The Gift Read Free

smirked again.
    “When were you planning on having dinner?”
    “At three.”
    “I meant what day. It takes a minimum of twenty-four hours of defrosting time for every five pounds of turkey. Your turkey was fifteen pounds. You should have taken the turkey out of the freezer three days ago if you intended on eating it today.”
    “Whatever, Ratatouille.” He looked at Raphie as if the man was crazy. “If I’d stuffed it with bananas, too, would I be in less trouble?”
    “The reason I mention it is because if you had taken it out when you should have, it wouldn’t have been hard enough to go through a window. Otherwise this may sound like premeditation to a jury, and no, bananas and turkey isn’t a clever recipe.”
    “I didn’t plan it!” the boy squealed, showing his age.
    Raphie drank his coffee and watched the young teenager.
    The boy looked at the Styrofoam cup Raphie hadplaced before him and wrinkled his nose. “I don’t drink coffee.”
    “Okay.” Raphie lifted the Styrofoam cup from the table and emptied the contents into his mug. “Still warm. Thanks. So, tell me about this morning. What were you thinking, son?”
    “Unless you’re the fat bastard whose window I threw a bird through, then I’m not your son. And what’s this, a therapy session or an interrogation? Are you charging me with something or what?”
    “We’re waiting to hear whether your dad is going to press charges.”
    “He won’t.” The boy rolled his eyes. “He can’t. I’m under sixteen. So if you just let me go now, you won’t waste any of your time.”
    “You’ve already wasted a considerable amount of it.”
    “It’s Christmas Day, I doubt there’s much else for you to do around here.” He eyed Raphie’s stomach. “Other than eat doughnuts.”
    “You’d be surprised.”
    “Try me.”
    “Some idiot kid threw a turkey through a window this morning.”
    He rolled his eyes again and looked at the clock on the wall ticking away. “Where are my parents?”
    “Wiping grease off their floor.”
    “Those people are not my parents,” he spat. “At least she’s not my mother. If she comes with him to collect me, I’m not going.”
    “Oh, I doubt very much that they’ll come to take you home with them.” Raphie reached into his pocket and took out a chocolate candy. He unwrapped it slowly, the wrapper rustling in the quiet room. “Did you ever notice the strawberry ones are always the last left over in the tin?” He smiled before popping the candy in his mouth.
    “I bet nothing’s ever left in the tin when you’re around.”
    Raphie ignored the jab. “So I was saying, your father and his partner—”
    “Who, for the record”—the boy interrupted Raphie and leaned close to the recording device on the table—“is a whore.”
    “They may pay us a visit to press charges.”
    “Dad wouldn’t do that,” the boy said with a swallow, his eyes tired and puffy with frustration.
    “He’s thinking about it.”
    “No, he’s not,” the boy whined. “If he is, it’s probably because she’s making him. Bitch.”
    “It’s more probable that he’ll do it because it’s currently snowing in his living room.”
    “Is it snowing?” The boy looked like a child again, eyes now wide with hope.
    Raphie sucked on his candy. “Some people just bite right into chocolate; I much prefer to suck it.”
    “Suck on this.” The boy grabbed his crotch.
    “You’ll have to get your boyfriend to do that.”
    “I’m not gay,” he huffed, then leaned forward, andthe child returned. “Ah, come on, is it snowing? Let me out to see it, will you? I’ll just look out the window.”
    Raphie finished his candy and leaned his elbows on the table. He spoke firmly. “Glass from the window landed on the ten-month-old baby.”
    “So?” the boy snarled, bouncing back in his chair, but he looked concerned. He began pulling at a piece of skin around his nail.
    “He was beside the Christmas tree, where the turkey landed.