John, older than Bobby’s seven and a half years by a full eighteen months and taller by nearly four inches, ducked agilely away from Bobby’s wild swing and managed to step over Bobby’s forgotten bike. Wagging his wheat blond head with the authority of the elder and wiser sibling, John announced, “I don’t believe in Santa Claus!”
“Then you’re just stupid.”
“And you’re the liar.” John leered at his brother as Bobby lunged. Sidestepping quickly, John watched as Bobby landed with an “oof” on the cold ground near the back door.
Leaning down, John taunted, “Liar, liar, pants on fire, hang them on—”
“Enough!” Nadine ordered, knowing this exchange would quickly escalate from an argument and a few wild punches to a full-fledged wre
stling match. “Look, I don’t want to have to send you to your rooms. Bobby, are you okay?”
“We only got one room,” John reminded her.
“You know what I mean—”
“John’s makin’ fun of me,” Bobby wailed indignantly. A shock of red-blond hair fell over his freckled face as he looked to Nadine as if for divine intervention. “And I saw Santa Claus last year, really I did,” he said earnestly.
“Tell me another one,” John teased, sneering. “There ain’t no such thing as Santa Claus or those stupid elves or Frosty or Rudolph, neither!”
Bobby blinked hard. “Then you just wait up on Christmas Eve. You’ll see. On the roof—”
“And how am I s’posed to get there—fly?” John hooted, ignoring the sharp look Nadine sent him. “Or maybe Dancer or Vixen will give me a lift! Boy, are you dumb! Everything comes from Toys ‘R’ Us, not some stupid little workshop and a few lousy elves!”
“I said ‘enough!’” Nadine warned, wondering how she would survive with both boys for the two weeks of Christmas vacation that loomed ahead. Right now, her sons couldn’t get along and Nadine’s already busy life had turned into a maelstrom of activity. John and Bobby seemed hell-bent on keeping the excitement and noise level close to the ozone layer and they couldn’t be near each other without punching or kicking or wrestling.
“You’re not really gonna send us to our room, are you?” Bobby asked, biting on his lower lip worriedly.
“Well, not yet—”
“He’s such a dork!” John called over his shoulder as he found his rusty bike propped on the corner of the house. “A dumb little dork!”
“John—”
“Am not!” Bobby screamed.
But John didn’t listen. He peddled quickly down the sandy path leading to the lake. His dog, a black-and-white mutt named Hershel, streaked after him.
“I’m not a dork,” Bobby said again, as if to convince himself.
“Of course you’re not, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that!” He pulled himself up, dusted off his jeans and kicked angrily at the ground. His eyes filled with tears and dirt streaked his face. “John’s just a big…a big jerk!”
This time Nadine had to agree, but she kept her opinion to herself, and hugging her youngest son, asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” But his hazel eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“You sure?” Nadine asked, though she suspected little more than his pride had been bruised. “How about a cup of cocoa, with marshmallows and maybe some cookies?”
“You got some at the store?” he asked, brightening a bit.
“Sure did.”
He blinked and nodded, sniffling as he tagged after his mother into the house.
Nadine heated two cups of water in the microwave while Bobby climbed into one of the worn chairs at the scratched butcher-block table. When the water was hot, she measured chocolate powder into one cup and said, “And as for Santa Claus, I still believe in him.”
“Do you?”