Free Brother's Keeper by Elizabeth Finn

all, my mother. We were never wealthy by any stretch of the imagination, but I always had more than I could want under the tree. Our family gathering had only consisted of the two of us, but it was festive regardless. Since my arrival in Allendale, Sara’s family has always been good at involving me in their family gathering, knowing well that my own poor excuse of a family would be celebrating with a beer in some dark beer hall.
    I usually spend the night with Sara on Christmas Eve and join them for Christmas Eve church service. Then I wake with the family the next morning to celebrate the day. I struggle every year to be cheerful at the Harringtons’, and I know that it doesn’t escape their attention. They are of course gracious enough not to ask me about my quiet, distant behavior, understanding my reasons. I’m always thankful to be there, knowing full well the alternative is just too depressing to bear. Still, my emotions always seem to betray me, and I feel guilty for bringing my sadness to them.
    So it comes as something of a surprise when mid-afternoon of Christmas Eve rolls around, and my father pops his head in my room. I’m just starting to get my things together to head over to the Harringtons’ and can’t hide my surprise to see him. He is sober and speaks nervously without the benefit of alcohol pulling the strings of his personality. I’m naturally shocked as my father usually only speaks to me when he’s drunk and pissed off. He otherwise ignores me.
    Awkwardly, he begins. “I want to have a dinner today… Like a Christmas thing. I’ve never cared much for all that holiday bullshit in the past, but you’ll be gone next year, and I just … well … thought we should at least do that. You know?”
    I manage a weak, “Yeah.”
    But the gaping-mouthed look on my face makes him think better of his plan, and he suddenly stammers on. “I mean, it’s no big deal. I don’t care if you don’t want to…”
    “No! I think that’s a good idea. We can do that.” I’m not by any means convinced that my father actually wants to spend time with me, but I can’t help but hope that maybe some part of him is trying to reach out to me.
    He continues. “Well, I’m going out to the grocery store to get the food and maybe you could just put out the plates and whatever. Do you like fried chicken and stuff? I think they’ll have that in the buffet.”
    “Sure. Um, that’s … that’s fine with me.” I’m still struggling to keep the incredulity from my voice.
    He suddenly turns heel and heads for the door. I sit on the side of my bed stupefied for at least ten minutes before heeding his advice and setting the table. I know that he won’t care what dishes are set out or if they’re even made of something other than paper, but I decide, given the occasion, to use the real plates; nothing fancy or even pretty mind you, but if you dropped one on the floor, it would break, and that had to count for something. I set the table as neatly as I would have at the restaurant and wait anxiously for his return.
    *
    Why the hell isn’t she answering her damn cell? She told Sara she’d call when she was ready to be picked up. And when five o’clock rolls around without hearing from her, Sara starts trying to reach her. It is now nearly five-thirty, and the Christmas Eve service is going to be starting at six. With no word from Rowan, everyone starts to get concerned. My family knows she is always in a delicate state this time of year, but it is so uncharacteristic of her to simply not call like this. Their anxiety can’t even compare to the angst I am feeling, having firsthand knowledge of the powder keg she is living in.
    I finally decide to go over to her house and skip the church service. Sara, naturally, wants to join me, but I am happy when my parents, sensing a ploy to get out of church, tell her she will be joining them. The last thing I want is for Sara to witness my interaction with Rowan. I don’t know