break.”
Bathroom door opened. Sophie’s mother stared up at Tree. She looked just like Sophie except for being older and rounder. “If he asks about me, tell him I’m dating three movie stars.”
Sophie laughed.
“You deserve a better father.”
“But he’s the one I got.” Sophie pushed Tree out the door.
The Midas Muffler shop was packed with people drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups and checking their watches. Sophie pointed to a big man with his head inside a car engine.
“That’s him. The big guy. You’ve got something in common already.”
Sophie’s father seemed satisfied with what he’d done; he motioned for another man, who got in the car and drove it out. He walked toward the glass door—didn’t smile, didn’t frown—pushed it open.
Sophie got nervous, her hands went in every direction. “Okay, Dad, so this is my friend Tree.”
Sophie’s father looked at Tree. “How old are you?”
“Twelve.”
A snort. “You think I’m stupid?”
“No, sir. I’m really tall for my age.”
“You’re tall for
my
age.” He stepped closer. “
You know how old she is?
”
“Dad—”
“No, really.” Tree grabbed his wallet, got his seventh-grade ID. He had a copy of his birth certificate, too. His mother made him carry it.
Sophie stepped in. “Okay, so we know you’re busy, Dad, and we don’t want to mess up your schedule here.”
Sophie’s father studied the ID, handed it back.
“I brought you a present, Dad, on account of it’s Christmas soon.” She handed it to him.
“I left yours at home.” He always said that. He lit a cigarette, blew smoke rings out slow.
“I recorded some Christmas music for you on my flute. I got your favorites. ‘God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen’ and ‘Jingle Bells.’” She’s talking faster, too fast. “I call it
Sophie’s Greatest Christmas Hits.
The last half of ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’ got cut off ’Cause my cheeks were getting exhausted from all the blowing.”
“I’ll play it in the car.”
“I hope you like it.”
“You still got that flute, huh?”
“Yeah. I practice a lot.”
He put the cigarette in his mouth, gave her a good pat on the shoulder.
“Vinnie!” Another man shouted it. “You on vacation or what?”
He looked at Sophie, softer this time. “I gotta go.”
“Sure,” she said quietly.
“Hey, Soph, we’ll get together.”
“Anytime, Dad.”
He patted her shoulder again. Shook Tree’s hand. He had a killer handshake.
“Size matters, kid. Wear it proud.” He pushed through the glass door.
Tree stood straight.
Sophie’s mother was right.
She deserved a better father.
“He can take a muffler out faster than any man alive,” Sophie said. “They had a contest here last year and he won by three whole minutes.”
“It was nice, what you gave him.” Tree didn’t know what else to say. He couldn’t imagine having a father like that.
“I’m glad you think so, because it’s the exact same thing you’re getting for Christmas.”
“My dad doesn’t know how to love people,” Sophie explained.
“He drove my mother crazy.”
The bus was late. They stood there shivering.
Tree clapped his hands together to stay warm. “I guess my parents drove each other crazy, too.”
Sophie marched in place so her feet wouldn’t freeze. “I got sent to a therapist about it. She told me I had hidden anger at my father and it was coming out when I was with other people. I told her no way was there any anger hiding in me. ‘Open youreyes,’ I said. ‘It’s all here on the surface.’ But I figure I’ve got it better than a lot of kids. At least I know where my dad is.”
Tree had never once thought of that.
The bus pulled up. She climbed inside.
“You coming or what?”
Tree got in the bus, hit his head.
She laughed. “You need a bus with a sunroof so you can stick your head out.”
Tree didn’t think that was funny.
Sophie elbowed him. “You’ve gotta laugh. If you don’t,
Bathroom door opened. Sophie’s mother stared up at Tree. She looked just like Sophie except for being older and rounder. “If he asks about me, tell him I’m dating three movie stars.”
Sophie laughed.
“You deserve a better father.”
“But he’s the one I got.” Sophie pushed Tree out the door.
The Midas Muffler shop was packed with people drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups and checking their watches. Sophie pointed to a big man with his head inside a car engine.
“That’s him. The big guy. You’ve got something in common already.”
Sophie’s father seemed satisfied with what he’d done; he motioned for another man, who got in the car and drove it out. He walked toward the glass door—didn’t smile, didn’t frown—pushed it open.
Sophie got nervous, her hands went in every direction. “Okay, Dad, so this is my friend Tree.”
Sophie’s father looked at Tree. “How old are you?”
“Twelve.”
A snort. “You think I’m stupid?”
“No, sir. I’m really tall for my age.”
“You’re tall for
my
age.” He stepped closer. “
You know how old she is?
”
“Dad—”
“No, really.” Tree grabbed his wallet, got his seventh-grade ID. He had a copy of his birth certificate, too. His mother made him carry it.
Sophie stepped in. “Okay, so we know you’re busy, Dad, and we don’t want to mess up your schedule here.”
Sophie’s father studied the ID, handed it back.
“I brought you a present, Dad, on account of it’s Christmas soon.” She handed it to him.
“I left yours at home.” He always said that. He lit a cigarette, blew smoke rings out slow.
“I recorded some Christmas music for you on my flute. I got your favorites. ‘God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen’ and ‘Jingle Bells.’” She’s talking faster, too fast. “I call it
Sophie’s Greatest Christmas Hits.
The last half of ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’ got cut off ’Cause my cheeks were getting exhausted from all the blowing.”
“I’ll play it in the car.”
“I hope you like it.”
“You still got that flute, huh?”
“Yeah. I practice a lot.”
He put the cigarette in his mouth, gave her a good pat on the shoulder.
“Vinnie!” Another man shouted it. “You on vacation or what?”
He looked at Sophie, softer this time. “I gotta go.”
“Sure,” she said quietly.
“Hey, Soph, we’ll get together.”
“Anytime, Dad.”
He patted her shoulder again. Shook Tree’s hand. He had a killer handshake.
“Size matters, kid. Wear it proud.” He pushed through the glass door.
Tree stood straight.
Sophie’s mother was right.
She deserved a better father.
“He can take a muffler out faster than any man alive,” Sophie said. “They had a contest here last year and he won by three whole minutes.”
“It was nice, what you gave him.” Tree didn’t know what else to say. He couldn’t imagine having a father like that.
“I’m glad you think so, because it’s the exact same thing you’re getting for Christmas.”
“My dad doesn’t know how to love people,” Sophie explained.
“He drove my mother crazy.”
The bus was late. They stood there shivering.
Tree clapped his hands together to stay warm. “I guess my parents drove each other crazy, too.”
Sophie marched in place so her feet wouldn’t freeze. “I got sent to a therapist about it. She told me I had hidden anger at my father and it was coming out when I was with other people. I told her no way was there any anger hiding in me. ‘Open youreyes,’ I said. ‘It’s all here on the surface.’ But I figure I’ve got it better than a lot of kids. At least I know where my dad is.”
Tree had never once thought of that.
The bus pulled up. She climbed inside.
“You coming or what?”
Tree got in the bus, hit his head.
She laughed. “You need a bus with a sunroof so you can stick your head out.”
Tree didn’t think that was funny.
Sophie elbowed him. “You’ve gotta laugh. If you don’t,
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