driver’s door before he’d cut the engine. I could hear the radio through the closed windows. As I opened the door, I was nearly bowled over by Burl Ives singing “Holly, Jolly Christmas.” And by Miss Maggie, who was almost drowning him out as she harmonized in her wobbly alto.
The car’s dome light backlit the knee-melting grin Hugh gave me as he turned the key. Burl cut off mid-word. Miss Maggie took over the melody without skipping a beat.
Leaning in, I planted a quick smooch on my beloved’s cheek, which was fairly smooth and smelling of Old Spice, so I knew he’d shaved before driving down. I craned my head around his bulk to greet Miss Maggie, who had added padded reindeer antlers over her green- and red-striped stocking cap. She wore green stretch pants under a red ski jacket. Christmas Spirit personified.
Since she had her eyes closed as she belted out another verse, and since Hugh had already maneuvered his left hand around to my butt, I took the opportunity to plant more than a quick smooch on him, aiming for mustache and lower lip this time.
His other arm curled around my shoulders, drawing me closer, and though the steering wheel was digging into my ribs, I did my best to oblige, until something—not Hugh’s hands, because they were accounted for—slithered across my breasts.
“What the—?” Picturing a large slimy snake, I propelled myself out of the Ford, up against Acey’s passenger door. “Something . . . I . . . oh . . . it’s your seat belt.” I felt my face flush, but told myself, after the day I’d had, I could be excused for being a smidge jumpy.
The strap finished retracting as Hugh exploded into laughter. Shoving the belt aside, he got out, reaching for me again.
Mindful that Glad was watching from within—odd that she hadn’t come out, too—I side-stepped. “You’re early.”
“So make it worth my while.” He cornered me at Acey’s side mirror—not that I tried hard to get away.
“Hugh, your mom’s right inside.” The protest was negated by my traitorous hands sliding under his waist-length jacket.
“How’d you two hit it off?” he murmured, mouth brushing against my forehead.
That reminded me that I was mad at him for all the things he hadn’t warned me about. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”
“I’m good at explaining.” He grazed his lips around my right earlobe, sending a surge of delirium south.
“Save it, lover boy,” I managed to breathe out. “Miss Maggie’s on her last chorus.”
She’d wound into a big finish, but in the middle of the word “Christmas,” we heard a window creak open above.
“Hey!” Foot stuck his head out of the first dormer of the original house. Even as a dark silhouette against the dim light of the room behind him, I could tell he was shaking with fury. “I’ve been yelling for the past half hour. Didn’t anyone hear me? The damn door’s stuck—I can’t get out of this room.”
I felt Hugh’s laughter boil up inside him again, though he didn’t let it out. “I guess we should go rescue him.”
“You go. I’ll bring Rudolph inside.” Yes, I was avoiding the front stairs. But more than that, I had to talk to Miss Maggie alone. Foot was in the first bedroom—my panic-attack room, the room that, according to Glad, probably once had a lock on the hall side. And now Foot couldn’t get out.
“. . . to make Provision for the Support and Maintenance of Idiots, Lunaticks, and other Persons of unsound Minds . . .”
—Bill to establish the Public Hospital,
General Assembly of Virginia, 1770
December 24, 1783—The Eagle’s Nest
At first, John Brennan carried on his business as usual, though his patrons now were required to knock upon his door. He let in but one at a time, all others tarrying in the hall as if awaiting an audience with Governor Harrison. And when Brennan took his leave, he secured his lock with its heavy key, which he wore on a chain about his neck.
But Brennan’s mania
The car’s dome light backlit the knee-melting grin Hugh gave me as he turned the key. Burl cut off mid-word. Miss Maggie took over the melody without skipping a beat.
Leaning in, I planted a quick smooch on my beloved’s cheek, which was fairly smooth and smelling of Old Spice, so I knew he’d shaved before driving down. I craned my head around his bulk to greet Miss Maggie, who had added padded reindeer antlers over her green- and red-striped stocking cap. She wore green stretch pants under a red ski jacket. Christmas Spirit personified.
Since she had her eyes closed as she belted out another verse, and since Hugh had already maneuvered his left hand around to my butt, I took the opportunity to plant more than a quick smooch on him, aiming for mustache and lower lip this time.
His other arm curled around my shoulders, drawing me closer, and though the steering wheel was digging into my ribs, I did my best to oblige, until something—not Hugh’s hands, because they were accounted for—slithered across my breasts.
“What the—?” Picturing a large slimy snake, I propelled myself out of the Ford, up against Acey’s passenger door. “Something . . . I . . . oh . . . it’s your seat belt.” I felt my face flush, but told myself, after the day I’d had, I could be excused for being a smidge jumpy.
The strap finished retracting as Hugh exploded into laughter. Shoving the belt aside, he got out, reaching for me again.
Mindful that Glad was watching from within—odd that she hadn’t come out, too—I side-stepped. “You’re early.”
“So make it worth my while.” He cornered me at Acey’s side mirror—not that I tried hard to get away.
“Hugh, your mom’s right inside.” The protest was negated by my traitorous hands sliding under his waist-length jacket.
“How’d you two hit it off?” he murmured, mouth brushing against my forehead.
That reminded me that I was mad at him for all the things he hadn’t warned me about. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”
“I’m good at explaining.” He grazed his lips around my right earlobe, sending a surge of delirium south.
“Save it, lover boy,” I managed to breathe out. “Miss Maggie’s on her last chorus.”
She’d wound into a big finish, but in the middle of the word “Christmas,” we heard a window creak open above.
“Hey!” Foot stuck his head out of the first dormer of the original house. Even as a dark silhouette against the dim light of the room behind him, I could tell he was shaking with fury. “I’ve been yelling for the past half hour. Didn’t anyone hear me? The damn door’s stuck—I can’t get out of this room.”
I felt Hugh’s laughter boil up inside him again, though he didn’t let it out. “I guess we should go rescue him.”
“You go. I’ll bring Rudolph inside.” Yes, I was avoiding the front stairs. But more than that, I had to talk to Miss Maggie alone. Foot was in the first bedroom—my panic-attack room, the room that, according to Glad, probably once had a lock on the hall side. And now Foot couldn’t get out.
“. . . to make Provision for the Support and Maintenance of Idiots, Lunaticks, and other Persons of unsound Minds . . .”
—Bill to establish the Public Hospital,
General Assembly of Virginia, 1770
December 24, 1783—The Eagle’s Nest
At first, John Brennan carried on his business as usual, though his patrons now were required to knock upon his door. He let in but one at a time, all others tarrying in the hall as if awaiting an audience with Governor Harrison. And when Brennan took his leave, he secured his lock with its heavy key, which he wore on a chain about his neck.
But Brennan’s mania
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