"Season's Greetings"
Joe Hardy shivered as he hastily descended the four short steps that led from the front porch to the narrow cement walk that split the white lawn. Salt crystals crunched under his slippers whenever he took a step, an assurance that he would not be slipping on any ice that may have formed during the night. He hugged himself, the blue, terrycloth bathrobe stretching tight across his torso and he sped up just a little as a light breeze slipped into the gap between the collar of the robe and his neck.
The mailbox wasn't far, just on the lip of the curb, but once he reached it he had a hard time yanking open the hinged door. A raised line of ice edged the black metal, 'Like icing,' Joe thought, and he had to use both hands to break the "seal". When he drew out the contents of the box his red fingertips contrasted against the three pale envelopes and he retreated towards the promise of a large mug of hot cocoa with a pillowy layer of marshmallows on top. Once he had safely locked the front door against all chilling threats of the white winter outside he shook himself until he felt the goosebumps retract back into his body. Walking into the dining room, a good-sized space occupied with the normal furnishings of a "good china" cabinet, a large chestnut-colored table surrounded by a set of six chairs, and an end table that housed an assortment of vases and other odds and ends concealed behind its small doors. "Didn't Mom tell you to bring the mail in last night?"
Joe shot a sideways glare at the red-pajama-clad figure with dark tousled hair already seated at the table. "I just forgot, that's all." The figure raised a steaming mug to his face and there was a slurping sound. He watched through eyes that were still rimmed with the pinkness of sleep as Joe dropped the mail on the end table, disappeared into the kitchen and returned a short time later with a large black, red and yellow mug with a pair of mouse ears lopsidedly poised on opposite ends of the rim. The top of a mound of marshmallows could be seen, threatening to escape if there was so much as the tiniest slip in Joe's footing. "Have some cocoa with your Mallow?"
Joe ignored the comment until he was safely seated. "Why do you call them that, Frank? They're Marshmallows, says so on the bag." Frank was silently mimicking his brother, wagging his head like a bobble-head when two more people entered the room from the direction of the staircase further down the adjoining hallway. "Boys, you're not fighting on Christmas morning are you?"
"Of course not, Mom, whatever gave you that idea?" Frank chirped innocently. Laura Hardy, mother to the two teenage boys and wife to the still waking man shuffling beside her, gave her eldest son a mild "So you say" look before going into the kitchen. Fenton, the patriarch, sank into chair at the head of the table and look up until his wife set a ceramic mug in front of him. He leaned forward, and inhaled the rising aroma that brought him to life. "There is nothing quite as good as your *'birthday coffee', Laura." He stretched his arms forcefully to raise the long sleeves of his pajamas away from his wrists and cupped the mug with his long fingers. "So, who is up for opening presents?"
Before anyone could reply there was a protest from the kitchen, "Not before we eat breakfast!" Fenton raised his eyebrows and ducked his head in a "whoops" gesture and Joe smiled, marshmallow residue coating ledge of his upper lip. Frank snickered, and handed him a napkin. Rather than keep the teasing-cycle going, Joe opted to down his hot cocoa and retreat to the kitchen where he offered to help with the breakfast preparations. Thirty minutes later mother and son reappeared, each carrying two, full, platters.
Frank had transformed the large table to a smaller affair by removing two panels from opposite ends of the table. The extra chairs were standing sentry next to the china cabinet. Fenton had laid the place settings, his at the head of the table, Laura's at the end, their sons' facing each other across the belly that was the middle. It was a Christmas tradition to use the heavy, cream tinted, gold-edged china set for the holiday breakfast, along with the accompanying utensils, and the smooth porcelain glinted with circular reflections from the overhead lights. "Pancakes?"
"Of course," Laura spaced the two platters she had been carrying within easy reach of everyone, "I've made blueberry walnut, and chocolate chip," shooed Joe's hand away from the last mentioned item, "And of course, there are eggs and sausages." Fenton nodded, his lips attempting to keep back the saliva that suddenly flooded against his teeth. Only after all the food had been dished, and the coffee pot and a carafe of hot chocolate had been retrieved from the kitchen did Laura sit and the family held hands as Fenton recited a short blessing. Almost immediately his sons began devouring food like starving wolves. "Slow down boys, the presents aren't going anywhere."
Frank and Joe gradually reduced their speed until they were no longer shoveling pancakes, eggs and sausages into their mouths. Joe's teeth were beginning to stain a light purple-blue from the blueberries, and Frank had a dark smudge of chocolate on the left corner of his mouth. Despite their now sedate pace, the two boys were finished with their breakfast before their parents and were rewarded by being asked to put away what little remained of the food and to clear the dishes. The clinking of dishes could be heard from the kitchen and Laura had barely finished the last, greasy bite of a wonderfully aromatic sausage when Frank swooped in and whisked away her place setting.
A short five minutes later the whirring of the automatic dishwasher and the entrance of the two teens announced that they had finished their duties. Both adults were still sitting quietly at the table, sipping their hot drinks, and only Joe's small, not so subtle, dance of impatient excitement moved them. "Alright," Fenton was the first to rise, "Go on out there you two, I'm coming." Joe made a dash for the living room across the hall. "Joe, no running in the house!" Laura pushed herself up from the table, carrying her mug and the nearly empty pot of coffee. "I'll be right out, Fenton, I want to start another pot."
Fenton nodded, taking his own mug with him into the living room where his sons were already sitting Indian style in front of a modest stacks of brightly wrapped gifts. The branches of the seven-foot, live pine tree that he and the boys had hauled home in the back of a borrowed truck two weeks ago were still outstretched, hovering over the gifts like guarding arms. As he settled into a corner of the large, leather couch and waited quietly for Laura to join them Fenton admired, not for the first time, the stunning decorations that dressed the green giant.
Every year Laura thought up a new theme to cloth the tree in and this year she had chosen to break out silver and black decorations in honor of the Hollywood-before-color. There were mini movie cameras hanging with their tripod legs tangling in the pine needles, iconic images from famous cinematic events of the era etched into antiqued spheres suspended from silver threads, and somehow Laura had found wide garland ribbon that looked exactly like reel tape from a movie set. At the very top was a splendid silver star, the edges of which looked like they had been destressed ever so slightly.
"Honey," the questioning tone of his wife's voice broke through his musing, "There is an envelope here addressed to us from the Northern New York State Penitentiary." Laura held her coffee mug in one hand, and a fair-sized envelope in the other. There was a puzzled, slightly worried look on her face as she walked absently over and handed it to Fenton. Fenton frowned as he examined the front and back of the envelope, but seeing no name as to who had sent it he cautiously slid his forefinger beneath the lip and pried open the flap. The other three family members leaned a little closer as he removed a slim card from the envelope.
The front of the card was imprinted as though it was grained wood, and a full wreath dripping with holly berries. Encircled within the wreath was a simple script that read "Seasons Greetings". "So, it's a Christmas Card." Joe stated with a one-shouldered shrug when he saw the front. Fenton did not comment until he opened the card and began to read aloud.
"Jingle Bells
Fenton smells
May he break both legs
K'nap the boys
Stop all their ploys
That's how we'll get away
Hey!
From all the inmates who ever had the displeasure of meeting Fenton Hardy and his brats—Merry…Christmas and have a…New Year"
There were no signatures, Fenton wasn't surprised, but there was a crude drawing that he thought best to keep from his wife and children along with all the four-lettered words in the greeting. Laura, whom had been sitting in stunned silence for the duration of the reading, now burst out furiously, "Fenton, I've never complained about you and the boys' path in pursuing a career in law enforcement. However, I have to insist that our address and phone numbers be kept from the press and not given out to every Hairy-Larry behind bars!"
Fenton did not turn away from his wife's angry, scared eyes, "Darling, it's just a creative greeting card, I will check it out later, and make sure that there isn't anything else to it." Gingerly he slid the card back into its envelope, trying not to disturb any potential fingerprints more than he may have already, "Okay?" Laura inhaled deeply, closed her eyes for a brief moment before nodding and breathing, "Okay."
Frank and Joe had been watching the exchange, tentatively. Joe, having gauged the temperature of the room as only children can do after a disagreement between their parents, now cracked a smile. "That was pretty weak, playing off the Batman version of Jingle Bells. I can do better than that!" Fenton bit the inside corners of his mouth to keep from smiling as Joe began a squeaking rendition of "Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg…", fifteen and his youngest son's voice was on the tail end of the puberty change. Frank's voice had changed nearly two years earlier, making Joe a late bloomer.
Laura sucked in her cheeks, eyes sparkling with buried laughter, and she flicked the toe of her left foot at the still croaking youth. "Enough, Joey, that's enough." Frank dug an elbow into his brother's ribs and passed a fair sized parcel to his father. "You first, Dad." The next hour and a half was spent ripping open the tidy pyramid of gifts one after the other until there was nothing left but shredded candy-stripped wrapping paper, ribbons and sticky-backed bows.
Later on, after everyone had finished placing all the carnage into a large, black trash bag, Fenton excused himself from the festivities and nonchalantly climbed the stairs to the second floor, Christmas card in hand. The door to his study was a solid oaken thing, no panels, no rectangular corbelling to make the door lighter. An intruder would have an easier time removing the walls around the door than breaking in. It didn't take him long to dust the card for prints, scan and email the results to his partner Sam Ridley and get back to his family.
Joe was beating the pants off his brother at the new Wii game they had gotten, and Laura was in the kitchen, pulling a large ham out of the fridge. "Getting lunch set already?" Fenton waited until she had placed the ham on the counter before slipping his arms around her waist. "The ham has to cook for at least twenty minutes, and before that there is all the side dishes to get finished—" Fenton kissed her ear. "Want some help?"
Laura leaned into the strength of the man she married twenty years ago. "I would love to have some help." Tilting her head back, she brushed a kiss across the slightly rough jaw of her knight in shining armor. Fenton smiled, kissed her back, full on the lips, turned his head towards the open doorway and hollered, "Boys! Turn off that game and come help your mother make lunch!" Then he hastily scooted away from the rubber spatula Laura snatched out of a revolving utensil-holder. "That's right Fenton Charles Hardy! You better run!"
Laughing, he retreated to the living room, passing his sons on the way. He smiled at the empty living room, Joe's presents a little scattered on the carpet near the tree, Frank's piled neatly in correlating stacks away from his brother's mess. There was nothing like getting to spend time with his family, holidays or no holidays.
The End
*Birthday Coffee – Instead of regular sugar, or sugar substitute, use brown sugar to sweeten your darkly brewed, caffeinated beverage.