Silent Night: A Spenser Holiday Novel (12 page)

I
SNUCK OUT OF BED
at five a.m. Christmas morning, careful not to disturb Susan or Pearl. Susan stirred, briefly, and Pearl’s eyes opened. “Shhhhh,” I whispered to her as I got up. She followed.

It was dark out. Pearl and I walked once around the block, while the oven heated to 300 degrees. The air was crisp, and the day promised to be clear and sunny. “Fa la la la,” I said to Pearl. She stopped to sniff something irresistible by a tree trunk before I was able to lure her back inside for her special Christmas breakfast of scrambled egg and cheese.

I opened the refrigerator and removed the turkey, the duck, and the chicken, which if all went according to plan would be transformed into turducken.

Susan and Hawk and I would be joined by Carmen and Slide. We had invited Vinnie but he had declined. I looked at the birds, whose appearance on the counter struck me as somewhat forlorn. I had never made this dish before, but I would persevere. The kitchen clock read five-forty-five. Dinner was at two p.m. The turducken should go into the oven at nine a.m. I had one Christmas Day visit to make, and the timing was tight. I said to Pearl, “Why don’t you make yourself useful? I’ll take the turkey, you take the duck.” She yawned and went to the sofa for her post-breakfast nap.

I got out the metal skewers and the big roasting pan. I made the herb mixture of butter, garlic, sage, and thyme. Then I spread the mixture between the skin and the turkey breast meat, and repeated this with the duck and the chicken.

I made two different stuffings, the turkey getting a mixture of cornbread, pork sausage, chopped onion, celery, olive oil, kosher salt, and fresh ground pepper.

The duck stuffing was made up of fresh and dried cranberries, orange peel, and French bread cubes. The chicken got more of the cornbread stuffing. I skewered the back of the duck closed and the back of the chicken. Then I brought the sides of the duck up to cover the chicken and skewered it closed and repeated it with the turkey. I felt vaguely as if I were on
ER.

I turned the turducken over so the breast side was up and removed all the skewers except the one holding the turkey together.

I checked the clock. Seven-thirty. Susan had set her alarm for eight-thirty and had promised to put the monster in the oven at nine. I took a quick shower, shaved, put on some jeans and a heavy sweater and my parka.

I got in my car and drove to St. Bart’s. Father Ahearn was scheduled to say a ten a.m. Mass. Inside the church, I caught sight of him near the altar.

He saw me and smiled. “Merry Christmas, Spenser,” he said in a low voice. “Thank you for coming.”

“Merry Christmas, Father. Thank you for helping Jackie Alvarez and Street Business.”

He nodded and led me to the side of the altar, where we couldn’t be seen from the pews.

“So you have heard.”

“Yes, Father. It sounds like a perfect solution. I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways, Spenser.” He smiled. “The archdiocese of Boston, and this parish in particular, have a strong reputation in the area of social justice, and a close relationship with the city of Boston. The city is happy to have us take over the work of Street Business, and we are blessed to do so. And we pray for Mr. Alvarez’s swift recovery. When he is healthy, there will be a place for him in our ministry.” His eyes twinkled. “Who knows,” he said. “We may yet have many buildings to manage in that neighborhood.”

We had reached the massive door.

“So, Spenser, will we see you at Christmas Mass this morning?”

“I am afraid not, Father. But believe me, I will be giving thanks.”

“And we will be praying for you. And we will be praying for Juan Alvarez and his family as well. We are all God’s children, regardless of our faith or our deeds.”

“‘Those I fight I do not hate; those I guard I do not love,’” I said.

“‘And say my glory was I had such friends,’” Father Ahearn said, and we walked together toward the front of the church. People were beginning to drift in. “I see you are a Yeats man, too.”

“My father gave me a book of his poetry when I was a boy,” I said.

Father Ahearn shook my hand. “Merry Christmas, Spenser. May God be with you.”

“And also with you, Father.” I said. Some things you just didn’t forget.

S
USAN HAD SET THE TABLE,
and it was worthy of a spread in
Architectural Digest
. First an antique white linen tablecloth, then tall, delicate red wine goblets from a Venetian glassblower. Green linen napkins, big ones, enough to withstand the rigors of the turducken mess, or whatever Pearl didn’t get to first. The silver place settings, the pattern elegant in its simplicity, gleamed.

I poured champagne for all but Slide, who was having orange juice with a big maraschino cherry. We sat in a circle. Carmen and Susan were on the sofa, with Pearl between them. The women were admiring the pin Slide had given Carmen. I sat in an armchair opposite them, Slide on a footstool inspecting the blue Razor that Carmen had given him, and Hawk was in the loveseat opposite me.

I had finished the sweet potatoes, the brussels sprouts with walnuts, and savoy cabbage. The gravy was made. The turducken had come out of the oven and was loosely tented with aluminum foil, waiting for its half-hour before it had rested enough to carve. Pearl’s gaze had not wavered.

Paul had called just before we sat down, and Susan and I took turns talking with him. We would visit him in January, after the debris was cleared from Times Square.

Carmen and Susan were doing most of the talking. Hawk and I were content to look and listen.

“Hawk,” Susan said, “do you have a special holiday tradition, other than spending the day with Spenser and me?”

“Celtics–Lakers game on at four,” he said. “Thought I’d ask if I could watch it here.”

Susan pointed at me. “He seems to know how to get sports on my television.”

Hawk smiled. “I know that’s not the only reason he come over here. Never understood the reason why you let him in.”

“So what do you think Vinnie is doing on Christmas.”

“Vinnie doing the same thing Vinnie do every day,” Hawk said. “Get up, have breakfast. Go practice shooting, have lunch. Go shoot somebody or drink coffee all afternoon. Have dinner, buy some tail, go home and go to sleep.”

Silence filled the room.

“What a delightful Christmas story,” Susan said. “Thank you, Hawk.”

“’Course.” Hawk smiled. “You did ask.”

She lifted her glass to me, and then included all of us. “I think it’s time for a toast. Merry Christmas to all, and how lucky we are to spend it together.”

The dinner was a great success. I carved, and Susan served. The turducken was the center of attention. “Wow!” said Slide, on seeing the layers of turkey, duck, and chicken with stuffing between. “That’s cool!”

“An engineering masterpiece,” Susan said. Carmen raised her glass of champagne. “Are we lucky, or what?”

Hawk took a forkful and said, “I got to admit, I feel sorry for all those folks out there with their little bitty one-bird dinners.”

I dropped a bite on the floor with furtive dexterity so that Pearl could partake. The faces around the table were a little different this year. And that was good.

AFTER DINNER, SUSAN STARTED
to clear the table.

“Leave those,” I said. “Hawk and I will take care of the dishes.”

“In that case,” Susan said, “I think I’ll have a quick lie-down. Watching you cook is exhausting.”

I promised to call her in an hour.

Hawk, Carmen, Slide, and I formed a pretty efficient kitchen crew. The dishes were washed and put away, and the kitchen was as spotless as if we’d never been there.

“I think Slide needs to run around outside a little,” Carmen said. “It’s not good for a boy to be stuck inside all day.”

“There’s too much snow to use the Razor,” I said. “I think there’s an old basketball in the closet. There’s a hoop up on the garage door. I brought it over here once to fool myself into thinking I’d get some exercise. You two can practice.”

“I love a challenge.” Carmen grinned.

“You going to come, too, Hawk?” Slide asked.

“No,” he said. “Game’s about to start. Plus, playing in the snow’s bad for my image.”

Slide and Carmen bundled up against the cold. I rummaged around the closet and found the basketball. We went outside, and Slide started running, tossing it up at the hoop, hitting the rim, the ball falling back into the snowdrift. He ran, picked it up, and tried again.

Carmen and I watched Slide. I said, “You serve a table knife with amazing power. You’re good.”

“Thanks. That’s years of practice. We were so poor back in Puerto Rico, my dad gave me anything handy to practice my serve with. He’d have me toss ’em up in the air over and over again. Then get my racquet back and swing using my wrist.” She paused. “He taught me to defend myself, too. I guess the other night the two came together. Instinct. I saw that gun and grabbed whatever was handy and used everything I had ever learned about speed, accuracy, and power.” She looked up at me. “Lucky, right?”

“Maybe you were lucky he was a slow draw. I’d say it had more to do with courage and talent than luck. Now that you are free of Juan, what are you going to do?” I smiled at her. “You don’t have to look for trouble.”

“I thought I might help Jackie at Street Business. And take Slide to live with me. We both need to go back to school.” She smiled at me.

I gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, sport.”

I left them and went back inside.

Hawk was standing by the window in Susan’s living room, watching Slide and Carmen play in the front yard. The NBA pregame show was on the television. Stuart Scott was bantering with Mike Tirico in Los Angeles.

“Well,” I said, “another successful Spenser family Christmas.”

“Look like the family gets a little bigger this year,” Hawk said.

“Perhaps,” I said. Hawk continued staring out the window.

“Trying to memorize the recipe for turducken?”

Hawk shook his head.

“Thinkin’ ’bout them,” he said.

“What about them?”

“What we did.”

I considered that for a moment.

“We went in there knowing we had to protect Carmen and Slide.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Right. Protecting a woman and a little boy. What in the world were you thinking?” I was trying to make a joke, but Hawk had gone somewhere else.

“Wasn’t thinking,” he said. “You know how it is. Situation like that, you don’t think, you just act.”

“And it bothers you that your instinct was to protect a kid.”

Hawk stared out the window, his eyes fixed beyond Linnaean Street and out to the horizon. I had a feeling wherever he was looking, he was seeing himself at age eleven, a scared kid alone on the streets at Christmas.

“Not who I am, Spenser,” he said. “That be you. Can’t be you. Can’t do what I do, thinking ’bout somebody else.”

“You and I go in,” I said, “I know you got my back.”

“I got your back, you got mine.” Hawk shook his head. “This feels different.”

“You kept Slide from being hurt,” I said. “It doesn’t mean you have to adopt him. He and Carmen don’t expect a thing from you.”

“Feel responsible for him somehow. And I can’t do that. Can’t be responsible for no one but me.”

“You do what you can do.”

“And what’s that?”

“You saved his life. That’s probably enough.”

We looked out at Slide. He was terrorizing squirrels, throwing snowballs at them in the now-bare maple tree in Susan’s front yard.

“I’ll be checking on him,” I said. “Maybe go down to Street Business and show those kids how to box. You can join me or not.”

Hawk exhaled and walked back to the sofa. Pearl ambled over and jumped up beside him.

“You did a good thing, Hawk,” I said. “And that’s enough.”

He nodded.

I looked out the window. Carmen and Slide were laughing in the fading light.

“Merry Christmas, Hawk,” I said.

“
Amani
, Spenser,” Hawk said. “Peace.”

When I left the room, Hawk had his head tilted back on the sofa and his legs extended on the coffee table. Pearl had stretched out and lay with her front paws and head in his lap. He patted her softly with his free hand while he watched the game.