Skipping Christmas Read Free

since she unwrapped it, and a designer scarf she loved, $6,100. On Blair $6,100 for an overcoat, gloves and boots, and a Walkman for her jogging, and, of course, the latest, slimmest cell phone on the market—$6,100 on lesser gifts for a select handful of distant relatives, most on Nora’s side—$6,100 on Christmas cards from a stationer three doors down from Chip’s, in the District, where all prices were double; $6,100 for the party, an annual Christmas Eve bash at the Krank home.
    And what was left of it? Perhaps a useful item or two, but nothing much—$6,100!
    With great relish Luther tallied the damage, as if it had been inflicted by someone else. All evidence was coming neatly together and making a very strong case.
    He waffled a bit at the end, where he’d saved the charity numbers. Gifts to the church, to thetoy drive, to the homeless shelter and the food bank. But he raced through the benevolence and came right back to the awful conclusion: $6,100 for Christmas.
    “Nine percent of my adjusted gross,” he said in disbelief. “Six thousand, one hundred. Cash. All but six hundred nondeductible.”
    In his distress, he did something he rarely did. Luther reached for the bottle of cognac in his desk drawer, and knocked back a few drinks.
    He slept from three to six, and roared to life during his shower. Nora wanted to fret over coffee and oatmeal, but Luther would have none of it. He read the paper, laughed at the comics, assured her twice that Blair was having a ball, then kissed her and raced away to the office, a man on a mission.
    The travel agency was in the atrium of Luther’s building. He walked by it at least twice each day, seldom glancing at the window displays of beaches and mountains and sailboats and pyramids. It was there for those lucky enough to travel. Luther had never stepped inside, never thought about it actually. Their vacation was five days at the beach, in a friend’s condo, and with his workload they were lucky to get that.
    He stole away just after ten. He used the stairs so he wouldn’t have to explain anything, and darted through the door of Regency Travel. Biff was waiting for him.
    Biff had a large flower in her hair and a waxy bronze tan, and she looked as if she’d just dropped by the shop for a few hours between beaches. Her comely smile stopped Luther cold, and her first words left him flabbergasted. “You need a cruise,” she said.
    “How’d you know?” he managed to mumble. Her hand was out, grabbing his, shaking it, leading him to her long desk, where she placed him on one side while she perched herself on the other. Long bronze legs, Luther noted. Beach legs.
    “December is the best time of year for a cruise,” she began, and Luther was already sold. The brochures came in a torrent. She unfolded them across her desk, under his dreamy eyes.
    “You work in the building?” she asked, easing near the issue of money.
    “Wiley & Beck, sixth floor,” Luther said without removing his eyes from the floating palaces, the endless beaches.
    “Bail bondsmen?” she said.
    Luther flinched just a bit. “No. Tax accountants.”
    “Sorry,” she said, kicking herself. The pale skin, the dark eye circles, the standard blue oxford-cloth button-down with bad imitation prep school tie. She should have known better. Oh well. She reached for even glossier brochures. “Don’t believe we get too many from your firm.”
    “We don’t do vacations very well. Lots of work. I like this one right here.”
    “Great choice.”
    They settled on the Island Princess , a spanking-new mammoth vessel with rooms for three thousand, four pools, three casinos, nonstop food, eight stops in the Caribbean, and the list went on and on. Luther left with a stack of brochures and scurried back to his office six floors up.
    The ambush was carefully planned. First, he worked late, which was certainly not unusual, but at any rate helped set the stage for the evening. He got lucky with the weather because