A Magical Christmas by Heather Graham

didn’t do that very often, though. Mothers wouldn’t let them.
    Still…
    He felt himself tensing. Winding up, like a pitcher getting ready for a throw. Any minute now, any minute now… They had come into the house. His door was going to burst open and…
    Footsteps, moving through the house. Heavy footsteps. People stamping around. His folks, stomping. His folks, angry to begin with.
    Oh, man, if they caught him at something now, they’d shred him. Into little tiny pieces. They’d kill him, just kill him. He’d be in juvenile hall for sure.
    Maybe they’d go to Christie’s room first.
    Kill her.
    The blood lust might abate by the time they got to him.
    “Business? Oh, right!” he heard his mother saying. Her footsteps were taking her toward the kitchen.
    “Oh, damn it, Julie, yes, what the hell do I need? A note from my boss? Trish Deva is about to sue her ex-husband, and Bentley thinks the case is worth millions. What the hell am I explaining this to you for? This is incredible! You were in the same damned place as I was!”
    “Right. I just wasn’t as close as Trish Deva.”
    “Damn it, Julie, you’ve got to trust me—”
    “Oh, right! I should trust you!”
    “Julie, you’re being absurd! One time—and you’d thrown me out of the house!”
    “I never threw you out of the house.”
    “You asked me to leave.”
    “I didn’t ask you to go sleep with my friends.”
    “Yeah, and you sure as hell didn’t ask me to sleep with you!”
    Jordan heard his mother slam her way into the kitchen. His father followed.
    He lay back on his pillow, the dizziness that had seized him receding.
    All he felt was a surprisingly deep and bleak misery.
    They’d calm down in a minute. They’d grow quiet, both accusing the other of making a show and dragging the kids into their problems.
    A few minutes later, his door opened.
    “Jordan?” His father’s voice.
    “Yeah, Dad?”
    “Did I wake you?”
    “I’ve been half-asleep.”
    “Everything okay?”
    “Fine, Dad.”
    “Jordan?” His mother’s voice now.
    “Yeah?” He made the sound as sleepy as possible.
    “Did everything go all right?”
    “Yeah, it was great. We all had hamburgers andfries, and Christie made us eat grapes when we got home.”
    “Good,” his mother said, sounding relieved. “And everything’s all right—”
    “Everything’s fine, Mom.”
    “Good night, son,” his father said.
    His mother tiptoed into the room, kissing his forehead. His father followed.
    Whatever essence of illegal substance that might have remained in the room was apparently overlooked. They had other things on their minds.
    “Night, Jordan, love you,” his mother said, and hurried out. His father tousled his hair, and followed his mother. He heard them entering Christie’s room. He heard his sister innocently murmuring that they had awakened her.
    They entered Ashley’s room.
    Jordan wished fervently that Ashley had been sleeping. Ashley was a royal pain in the rear end, but he hated to see how hurt she got when their folks went to war with one another. Poor Ashley. She was hanging onto something that just wasn’t there.
    Ashley was either really sleeping or pretending to sleep. Her parents very quietly closed her door as they exited her room before moving across the living area of the house to their own bedroom on the other side.
    The fight would continue, Jordan thought. It would just do so more quietly now.
    They’d stab each other in silence, he thought bitterly.
    He leaned back against his pillow. Well, maybe the dopey trip to a dead-end place in Virginia for the holidays would be called off. That would be like a small miracle, one big Christmas present. Maybe they’d start getting their divorce tomorrow—that could actually be kind of cool because then they both might try to outdo one another being nice to their kids. He had friends with divorced parents, and all of them had told him one of the main benefits of divorce was that the parents usually