "It's a Scandinavian tradition to leave the wheat out for the birds over Christmas. AND…" he drew out the words, "…before you even ask, YES, I got the ingredients to make the Risgrøt for Fjøsnissen. I just have to find your mother's recipe…wherever the hell she hid it."
Mildly stunned at his father's foresight, Sig forgot himself and mockingly asked, "Will we also have to sing På Låven Sitter Nissen for Julenisse before we get our presents, too?"
Within seconds, Sig suppressed a yelped and jutted forward as the side of his father's boot found his left butt cheek. "Ouch, Papa!" he ruefully rubbed at the sharp, unexpected pain.
"DON'T mock these things, Sigurd! The last thing we need in this house is to make the Nisse angry. They've been known to leave horrible curses on families who didn't make them happy," Sverre grumbled.
"Dad, they're imaginary elves," Sig grumbled back, losing his patience with being treated like a child. Thinking he'd just returned from captaining a half a million dollar boat only to get a boot to the backside and referred to as 'boy' was promptly putting Sig in a foul mood. "Hate to tell you this but they're not real. Mom was the one who always secretly ate the Risgrøt, not the Barn Elf who 'watches' (Sig literally made air quotes around the word) over our house."
"Oooha, you ARE tempting fate today," Sverre dramatically made the sign of the cross over his chest, "If these things weren't real, why do YOU knock on wood when you talk about the future?"
At his father's astute comparison, Sig felt a tinge of foreboding, a mysterious tingle that he just crossed an imaginary line with spirits unseen.
Not noticing his son's crestfallen expression, Sverre continued making his point, "And why do we NEVER leave port on a Friday? And why aren't bananas allowed on the boat? And why do we always bite the head off a herring before the first pot is dropped? And why do we…"
"…Christ, Dad, I get it. I'm sorry," Sig burst out. He wanted to stop talking about superstitions and bad luck, considering he may have just unintentionally angered a higher power.
The chattering background in the other room came to a frozen halt. Norman and Edgar heard their brother's shout from the kitchen and glanced at each other, both in disbelief that Sig raised his voice to their father.
Sverre's facial expression grew hard, his demeanor unreadable. Clearly, he was trying to rein in his temper. "Ain't me ya should be apologizing to," he finally spoke, focusing his attention back on the groceries.
Sig ran a nervous hand through his hair. Like his brothers, he couldn't believe he'd yelled at his father either. With an uneasy cough, he over-casually stated, "Well, snow crab season isn't until the end of January, four long weeks away. With any luck, the Nisse will forget by then."
"Bad things can happen just as easily on land as they can at sea, Sigurd," Sverre ominously declared, adding, "And no talk of Opie season until after the holiday."
"Why?" Sig rudely asked.
"Because Opies is a whole different ballgame then King Crab," Sverre gruffly blurted out. Significantly softer, he added, "And you just returned. Let's not talk about you leaving already." Uncharacteristically, Sverre reached a gnarled hand over to his oldest son and squeezed Sig's shoulder. "I'm glad you're home, son."
Sig met his father's eyes and saw that the Old Man meant exactly what he said. Sig's own blue eyes then trailed downward, shameful that he belittled his Dad when plainly the man was making every attempt to have a good Christmas for his family.
"Me, too, sir," Sig looked up over lowered lashes and offered a tender smile, "There were moments I didn't think I'd ever make it back…let alone on time for Christmas."
Sverre smiled knowingly, "I know exactly what you mean. The Bering Sea is nothing to be trifled with. But…" the Old Man clumsily slapped his son on the back, "…you survived your first season as co-Captain…as I knew you would."
"You want to hear about the trip, sir?" Sig asked eagerly.
Sverre turned his attention back to the groceries, "Another time. Go help your brothers with the tree. I can unpack the rest of the food."
Sig stared blankly at the back of his father's head. Since coming home, he'd been anticipating having this conversation with his father. Although the fishing trip was successful, Sig was sure his father would find ways to nitpick at his achievements. The man was notorious for being impossible to impress. Still, Sig held out hope that his Dad would eventually congratulate him and pat him on the back for a job well done.
In addition, the tall blond was savvy enough to know that nothing he told his father would come as a surprise. Certainly, his father had already scouted out a full report from Captain Solly, the man who had co-Captained the Northwestern with Sig on his maiden voyage. Despite being confident Solly would paint him in a favorable light, Sig nevertheless sought the opportunity to tell his side of the story and defend any decisions he rendered.
Now, caught off guard, Sig was hurt by his father's dismissive reaction. In his mind, hearing his full report about the trip should have been the first thing on the Old Man's agenda…if he cared to hear MY side of the story.
The Old Man could feel his son's eyes on his back but he refused to turn around, not quite ready for this conversation. All that had transpired during the King Crab season on the f/v Northwestern had already reached Sverre's keen ears. Direct from the 'sewing circles' at Cozy's bar and from his fellow captains still fishing the Bering Sea, Sverre had heard nothing but praise regarding his oldest's prowess on the high seas.
And, being brutally honest, Sverre didn't know how he felt about Sig's success. Undoubtedly, he was truly happy for his son. He wished him only the best and was deeply proud of his accomplishments. And. of course, a successful season meant more bread on the table and more security for the future of the family business.
But the ease of the transition to the next generation of Hansens left Sverre feeling downright obsolete. Still a man in his middle years, albeit later middle years, the Old Captain didn't feel ready to be put out to pasture.
At first, the break away from the sea had been relaxing and refreshing but, as time went on, the Old Man felt like something else was missing from his life besides his beloved wife. In a way, it didn't seem fair to him that he had to give up his love of the sea because God took his love on the land. It was a double loss, plain and simple.
Perhaps that dual misery was what drove him into the arms of another woman after 20 plus years of marriage. The Captain still felt wretched that he had been intimate with another woman he'd only recently met. Yet, he was attracted to her sweet personality, the similar lonely air of 'widowhood' and, to be frank, the man had carnal needs that hadn't been met in close to a year.
Still, Sverre had a nagging feeling that he had been, in some way, disloyal to his wife. Consequently, the Old Man felt the same way about the Northwestern. His other 'girl' had been left in the hands of a virtual teenager, a virgin to the Bering Sea who was bound to fumble his way through his first experience.
So, if Sig had called and cried about the difficulties of being a fishing boat captain and making a mistake by ever thinking this was his chosen calling, Sverre would have still grumbled about having to take over the boat again. It was just that the grumbling would have been purely for show.
But, the fact of the matter was that Sig didn't call home, crying and whimpering at the first big storm or the first stretch of empty pots. The modern Viking had proved that the sea was in his blood, hauling pots that were overflowing with big, juicy King Crab and guiding the ship home in hurricane-force winds. The young Captain even had to deal with an injured deckhand but Sig had handled the situation like he'd been doing it all his life, stitching the guy up and then pitching in to get the job done on deck.
All this success left Sverre with a surprising, uneasy feeling towards his son; jealousy.
Jealous, disloyal, insignificant; these were foreign feelings for Sverre, leaving him with guilt and disgust in himself. With conflicted emotions, he hoped to avoid the topic of fishing altogether, at least until after Christmas.
Confused and dismissed, Sig slumped back into the living room and watched the tree decorating process with deflated interested.
"You OK?" Norman silently mouthed to his brother.
Sig nodded, shrugging his shoulders as if to brush off the icky feelings.
"You yelled at Dad!" Edgar whispered, peeking around the tree with his green eyes wide as saucers.
Sig sighed. "I don't know what happened, Edgar. I just lost my mind for a minute."
"Dad usually yells more when he just comes home from a fishing trip," Norman quickly dispensed his logical explanation, "After months of being around guys who do nothing but yell and cuss, it takes time to adjust back to civilization."
Edgar cocked his head like Daisy, trying to understand what Norman was saying. As if he finally got it, he nodded his head once and seemed appeased with the explanation. Going back to the tree, the kid's focus was again on the Christmas season.
Norman, on the other hand, noticed Edgar's distraction and glanced in Sig's direction. He tipped his head to his older brother as if to say 'I can see the disappointment written all over your face and I'm here for you when you need me.'
Sig smiled back his appreciation of the empathetic gesture.
Suddenly, Edgar piped up, "Hey, did anyone get anything for Dad for Christmas?" Remembering Norman's earlier words about Sig's inability to purchase gifts, his green eyes drifted over to Norman.
Sig also ended up staring at his younger brother for an answer, especially considering the tough guy worked at a hardware store, the manliness of retail locations.
All they got was a resigned sigh and "Shit, I forgot."
A half hour later, the three Hansen brothers were in the truck, traversing their way through the snow-covered streets to the hardware store.
On the ride over, Edgar sat in between his brothers and stared at Sig's hands as they firmly gripped the steering wheel.
The oldest brother's right ring finger was still unadorned. This absence made sense considering Edgar was still wearing Sig's ring.
In the excitement of decorating the tree, Edgar had failed to return the ring to its rightful owner. Considering Sig had yet to ask for it back, the young teen worried that perhaps his brother had forgotten about the treasured item now that he was what Edgar considered a full-fledged grown-up with the big, important title of Captain.
In fact, the ring and Edgar's accomplishment of keeping it safe were the last things on Sig's racing mind.
During the quiet drive, Sig mentally chewed over the conversation with his father. Foremost, he wanted to get to the bottom of Norman's apparent need for money but he doubted he'd get any illumination on the issue as long as Edgar was within earshot. Secondly, the oldest brother was tormented over his father's lack of interest in the fishing season. Finally, the superstitious eighteen-year-old was mentally kicking himself for mocking the protective Norwegian spirits of the holiday season and praying he hadn't ignorantly nominated himself or his family for some unsightly tragedy.
"What's that old story about Fjøsnissen again?" he finally asked his brothers, breaking the silence in the truck.
Norman raised an eyebrow and glanced at the driver's side, "The Barn Elf? Come on, Sig, you should know that one by heart."
"I know, I know," Sig flicked his hand, "Just…remind me."
Edgar was more than happy to remind his brother. "Fjøsnissen is one of the Nisse. The Nisse are known to be very shy. That's why no one ever sees them. They live in the barn and help the farmers, bringing good fortune to the crops and good health to the farm animals. But..." Edgar dramatically paused, "…if you make them mad, they will do mischief to your family and livestock."
"And so the story goes," Norman continued, "On Christmas Eve, rice porridge…the Nisses's favorite treat…is left out overnight as a tribute for all their good deeds."
"But, one time," Edgar eagerly told the tale, "A Nisse thought the farmer forgot to leave a dab of butter in his porridge. So, he killed the farmer's best milking cow only to find out later that the butter had melted to the bottom of the bowl."
Wishing he hadn't asked, Sig groaned inwardly, "So they are spiteful little creatures, you think?"
"Sig, it's just folklore from the old country," Norman stated, "We don't own a barn and we don't have any livestock. What does it matter?"
"They why did Mom always make rice porridge and leave it out on the kitchen table every Christmas Eve?" Edgar innocently asked.
Edgar's question hung suspended in the stuffy air of the truck, the vents pumping in heat against the winter wind outside. Neither older brother immediately ventured to answer the question.
Finally, Sig provided the answer. "Because it's better to be safe than sorry." And sorry was exactly how Sig hoped he didn't spend his vacation.
"Today's your day off," Aaron exclaimed as Norman entered the store, his brothers in his wake, 'What are you doin' here?"
"Shopping," Norman shook his head shamefully at his friend and co-worker, "All the freaking hours I've spent here you would think I would have remembered to get my father something for Christmas."
"Maybe you've got other things on your mind," Aaron flashed Norman a fleeting but telling look. And I know why! Poor guy!
Norman's eyes narrowed and he responded to Aaron's look by exaggeratedly clamping his lips closed in a desperate gesture. SHUT UP!
Alerted, Sig caught the exchange at the last second before the hardware clerk turned to ring out another customer.
The meaningful look between his brother and his brother's friend spoke volumes. Norman had shared something confidential with Aaron that he had yet to share with his family.
For whatever reason, this information irritated Sig more than anything else that morning. If Sig was honest with himself, as his own father had been, he would have realized the reason for his irritation; jealousy.
"What'cha wanna get Dad?" Edgar asked, coming in the store last and pulling Sig's attention away from Norman. "He's already got lots of tools and stuff."
"A man can never have enough tools," Harry intervened, seemingly coming from nowhere, "Sigurd, good to see you back on land."
"Thank you, sir," Sig respectfully shook the older gentleman's outstretched hand.
Harry's twin brother, Henry, also expressed his congratulations on the successful season, "Your father is so proud of you."
Not that I would know! "I guess he is," Sig whispered.
"I didn't expect to see you two here," Norman, sensing Sig was uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, quipped to the senior citizens, "It's not Monday. Where's the rest of the troop?"
"Off vacationing with family," Henry explained, "And, lucky me, I'm stuck home with a broken boiler. Harry and me…we're gonna try to fix it ourselves. Damn repairmen, charging an arm and a leg…"
Edgar had stopped listening, finding the conversation a bore and the hardware store so very intoxicating. He did hear bits and pieces of his brothers' polite exchanges with the retired fishermen, such as 'why does the heater never break in the summer' and 'call me if you need help, it can be dangerous work.'
It was all such an innocent exchange that Sig never saw the first disaster coming.
"So, Alma's still in town for the holiday," Harry mentioned, "But I guess your father must already know that."
"Who's Alma?" Edgar asked absentmindedly, playing with one of the heavy wrenches for sale. He'd never heard the name before so it caught his attention.
Sig and Norman went white about the lips and started sputtering, opening their mouths only to get choked by their own spit.
Unfortunately, they were too late and the retired fishermen spent too long at sea to understand the finesse of social tact. Had their wives been there, they would have gotten a gentle scolding for blurting out simultaneously, "The lovely lady your father's been seeing."
With agonizing slowness, the kid craned his neck and stared at the old men like they just grew wings and had snakes coming out of their fingertips. Then, he laughed nervously, "That's ridiculous. My Dad's not seeing anyone."
But, a little voice inside Edgar's head told him that the news made perfect sense. It explained Dad's mysterious absences and the expertly wrapped Christmas presents he already found hidden in the basement closet while he was cleaning (aka: snooping) around the house. Dad doesn't have the first idea on how to wrap presents and he sure as hell wasn't going to pay someone at the mall to wrap them. So who did I think wrapped them…the Nisse?
Still, denial is not just a river in Egypt. "Right?" the kid faced his older brothers, the guys he trusted more than anyone else in his life, "Dad's not seeing anyone."
The normally perceptive kid was in a quandary. It was seemingly impossible that he could miss something so big, so monumental. Yet, it was easy to miss something so big when, in his mind, it was inconceivable…like a fire-breathing dragon or a pink elephant…or a Barn Elf.
"Ummm…ahha….um," Norman swayed on his heels, unable to look at the disbelief on his kid brother's face.
His older brother's reaction was not what the young teen had hoped for.
"You knew?" Edgar asked with a hurt, accusatory tone when the realization hit, "You knew about this and you didn't tell me?"
Harry and Henry awkwardly disengaged themselves from the little family, realizing too late their mistake.
"Edgar," Sig started softly, "Let's talk about this when we get out of here."
The lack of shock on Sig's face also confirmed to Edgar that this was NOT news to Sig either.
"You knew, too?" Edgar pounced on his oldest brother, "You've only been home 12 hours and you already know. And, yet, no one bothered to tell ME? For HOW long?"
"Edgar," Sig spoke to his little brother as if he was speaking to a suicidal person ready to jump off a cliff, "Come on….not here."
Pissed off for being the last one in on the secret yet again, Edgar lost his own Norwegian temper. "Fuck you guys!" he hissed, slamming down the wrench in his hand and storming out of the store.
"Edgar! Wait!" Norman called, chasing after his brother as the kid headed back to the truck.
Sig was left to buy a new bit set for the power drill, all the while wondering if this was just the start of Fjøsnissen's revenge on his Christmas holiday.
~tbc
**Special thanks to my Beta who worked on this chapter while she was sick. Please wish her better health.**
