Page 22 of Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal
“You were in jail last night?” Ansel announces, walking into the barn, sporting a shit-eating grin. “Dude, why didn’t you call us to bail you out?”
And this is what sucks about living in a small town. Nothing is kept a secret. Absolutely nothing. News traveled quicker than I expected.
“Wait, you were in jail?” Felix asks, turning toward me with that big-brother look of disapproval pinching his brows.
“Yeah, for trespassing,” Ansel says. “Cole was telling me all about it.”
Cole?
Cole told him?
That motherfucker.
When has he ever engaged in gossip?
The betrayal! Almost hurts worse than my hand and eye put together.
“Where the hell were you trespassing?” Felix asks me. “And is that how you actually hurt your eye and hand?”
“Yup,” Ansel answers for me. “The owner of the house he was trespassing nailed him in the head with a two-liter bottle of Pepsi. Knocked him out. And the hand was from the crowbar he was carrying around.”
“Why the hell did you have a crowbar?” Felix asks.
Head held high, I say, “In case I crossed paths with a murderer.”
“Little help that did for you, since you were taken out by a Pepsi,” Felix says.
The heaviest Pepsi known to man. I can still feel the way it crashed into my head.
“My question is, was it regular Pepsi or diet?” Ansel asks.
“Great question.” God, I hate them. Although if I were to guess by the heft, it was regular.
Both my brothers fold their arms at their chests, waiting for me to answer.
But I refuse to delight in their obvious ribbing. I have things to do. Trees to chop. People to avoid—ahem, Cole.
“Also, was it an unopened bottle?” Ansel continues.
“From the look of the cut, I’d say so,” Felix answers.
“Confirmation would be great though.” They both look to me for answers again, but like I said, I have things to do, so I head toward the barn door.
“As much fun as this is for the both of you, your tour should be done soon with their shopping. I suggest you get back to them while I get back to my job.”
“Your actual job? Or your new job of trespassing? Also care to explain why you were trespassing?” Ansel asks.
“Fuck off,” I call out, flipping them my middle finger and then heading over to the tree shack. As if I would tell them. It’s best to keep them in the dark if for no other reason than the interrogation I was just put through.
The farm is buzzing today with even more visitors since all the vendors are having their beginning-of-the-season sales. The demand for real trees and artificial—yes, we sell those as well, in the tree shack of course—is booming, and the joy of the season is just starting.
When I reach the shack, which is more of a general store for everything related to Christmas trees, including ornaments, garland, and tree toppers, I spot Kate behind the register wearing an elf hat. When she sees me, she winces in an uncomfortable way.
Yup, word has gotten around.
“Do you know?” I ask her as I walk past an older couple checking out the personalized ornament section.
“I think everyone does.”
