Waterways (36 page)

The fox looked shrewdly at the cars and then back at Kory. “You going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” Kory smiled and shoved his paws into his jacket pockets. “You’re going to like Father Joe.”

“I haven’t talked to a priest in years,” Samaki said.

“Well, the last guy we had here you wouldn’t have wanted to talk to,” Kory said. “But Father Joe is great.”

“I can’t wait to meet him.”

Samaki followed him to the last pew, the only one that was nearly empty. The fox gazed around the church, his tail hanging down next to Kory’s. They didn’t brush them together, but the proximity of the warm black fur calmed Kory. He loved Christmas Mass and he wanted badly for Samaki to love it as well. The fox had told him that their church’s Christmas celebration was a raucous, happy community gathering, and Kory was worried that the fox wouldn’t like Father Joe’s restrained service. Even though the holiday crowd was larger than at a normal Mass, the bustle and pre-service chatter still sounded tentative, subdued in the enormous space.

“Do I have to do anything?” Samaki whispered. “Or do we just sit here and listen?”

“There are a few responses,” Kory whispered back. “I’ll point them out in the book.”

He opened up the hymnal just as a family of muskrats pushed onto the pew beside them. The twelve-year-old daughter was holding a portable game with headphones, which she played without a break as she walked up to Kory and sat down. The mother and father were having some discussion about Christmas dinner and relatives showing up. Samaki made a show of studying the hymnal, but Kory saw his ears flick toward the muskrats.

“Are there a lot more of your family showing up for Christmas than Thanksgiving?” he asked the fox.

Samaki shook his head. “Aunt Suma and Uncle Mike and my cousins will probably stay home, and my Uncle Ant is still back in Africa.”

“Uncle Ant?” Kory giggled.

“He was the only one of the family born here, so they called him Anthony to try to fit in, but Mom thought he looked like an ant crawling around, so she called him that.” Samaki grinned. “He’s a black fox too.”

“What’s he doing in Africa?”

“Business connections,” Samaki said, and then the service started.

The muskrat girl didn’t put her game away until her mother slapped her, which was a good five minutes after Kory wanted to. With that distraction gone, he focused on the service and watched Samaki’s reactions. They said prayers together, with Kory pointing out the appropriate responses, and sang Christmas carols. The muskrat girl, it turned out, had a beautiful voice, and loved the carols, but sat sullenly through the rest of the service.

Samaki smiled throughout, so that by the time Father Joe got around to his sermon, Kory’s worries had vanished and he paid full attention to the sermon, a new one to him. Father Joe said that the true gift of the three Wise Kings was their journey, like the old saying “it’s the thought that counts.” They could have sent messengers with gifts, as was the custom, but they gave of themselves to bring the gifts to Mary and the baby Jesus. “So, this Christmas,” he concluded, “we should give of ourselves, and be sure to appreciate the gifts that others give of themselves.”

The muskrat girl was eyeing her game again. Kory saw that Samaki was smiling, and his tail did swing over to brush Kory’s when Father Joe made that statement. “I like him,” the fox mouthed, sending happy prickles through Kory’s fur.

After the service, they sat quietly while the muskrat mother dragged her daughter out, the game already in her paws and flashing. Kory knew that Samaki was waiting for him to get up, but he was used to waiting until most of the congregation had left. He felt peaceful, sitting there while everyone else was leaving, and today, he also felt a little apprehensive, not wanting to meet the eye of anyone he knew while he was sitting with Samaki.

He saw a skunk in a thick coat and recognized one of his neighbors. He raised a paw as the family filed past, but got no response. Perhaps they had just not seen him. He kept his eyes down after that.

When the noise of movement had died down, he looked up and saw that the church was mostly empty. His mother and Nick had filed out past with the others. “Come on,” he said to Samaki. “He’ll be greeting in the foyer.”

They hung back quietly just behind the large doors until most of the people in the foyer had dispersed. Father Joe had met Kory’s eyes and beckoned him forward as the last of the crowd, a porcupine family Kory recognized but had never spoken to, walked out.

“So this is your friend?” the Dall sheep said as they approached him. “I’m Father Joe.” He extended a hand.

“Samaki.” The fox grasped the hand and shook, smiling. “I loved your sermon.”

“Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you finally.” Father Joe looked back to Kory. “I was hoping you would attend.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” Kory smiled and nodded his head toward Samaki. “I get to go to his service tomorrow morning.”

Father Joe inclined his head toward the fox. “Which church is yours?”

“Eastern Baptist, on Twenty-Fifth and Chestnut.”

“I know it by reputation only. A good one, of course.” Father Joe beamed.

“Kory!” Nick appeared from outside, grinning, and threw his arms around his brother. He was chilly from the outside air.

Kory returned the tight hug, full of warmth from the service and from seeing Nick. “Merry Christmas,” he said.

“Ah, save that for tomorrow,” Nick said. But his bright smile said he understood.

“When are you coming by?” Samaki asked.

Nick stepped back from his brother’s embrace. “I figured around 2 or 3. Can you pick me up at the shopping center?” 

“Sure.”

Father Joe smiled. “I’m glad you’ll be together on Christmas.”

Kory nodded, but before he could say anything, a familiar voice called, “Nick.”

Everybody fell silent. Kory turned toward the door, meeting the eyes of his mother. She stared at him, and then he saw her eyes flick past him, to Samaki. They hardened. “Nicholas,” she repeated. “We’re leaving now.”

“Celia…” Father Joe began.

Her expression stopped him. “Merry Christmas, Father,” she said coldly.

For the space of several breaths they stood, caught in a web whose lines of fear and anger Kory felt he could snap with just the right words, if he could find them. Samaki stared at the ground. Nick’s tail curled behind him as he swayed from one foot to the other.

Kory couldn’t believe how much older his mother looked. Her eyes were pinched nearly shut, her muzzle screwed up as though smelling something distasteful. Samaki breathed behind him, reminding him of her comment about the fox’s musk. His own eyes narrowed, but he wasn’t sure she even noticed. “Nicholas!”

Nick remained stubbornly at Kory’s side. “I want to say Merry Christmas to Kory,” he said.

It looked as though she might order him to come. Her eyes flicked to Father Joe. She opened her mouth and shut it again, arms crossing. “Then say it and let’s go,” she snapped. “I want you in the car in five minutes.”

She seemed inclined to stay and watch them, until Samaki spoke. “Mrs. Hedley,” he started, but at his words she turned quickly on her heels. “Merry Christmas,” he called, but she ignored him, striding out of the church and out of sight.

The silence that followed her departure was heavy, but not uncomfortable. “That’s what makes it so hard to forgive her,” Kory said to Father Joe.

“Your forgiveness,” the sheep said, “should come from your own heart, regardless of her actions.”

Nick had been staring after his mother, and now turned back. “Can I go home with you tonight, Kory?”

“You shouldn’t,” Kory began, but Nick cut him off.

“I don’t want to go home with her. How can she… why?”

Kory shook his head, turning instinctively to Father Joe. The sheep nodded agreement. “Go with your mother, Nick,” he said. “Imagine how hard it would be for her to lose two sons.”

“You don’t have to live with her,” Nick grumbled.

“And you do,” Father Joe said. He smiled. “Merry Christmas, Nick.”

“Merry Christmas, Father,” Nick said. “And Merry Christmas, you two. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you, Nick.”

They stood there with Father Joe after Nick walked out to join his mother. Kory sighed. “I hope he doesn’t get in trouble for that.”

“It’s Christmas,” Father Joe said. “A time of forgiveness.”

“I hope so.” Kory glanced at Samaki.

The fox took Kory’s paw in his and squeezed. Kory flinched at the public contact, but Father Joe’s brown eyes held nothing but smiles.

At Samaki’s insistence, Kory spent Christmas Eve with the Rodens. Malaya declined the invitation, saying it would be refreshing for her to spend a Christmas peacefully alone, reveling in the secular commercialism. Kory started to say something else, about not letting other people ruin Christmas for you, but Malaya cut him off with a wave of her wing. “I’m fine,” she said. “Jesus, just go already.”

Mrs. Roden had certainly prepared enough food for an extra guest; the dinner table was piled with a roast, two different chutneys, a sweet potato dish that Ajani and Mariatu had cleared out before Kory was done his first helping, a sort of vegetable stew that went over couscous and was apparently Kasim’s favorite, and a chicken and kidney bean dish with diced onions that Kory decided was his favorite. He told Mrs. Roden so.

“Oh, I just threw that together,” she said, her russet muzzle breaking into a wide smile. “I had leftover chicken and some beans and onions.” Her ears flicked as though she were embarrassed.

“It’s wonderful,” he said sincerely.

He barely had room for dessert, a choice between mince pie with ice cream or a thick chocolate bread with a cream sauce. A lifetime of one-dessert rules restrained him to just the chocolate bread, but Mrs. Roden caught him eyeing the mince pie. She slid a piece onto his plate before he could protest, which he wasn’t inclined to do anyway. “You’re a growing boy,” she said, her eyes sparkling.

“Thanks,” Kory said, and in return made her beam again with the praise he gave to both.

After dinner, the family sat together in the living room, where Mr. Roden lit candles and turned on the Christmas tree lights. They sang a repertoire of Christmas carols, by the end of which Kory had lost his self-consciousness and was singing as loudly as any of them. Then, as they sat around sipping wonderful, rich, creamy hot chocolate from their mugs, Mr. Roden rummaged under the tree and started to pass presents around.

“Santa hasn’t been here yet,” he announced to the younger cubs, “but you get one present each tonight from your mother and me, and then we’ll see what Santa brings tomorrow.”

They squealed and grasped at the brightly-colored boxes he handed them. To Kory’s surprise, Mr. Roden handed a blue-and-silver-wrapped box to him as well, a broad smile on his vulpine muzzle. “Merry Christmas, Kory,” he said.

Samaki was grinning. “Oh,” Kory said, suddenly worrying that he hadn’t brought anything. “You didn’t have to…”

Mrs. Roden waved a paw. “It’s Christmas,” she said simply.

He waited until the younger cubs had opened their gifts. Ajani had gotten a small figurine of some comic book hero, a scary-looking coyote; Kasim had gotten three packs of Digimon cards; and Mariatu a vixen princess doll.

“Go on,” Mrs. Roden urged him and Samaki. “Open yours.”

Kory waited until Samaki had revealed a thick book of the Best Journalism of the Year, and then opened his box, claws tearing the wrapping away to reveal a basic tool set, hammer, screwdrivers, pliers, wrenches. “Oh, I need this!” he said.

“I told them,” Samaki beamed, his tail wagging against Kory’s.

Mr. Roden smiled. “No house should be without proper tools.”

“Thanks!” He picked up the small gift card on the wrapping with his name on it and turned it over, smiling at the oddness of seeing his name in Samaki’s parents’ cramped writing.

Mr. Roden took his wife’s paw, their tails swishing contentedly as they sat back on the couch. Kory had never opened presents on Christmas Eve, but still, it reminded him of happy Christmas Eves with his mother and Nick, when their troubles were all blanketed by the delight of the season and they could talk happily together, sitting by their own Christmas tree with the snow glistening outside. They had water-borne ornaments, little Christmas-tree and reindeer floats that bobbed along the surface of the pool, caught the lights, and sparkled in a way that Kory had always found magical. Even after he’d lost some of his youthful delight in Christmas, he’d always loved the decorations and trappings. One Christmas, Nick had scattered tinsel on the water with the ornaments. His mother had scolded Nick, but had waited until after the holiday to clean it up, and oh, how pretty it had been. Kory and Nick had sat on the bridge with only the Christmas lights on, watching the sparkles in the drifting silver strands below.

The tinsel on the Rodens’ tree blurred in his eyes. He wiped them with a paw and looked around to see whether anyone had noticed. Only Samaki was looking at him; everyone else was watching Ajani’s coyote figure attack the princess doll, making Mariatu squeal in indignation.

“You okay?” Samaki asked softly.

“Yeah.” Kory nodded, and then he was back here in the present, the memories receding. “Let’s see that book.”

They looked through the book together, and then it was time for bed, the younger cubs going willingly for once. “Kory,” Mrs. Roden said, looking down from where she was following the three eager cubs, “we thought we’d put you in a sleeping bag in the boys’ room, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.” He grinned at Samaki as the two of them headed up. “Should I tell her we read the brochure?” he whispered.

Samaki elbowed him, his ears flattening. “Don’t even!”

They set up his sleeping bag on the floor, pushing aside a pile of comic books and clothes so that he could stretch out. Ajani and Kasim helped, with Mariatu standing in the doorway, looking jealously on. “I want to sleep here tonight too!” she said. “Wanna sleep with Kory.”

“You don’t want to stay with us?” Mrs. Roden said, smoothing out the sleeping bag. “Are you sure?”

She was looking at Kory and Samaki. Kory said, “I think we could make a little room for her over there.”