Chapter 8
The afternoon began with Kyle's phone ringing, which woke Clayton up. He sat up with a start, blinking, pushing the red woolen blanket down to his knees as he watched Kyle answer it.
"Hey, Sheriff Bob," said Kyle, and by the smile on his face, Clayton knew right away that nothing was wrong.
"You got a call from who? Oh, yes, that's Clayton's sister, she's—yes, she's worried on account of I answered her ad on Craigslist and now her brother is here with me.
No, Brent and Richard couldn't make it, but at least none of my plans are going to waste. "
Kyle listened for a while. Then he held out the phone to Clayton, walking over to hand it to him.
"He wants to talk to you," said Kyle. "Evidently folks are quite worried that you're an axe murderer or something. They've been watching too much news, I think."Clearing his throat, Clayton took the phone. He was unsure what he might say if he was accused of being an axe murderer.
"Hello?" he said.
"This is Sheriff Bob Flanders of Morgan County," said a hearty voice that had a trace of military training in it. "Is this Clayton?"
"Yes, it is, sir," said Clayton. He stood up, sweeping the red blanket around his shoulders to keep it from falling to the floor. "What can I do for you?"
"Got a call," said Sheriff Bob. "A woman named Sarah wanted me to check on you.
She was worried about our very own software developer, Kyle, who wouldn't pull a hair on a bug's head, let alone hurt anybody.
But she was insistent, and I calmed her down some.
Now, I've been enjoined by several folks in town to call and make sure that you, Clayton, are on the up and up.
Got any nefarious plans I should know about? "
"No sir," said Clayton. He felt like he should salute. "I was on my way to my sister Sarah's house in Parker for Christmas Eve, but I got about this far, and Kyle opened his door to me."
"Did you already string the popcorn?" asked Sheriff Bob, sounding very well apprised of Kyle's hosting schedule for the holidays. "For the tree."
"Yes, we did sir, though I ate a good bit of it myself."
"And watch every version of A Christmas Carol there ever was?"
"Yes, sir," said Clayton, with all the seriousness he could muster. "We got through most of them and we're planning to watch the Mr. Magoo one twice, I think."
"That's the best one, really," said Sheriff Bob and Clayton could almost hear him nodding.
"Make sure you help him with those Christmas tree lights, as Ed over at the hardware store has been getting complaints that the little ones get shorted out.
Anyway, fair enough. You don't sound like you mean him any harm, but I'm here to tell you that if something does happen to him on account of you, I'll be slapping handcuffs on you so fast, your wrists will burn. You got me?"
"I got you, sir," said Clayton. "And I'm glad—"
He meant to go on in a funny way, to make a joke because the way the sheriff was going on, he felt like laughing.
But it really was touching that the local law was so protective of Kyle that indeed, it seemed the whole town knew about Kyle's guests and his plans to entertain them.
He swallowed the thickness that had suddenly risen in his throat.
"I'm glad you're looking out for him, sir, and I promise, I'll be the best Christmas guest he's ever had."
"I'm counting on you, Clayton," said Sheriff Bob. "Well, have a good rest of your holiday, son. Goodbye."
Clayton clicked the phone off and held it out to Kyle, who took it in both hands.
"Best Christmas guest?" asked Kyle, his eyebrows rising, that quirky twist of his mouth turning into a smile.
"Well, you're the Best Christmas host, right?" asked Clayton, smiling in return. It was almost like he couldn't help the joy that rose within him.
"At least so far," said Kyle, and a lovely blush appeared on his cheeks, as though he wasn't used to compliments.
"Definitely," said Clayton. "Now, I'm supposed to help you with the Christmas lights as Ed over at the hardware store says that sometimes they short out. Got any spare bulbs?"
"Yes?" said Kyle, his voice rising. "How do you know the name of the guy at the hardware store is Ed?"
"Sheriff Bob told me all about it," said Clayton.
He shrugged the blanket, which was the exact soft red wool kind that he'd been thinking about, from his shoulders and folded it neatly, well, mostly neatly, and placed it on the couch.
"He also told me you wouldn't pull a hair on a bug's head.
I didn't even know bugs had hair." He chuckled to himself and smiled as he scratched his chin, hoping Kyle would join in.
Sure enough, Kyle did, his laugh tilting his head back, and the curve of his mouth and the sparkle in his eyes was a delight to see.
"The ones in cartoons do," said Kyle, smiling. "Are you hungry?"
"Getting there," said Clayton. "But I really wish you'd let me help. I make a mean grilled cheese."
"Maybe tomorrow," said Kyle. "The plan is to finish stringing the popcorn, have waffles, and then put the popcorn strings on the tree with a nice fire going."
"I could bring in wood, if you'd let me." Clayton's offer was in earnest. He couldn't stand the thought of not helping, not after all that Kyle had done for him.
"You could if you borrow my coat and bundle up," said Kyle, though he looked dubious at Clayton's ability to follow even this simple condition.
Obediently, Clayton did as he was told, putting on Kyle's much thicker, much more winter-hardy coat, and then the borrowed hat, scarf, and gloves.
Lacing up his boots, he stepped out into the blowing wind and snow, ducking his head and holding his breath for a minute while his body adjusted to the temperature.
The cold outside was a stark contrast to the warmth inside, and the sky was growing dark, with only a grey-purple smear where the sun was going down to indicate which direction was west. All else was a shifting, dull white whir of snow with the wind gusting hard, trying to steal his breath away.
Briskly, he grabbed an armful of wood from the pile on the side of the house and dumped it on the concrete steps.
Then he grabbed another armful, and put that on the step, so they wouldn't run out.
Pleased with himself, he used the heel of his hand, protected by the glove, to scrape most of the snow off the logs. By the time he opened the door, he was cold from his knees down, which was the only part of him not covered.
Without thinking, he opened the front door as if he lived there, and felt the warmth of the interior of the house flash out at him. It felt so good that he sighed in pleasure as he piled the logs in the foyer before coming in himself, closing the door behind him.
The sight of the Christmas tree all lit up was the same, but now, more, he knew what was on offer.
Soft Christmas music, the scent of oranges and cloves, the lights on the tree, the gold and silver garland.
And Kyle puttering around as he laid presents beneath the tree.
Also, something in the kitchen smelled mighty good.
"What are you making?" asked Clayton as he stomped the remainder of snow from his boots and hung up his borrowed outdoor things. "It smells amazing."
"I told you, waffles," said Kyle. He turned to look at Clayton, smiling. "But I've folded egg whites with vanilla and a little bit of sugar, that's what makes it smell so nice."
"I'm impressed," said Clayton.
He came into the living room in his stocking feet, enjoying the sensation as the outdoor chill was replaced by indoor warmth along his legs.
The tree drew his eye, now that it was plugged in with all the white lights blinking, and the star on top glittered.
Then, seeing the presents up close, he realized that one had his name on the tag.
"Is that for me?" asked Clayton. "But I don't have anything for you."
His jaw worked as he contemplated the idea of being so rude as to have not brought something, even though there was no way he could have known where he'd end up.
"I'm just giving you my presents for Brent and Richard," said Kyle.
His voice was obviously meant to be soothing, and he reached out with another one of those long, slow pats to Clayton's shoulder, where his hand lingered, leaving a trace of warmth.
"They have everything, you know, and I'll just get them something else later. "
"But I don't have anything—" Clayton stopped, unsure how to go on. He couldn't insist on getting Kyle something, too, when there was no way, no way in hell, he could get to the store in time. He was stuck here with empty hands.
"You brought me you," said Kyle, his eyes soft as he looked up at Clayton. "I mean, you brought me a guest for the holidays. You let me give the knife back to you without being mad about it. You brought in firewood. You're eating all the food that I bought."
"That hardly seems like a gift for you," said Clayton. "More like a gift for me."
"It's a gift for both of us," said Kyle, deciding. "I like to eat too, and having a guest lets me do something fancier than I normally do, so don't worry about it, okay?"
It didn't seem like the discussion could do anything but escalate into something more heated, without either of them being able to do anything about the situation.
Clayton let himself be led into finishing up the popcorn strings while watching the second run of A Christmas Carol with Mr. Magoo.
Then he let himself be talked into doing a quick load of laundry, once Kyle found out, somehow, that Clayton was running out of clean clothes.
"I thought I'd be at Sarah's by now," Clayton said.
"We'll you're here now, and the washer and dryer are in that little room off the kitchen."
Clayton insisted on doing his own laundry and wore his sweatpants and t-shirt while everything dried. Then it was agreed that he could wash those in the morning.
This activity involved way more discussion than Clayton was used to having about laundry, but it made him smile to watch Kyle earnestly point out the settings and dials on his space-age looking washer and dryer.
Normally he'd tell whoever was showing him this that he wasn't a fucking idiot, but with Kyle, it felt better, nicer, to nod his head and just let the demonstration happen.
When supper was ready, they sat down in the warm, bright kitchen to eat the most brilliant waffles Clayton had ever tasted.
Kyle had told him the secret was to fold in egg whites with vanilla extract and sugar, and he was surprised that such a simple addition to the batter would make such a difference.
Clayton shook his head in amazement and ate three waffles covered in butter and real maple syrup, and had a stack of bacon all to himself.
"We can have eggnog and rum while we put the popcorn strings on the tree," promised Kyle. "And eat more freshly made popcorn, of course.”
Which was the only reason Clayton didn't have four waffles covered in butter and real maple syrup.