Page 48 of Bright Lights, Big Christmas
“The hamburgers are the best. In the whole world,” Austin advised.
“Of course, there are lots of other choices on the menu,” Patrick said. “Chicken, fish, steaks. They have great salads…”
“Who orders salad in a place called Bernie’s Burgerz? That would be an outrage. I’ll have a burger, medium rare, with all the fixings.”
“Don’t forget the French fries,” Austin said.
Once their orders arrived, it was all she could do not to fall on her burger and devour it like a half-starved hyena.
The flow of conversation over dinner was so relaxed and easy, she forgot about her usual first-date jitters. No sweaty palms, butterflies, or angsting over what she was wearing or how she looked. She was sure her father would have described her as looking “like you been rode hard and put up wet,” but Patrick didn’t seem to mind.
He was an easy conversationalist. “What was it like, growing up on a Christmas tree farm?” he asked.
“You’d have to ask Murphy,” Kerry said. “I haven’t lived on the farm full time since my parents split up when I was about Austin’s age.”
The boy looked up. “Kerry, did your mom and dad get a divorce too?”
She glanced at Patrick, who shrugged.
“They did.”
“Were you sad?”
“It was a very long time ago, but yes, I was sad at first.”
“Me too,” he said, in a matter-of-fact way.
Kerry chose her next words carefully. “My mom promised that she and my dad still loved me, but they just didn’t need to be married anymore. After a while, I realized my mom was happier, so that made me happier too.”
Austin gave that some thought. “Huh. I wonder when my mom will be happier again. She still yells at my dad and acts mad at him.”
Patrick winced. “She’s not mad at you, buddy. Neither of us is.”
“I know.” He picked up another French fry and dipped it in ketchup.
She tried to steer the conversation back into neutral territory. “I did spend weekends and parts of the summer on the farm. And it seemed pretty magical when I was there. Dad had chickens, because he just likes chickens, and he kept goats, to help keep the weeds in check, and I even had a pet baby goat of my own.”
Austin’s eyes widened. “A baby goat? Cool. What was his name?”
“Cookie. Because she would come whenever I fed her cookies. But Cookie would eat anything at all. She even ate my favorite doll and one of my sneakers.”
“Sneakers!” The boy giggled. “Were there a lot of Christmas trees too?”
“Acres and acres of them. The whole side of a mountain. It was a great place to go sledding when we got snow. Dad would put hay bales at the bottom of the hill, and we’d crash into them on purpose.”
“Sounds like a fun place to grow up,” Patrick said. “How far away did your mom live?”
“Not even five miles. But in town. She was a teacher, and since the school was only a few blocks away, I could walk there.”
“Tell me some more,” Austin urged. “About the farm.”
“Dad kept a big garden, and there was a spooky old barn full of broken-down tractors and farm equipment where we playedhide-and-seek. One time, I was hiding, and a mouse ran across my foot, and I screamed bloody murder, and everybody thought I’d been bitten by a snake. I still hate mice.”
“Did you have a dog?”
“Always,” Kerry said. “Mostly just strays that would wander up to the house. I think word got out that Jock was an easy mark. And my mom always had dogs too. She has an English setter right now, named Alfie. He was supposed to be Murphy’s bird dog, but turns out, he’s gun-shy. So he came to live with Mom. And now, he’s a big, spoiled baby.”
“What else?” Austin yawned widely.
