one of the sandwiches and took a huge bite, watching Noel sorting out the strings of lights.
“That’s the way we did it when I was growing up.” Noel threw Robert a look of inquiry.
“We used to get our tree the weekend after Thanksgiving. Christmas was a big deal in our house. Part of the fun was watching that mound of presents grow each day.” Robert smiled at the memory.
A shortage of presents had never been a problem for Noel. “Are you religious?”
“I never know what that question means. Do I believe in God?” Robert shrugged. “Yes. Do I go to church every Sunday? No. I don’t even go on Christmas day anymore.”
“But you used to?”
“When I was a boy, sure.”
He could picture Robert in church—in a blue suit and a hat—probably due to all those 1950s movies featuring steady, sober FBI agents who Josh Lanyon
85
looked a lot like Robert. Tough guys who never failed to catch the gangsters but still had time to teach their kids to ride bikes and remembered to give their wives pearl necklaces on their wedding anniversaries.
Noel’s family had not been remotely religious, but Christmas had always been a big deal. There was no fasting on Christmas Eve, no waiting for the first star, but there was always a twelve course supper—although the traditional dishes of borsch and stuffed cabbage were replaced with more trendy choices like smoked salmon and gallons of champagne. Grandfather Frost and the Snow Maiden brought the piles of presents on Christmas morning rather than New Year’s Eve. In the afternoon all the men, by then well and truly soused, took their new motorcycles and sports cars out. Noel’s eldest brother Nicky had been killed thirty years ago when he wrapped his new Honda CR-X around a telephone pole.
That was not to say Noel hadn’t enjoyed Christmas as a kid. He had. It was only as he left the relative safety of his adolescence that it became more and more stressful. When Christmas stockings were replaced with recreational drugs and booze and expensive toys were replaced with well-trained prostitutes, when the pressure for him to take an active role in the family business began, it had dawned on him that the only thing he had in 86
Icecapade
common with his nearest and dearest was an accident of birth.
It was only in later years that he had begun to consider the greater implications of the Christmas holiday—and to make an effort recapture some of the old joy he’d felt as a boy by creating his own holiday traditions. Such as they were. It would be nice, though probably fanciful, to think that perhaps this evening was the start of a new Christmas tradition.
Robert took another bite of sandwich, chewed, swallowed and said, “You know, because you can’t do the climbing doesn’t mean you’re not still masterminding—”
“Don’t.” Noel dropped the string of lights, and rose quickly. More quickly than usual, which meant his balance was slightly off as he crossed the floor. He steadied himself on the table next to the sofa and then knelt in front of Robert. He could see the startled wariness in Robert’s face.
“No more games.”
“I thought you liked games.”
Noel shook his head. “Not with you. Not anymore. No.”
Something changed in Robert’s face. His thumb brushed Noel’s cheekbone. “No. I don’t want to hurt you this much.”
Noel turned his face against Robert’s hand. He closed his eyes when Robert stroked his hair.
Josh Lanyon
87
There was wry humor in Robert’s voice. “Did anyone ever tell you, you look like an angel?”
My mother . But Noel didn’t want to remember.
Had worked hard to forget.
“The first time I saw a photo of you,” Robert said, “I thought, anyone who looks that innocent has to be wicked as hell. Then I thought, how can I get him to look at me like that?”
Noel huffed a laugh and opened his eyes. “The first time I saw you, I thought, I could love that guy.”
Robert made a pained sound. “Jesus,
“That’s the way we did it when I was growing up.” Noel threw Robert a look of inquiry.
“We used to get our tree the weekend after Thanksgiving. Christmas was a big deal in our house. Part of the fun was watching that mound of presents grow each day.” Robert smiled at the memory.
A shortage of presents had never been a problem for Noel. “Are you religious?”
“I never know what that question means. Do I believe in God?” Robert shrugged. “Yes. Do I go to church every Sunday? No. I don’t even go on Christmas day anymore.”
“But you used to?”
“When I was a boy, sure.”
He could picture Robert in church—in a blue suit and a hat—probably due to all those 1950s movies featuring steady, sober FBI agents who Josh Lanyon
85
looked a lot like Robert. Tough guys who never failed to catch the gangsters but still had time to teach their kids to ride bikes and remembered to give their wives pearl necklaces on their wedding anniversaries.
Noel’s family had not been remotely religious, but Christmas had always been a big deal. There was no fasting on Christmas Eve, no waiting for the first star, but there was always a twelve course supper—although the traditional dishes of borsch and stuffed cabbage were replaced with more trendy choices like smoked salmon and gallons of champagne. Grandfather Frost and the Snow Maiden brought the piles of presents on Christmas morning rather than New Year’s Eve. In the afternoon all the men, by then well and truly soused, took their new motorcycles and sports cars out. Noel’s eldest brother Nicky had been killed thirty years ago when he wrapped his new Honda CR-X around a telephone pole.
That was not to say Noel hadn’t enjoyed Christmas as a kid. He had. It was only as he left the relative safety of his adolescence that it became more and more stressful. When Christmas stockings were replaced with recreational drugs and booze and expensive toys were replaced with well-trained prostitutes, when the pressure for him to take an active role in the family business began, it had dawned on him that the only thing he had in 86
Icecapade
common with his nearest and dearest was an accident of birth.
It was only in later years that he had begun to consider the greater implications of the Christmas holiday—and to make an effort recapture some of the old joy he’d felt as a boy by creating his own holiday traditions. Such as they were. It would be nice, though probably fanciful, to think that perhaps this evening was the start of a new Christmas tradition.
Robert took another bite of sandwich, chewed, swallowed and said, “You know, because you can’t do the climbing doesn’t mean you’re not still masterminding—”
“Don’t.” Noel dropped the string of lights, and rose quickly. More quickly than usual, which meant his balance was slightly off as he crossed the floor. He steadied himself on the table next to the sofa and then knelt in front of Robert. He could see the startled wariness in Robert’s face.
“No more games.”
“I thought you liked games.”
Noel shook his head. “Not with you. Not anymore. No.”
Something changed in Robert’s face. His thumb brushed Noel’s cheekbone. “No. I don’t want to hurt you this much.”
Noel turned his face against Robert’s hand. He closed his eyes when Robert stroked his hair.
Josh Lanyon
87
There was wry humor in Robert’s voice. “Did anyone ever tell you, you look like an angel?”
My mother . But Noel didn’t want to remember.
Had worked hard to forget.
“The first time I saw a photo of you,” Robert said, “I thought, anyone who looks that innocent has to be wicked as hell. Then I thought, how can I get him to look at me like that?”
Noel huffed a laugh and opened his eyes. “The first time I saw you, I thought, I could love that guy.”
Robert made a pained sound. “Jesus,
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