Duck the Halls(85)
Riddick, who had been hovering nearby for the last several minutes, cleared his throat and stepped forward.
“Is it okay if— I mean, I’m happy to stay on if I’m needed but…” He let his words trail off and touched one side of his head gently, as if to remind us of his migraines.
“Go home, then,” Robyn said. And then, as if startled by how brusque her words had sounded, she stepped forward and patted his shoulder. “You really don’t need to hang around if you don’t feel up to it. Or if there’s something else you’d rather be doing. Go home and take care of yourself.”
He smiled wanly. Then he turned and began walking slowly toward one of the side exits. I noticed that the farther he got from us, the faster his pace became. Clearly there was nothing wrong with his legs.
“Did I sound too impatient?” Robyn asked Mother and me in an undertone. “I confess, I feel impatient. He’s been complaining all day. What is one supposed to do with people who insist on hanging around and whining when you’ve told them multiple times it’s perfectly fine for them to leave?”
“Just what you did now,” I said. “Tell them it’s okay to go.”
“Subtlety is lost on Riddick,” Mother added.
I discarded Sylvia’s wrapping paper in a nearby trash can and carefully stowed my beautiful new sweater in the tote I always carried whenever I went anywhere with the boys. I’d trained myself to call it a tote rather than a diaper bag because I’d long ago realized that even when the boys no longer needed diapers they’d still need the million and one other things I carried in the bag.
“Don’t forget to thank Sylvia,” Mother said.
“Are you sure I should?” I asked. “What if I thank her and get the mutant purple reindeer next year?”
“So true.” Mother frowned.
“I know,” I said. “I’ll tell her that I like the sweater so much because there are only so many times you can wear a Christmas-themed sweater—or for that matter any brightly colored sweater—but a nice neutral black sweater works fabulously any time.”
“Let’s hope she takes the hint,” Mother said. “Why don’t you tell her I said that?”
“Happy to,” I said. “Josh? Jamie? Finish off your cider so we can go watch Daddy’s play.”
Chapter 37
Rose Noire, Dad, and Michael’s mother were saving places for us in the front row, so even though Mother, the boys, and I slipped in only a few minutes from curtain time we had good seats. The boys were awed at the number of people who’d come to see their daddy, and we gave in and let them stand on their seats for a few minutes, gazing in wonder at the several hundred audience members. More than a few of the audience had come in costume—some in Victorian garb and others in whatever they’d worn for Halloween. The hall was filled with robots, pirates, vampires, ballerinas, werewolves, mafiosos, cowboys, cartoon superheroes, six-foot cats and rabbits, and innumerable Goths and fairies. The audience sparkled almost as much as the hall, which was decorated not only with the usual evergreen and tinsel but also with tiny multicolored LED lights that pulsed in patterns to the Celtic holiday music that was being piped through the hall’s speakers. Clearly the tech crews were having fun tonight.
About the time we got the boys settled down and facing forward again, the lights dimmed and Michael strode out onto the stage, wearing his Victorian costume—a top hat, a black frock coat, a red cravat, and a bright red plaid waistcoat. The audience burst into applause, and the boys jumped up on their chairs again and shouted “Daddy! Daddy!” while applauding wildly. Michael spotted them, and strode to the front of the stage to bow to them. Then he pointed at each one in turn with his forefinger and fixed them with a stern look until they both sat down and assumed expectant expressions. The audience laughed and applauded, and I could hear a few people saying things like “Aren’t they adorable!” Well yes—most of the time.
Michael set down his top hat on a nearby prop chair, stepped to the podium, and began.
“Stave One,” he announced. “Marley’s Ghost. Marley was dead, to begin with.”
Josh settled down immediately and stared at Michael as if intent on every word. Jamie spent the first five minutes wiggling and craning his neck around, so he could catch a glimpse of all the people staring at his daddy. Then, after another few minutes of scanning the rafters intently—no doubt in hopes of a cameo appearance by another snake—he settled down with his head against my side and went quietly to sleep. Josh remained rapt, with his mouth hanging open. In fact, occasionally I saw his lips moving, and I realized he was mouthing the words along with Michael.