Read Online Skipping Christmas by John Grisham - Free Book Online Page B

was olive. Neither matched the red-and-white Santa’s hats both were wearing, but then who really cared? The hats were cute and whimsical, but Luther wasn’t smiling. The medic held the paper bag down by his leg.
    “Selling fruitcakes again this year, Mr. Krank,” Kistler was saying. “Do it every year.”
    “Money goes for the toy drive,” Kendall said with perfect timing.
    “Our goal is nine thousand bucks.”
    “Last year we raised just over eight.”
    “Hitting it harder this year.”
    “Christmas Eve, we’ll deliver toys to six hundred kids.”
    “It’s an awesome project.”
    Back and forth, back and forth. A well-drilled tag team.
    “You ought to see their faces.”
    “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
    “Anyway, gotta raise the money, and fast.”
    “Got the old faithful, Mabel’s Fruitcakes.” Kendall sort of waved the bag at Luther as if he might want to grab it and take a peek inside.
    “World-famous.”
    “They make ’em in Hermansburg, Indiana, home of Mabel’s Bakery.”
    “Half the town works there. Make nothing but fruitcakes.”
    Those poor folks, Luther thought.
    “They have a secret recipe, use only the freshest ingredients.”
    “And make the best fruitcake in the world.”
    Luther hated fruitcakes. The dates, figs, prunes, nuts, little bits of dried, colored fruit.
    “Been making ’em for eighty years now.”
    “Best-selling cake in the country. Six tons last year.”
    Luther was standing perfectly still, holding his ground, his eyes darting back and forth, back and forth.
    “No chemicals, no additives.”
    “I don’t know how they keep them so fresh.”
    With chemicals and additives, Luther wanted to say.
    A sharp bolt of hunger hit Luther hard. His knees almost buckled, his poker face almost grimaced. For two weeks now his sense of smell had been much keener, no doubt a side effect of a strict diet. Maybe he got a whiff of Mabel’s finest, he wasn’t sure, but a craving came over him. Suddenly, he had to have something to eat. Suddenly, he wanted to snatch the bag from Kendall, rip open a package, and start gnawing on a fruitcake.
    And then it passed. With his jaws clenched, Luther hung on until it was gone, then he relaxed. Kistler and Kendall were so busy with their routine that they hadn’t noticed.
    “We get only so many.”
    “They’re so popular they have to be rationed.”
    “We’re lucky to get nine hundred.”
    “Ten bucks a pop, and we’re at nine thousand for the toys.”
    “You bought five last year, Mr. Krank.”
    “Can you do it again?”
    Yes, I bought five last year, Luther was now remembering. Took three to the office and secretly placed them on the desks of three colleagues. By the end of the week, they’d been passed around so much the packages were worn. Dox tossed them in the wastebasket when they shut down for Christmas.
    Nora gave the other two to her hairdresser, a three-hundred-pound lady who collected them by the dozen and had fruitcake until July.
    “No,” Luther finally said. “I’ll pass this year.”
    The tag team went silent. Kistler looked at Kendall and Kendall looked at Kistler.
    “Say what?”
    “I don’t want any fruitcakes this year.”
    “Is five too many?” Kistler asked.
    “One is too many,” Luther replied, then slowly folded his arms across his chest.
    “None?” Kendall asked, in disbelief.
    “Zero,” Luther said.
    They looked as pitiful as possible.
    “You guys still put on that Fourth of July fishing rodeo for handicapped kids?” Luther asked.
    “Every year,” said Kistler.
    “Great. Come back in the summer and I’ll donate a hundred bucks for the fishing rodeo.”
    Kistler managed to mumble a very weak “Thanks.”
    It took a few awkward movements to get them out the door. Luther returned to the kitchen table, where everything was gone—Nora, his plate with the last two bites of steamed fish, his glass of water, his napkin. Everything. Furious, he stormed the pantry, where he found a jar