Free The Christmas Pearl by Dorothea Benton Frank Page A

one of his feeble blessings, and we toasted the holiday and one another. I lifted my spoon and the meal began. At first the conversation was benign enough, but soon I noticed that Camille had developed a little twitch. That bothered me and I hoped to steer the conversation toward a safe harbor.
    “What do you want Santa to bring you, Teddie?” I asked, hoping she wouldn’t blow the night for Andrew.
    “Clothes and stuff. I’m too old for toys.”
    “I’m not,” Andrew said.
    “And pierced earrings,” Teddie added.
    “You’re too young for pierced ears,” Lynette said. Kindly note that Lynette had at least four holes in each ear.
    “No, I’m not!”
    “Well, your father thinks so,” Lynette said.
    “It’s not necessary to stick holes in your ears,” George said. “What’s next? A tattoo?”
    Bomb number one was to launch immediately.
    “Well, it sure won’t say I heart Dad, ” Camille said.
    Teddie put her spoon down as her face fell. Frankly, I didn’t see why George felt that way about Teddie piercing her ears, but perhaps it was an attempt to delay her maturation in some way. Camille’s remark—well, I decided I must have misunderstood what she meant and I took the lead again.
    “What are you hoping for, Andrew?” I said.
    “A mountain bike. All my friends have them.”
    The next little bomb dropped.
    “If all your friends jumped off the Cooper River Bridge, would you jump, too?” This imbecilic, and hostile, cliché tumbled from the lips of who else? George!
    “No, of course not,” Andrew replied. His brow wrinkled and he looked down at his lap, frowning, knowing that Christmas Eve or not, he was in unfriendly territory.
    “Well, you could sure use the exercise,” Teddie said, and snickered. No one joined her. She blanched in embarrassment, but wasn’t she simply following her father’s lead?
    “Know what? You’re a creep,” Camille said to George. “Will your schadenfreude cup never be filled? It’s bad enough that your little girl is…uh, uh, sadistic . Given who you are, it should come as no surprise to anyone that you are, too.”
    Stunned, George clamped his mouth shut. Luckily, the remark flew right over Teddie’s head, or surely she would have started screaming to find herself called sadistic . And Lord! Schadenfreude? Did George really find delight in the pain of others? I had not heard that term in years! Perish that thought right to a waste bin!
    “Would anyone care for more punch?” I said.
    “Sure, Gran, thanks,” Camille said. “While we’re on the topic of stinkers…Daddy? I saw you at lunch today at Peninsula Grill.”
    Cleland stammered around and finally said, “I was having a business lunch.”
    “Sure. Monkey business.”
    Barbara looked up at Cleland and then said to Camille, “Maybe we should talk about your daddy’s business friends another time. I think I would like some more punch. Will you get it for me, dear?” She held her cup out toward George.
    “Sure,” he said, and got up. “Maybe one reason Dad has friends is that you act like the imperious queen of an ice castle.”
    “I don’t think this is nice talk for Christmas Eve, George,” I said.
    “It’s okay,” Cleland said. “I married her for her castle and she doesn’t care.”
    Barbara’s face turned crimson and her eyes filled with tears.
    “Cleland, I know what you do and where you go. It doesn’t matter. I have always loved you. I wish I could make you feel differently about me. And, I wish you would drink a little less.”
    “You’re a fine one to talk,” Cleland said with a scowl.
    “I’d drink, too, if I had a philandering husband,” Lynette said in a screwball defense of Barbara.
    “You do have one,” Camille said, throwing another hand grenade into the evening.
    “Oh, shut up, Camille. Why don’t you take your pill-popping bahunkus shopping and spend some more money!” George said.
    “The stores are closed,” Lynette said.
    “There’s always another