Three Christmas Wishes - Krista Wolf Page 0,14

said Brock. “We came to help you with the tree, and to have dinner with you. To make you feel good.”

“Really good,” Valerio winked.

“But you can stay…” I protested weakly. “I want you to st—”

“Another time,” said Kade, gruffly. He reached out and touched my face. “You get some rest. Drink some water, too. You’re gonna be dehydrated.”

I couldn’t believe they were just leaving! Especially after what they’d done; the kinds of gifts they’d given me — both physical and otherwise. All without expecting anything in return.

“Call us,” Brock said from the doorway. “Or just come by. You know where to find us.”

I nodded numbly, unable to speak. The Christmas music was still playing, the lights of the tree, still twinkling.

Then the door closed, and they were gone.

Eleven

KADE

“See that four-by-eight Belgium all the way up there?” the boss pointed. “Classic grey?”

I shook the daydream from my head, as best I could anyway. It was a very pleasant daydream. One of those gems that always takes over your focus.

“Yeah?” I finally answered.

“Well I need it down here, pronto. A flatbed’s coming to get it in about twenty minutes.”

I nodded to the old man, who wasn’t really an old man at all. Brock’s father hadn’t aged all that much since we were kids. Maybe he was a little sterner and a little more weathered, but overall—

“Kade?”

“I’m on it.”

I spent a minute or two roping off the area with temporary orange fencing, to make sure no one would get in the way. Then I hopped into the forklift and turned the key. There was a satisfying click as I felt the machine thrum to life beneath me, and I bent to my task.

I watched the forks glide up the mast to the perfect height, then I slid them beneath the stack. The bundle in question had to weigh at least a ton. It always amazed me how the hydraulics could handle it.

Halfway to the ground, my phone buzzed. I perked up immediately.

Brandon.

Instinctively I reached for it, then stopped. First things first. “Let’s not crush anyone to death today,” I mumbled.

A minute later I’d retrieved the Belgium block and set the wire-wrapped stack in its proper place. Then I whipped out my phone, and looked at the screen. It wasn’t my brother. My mouth turned downward in disappointment.

“YO!”

Brock came stomping over, wiping his hands on his jumpsuit. He’d been mucking out the empty gravel stalls all morning.

“Heard from him yet?”

I shook my head. “No, you?”

“Nah.”

Brandon did that sometimes — get in touch with Brock. It usually happened only when he was in serious trouble though, which I guess I could take as a good sign.

“He’ll call,” Brock assured me. “He’s probably just off fucking around.”

“Yeah, well he usually hits me back.”

“Not always,” Brock pointed out. “He knows you’re keeping tabs on him. Little brothers don’t always like that, you know.”

He was looking on the bright side I knew, but it wasn’t helping. Not when it came to Brandon. Or his… history.

“He’ll call,” Brock said again. “He always calls.”

“Yeah. Until the one time he doesn’t.”

Not wanting to think about that, I forced my mind to switch gears. “Heard anything from anyone else?” I asked, changing the subject.

Brock glanced back at me with a knowing smirk. “Nah. Not yet.”

I chuckled. “Think we scared her off?”

“Maybe,” he said. Then, sighing: “Probably.”

“Yeah, well rules are rules,” I told him with a shrug. “We knew it going in. We did what we said we’d do.”

“She was just so… I dunno.”

“Goddamn perfect?”

“Yeah,” my friend laughed. “All around, too.”

“Well I don’t regret a thing,” I said plainly. “Maybe she calls, maybe she doesn’t. But last night? That was solid. She rolled with it, and so did we. And setting up her tree, filling her empty apartment? All that stuff made her happy.”

“All that food made me happy,” Brock said, rubbing his stomach.

“Yeah. That too. Plus, it felt like Christmas.”

The conversation dwindled as Brock’s old man walked up on us, a clipboard folded neatly beneath one arm. He stared at the stack of Belgium block for a moment, then swung his gaze back at me. I knew the expression on his face even before he started shaking his head.

“What?”

“Think that’s the right color?” he demanded.

“Look grey to me.”

“Yes but that’s stone grey. It’s not classic grey.”

Ah, shit.

“Classic grey is a little darker. You want the one on the left, not the right.”

“Yeah dude,” Brock piled on, mocking silent laughter behind his father’s back. “Way to fuck things up!”

His father threatened to hit