The Night Before Read Free Page A

street, the snow now packed by passing cars. They left an echoing silence in their wake and she stood still for a while, lost in her thoughts.
    During the drive home, Joe mulled strategies for presenting the Epiphany Star and the news of the book option. He settled on laying a sweet trap. Instead of just handing her the gift, he’d leave it with the copy of the check and the crumpled slip from the ATM and then hide to watch as she made the discovery.
    Like a thief casing a joint, he plotted the house in his head and settled on the kitchen table. He could wait in the darkness of the dining room for the delicious instant when she realized that her loser of a husband had just knocked one out of the park. If he staged it correctly, her face would be cast in the light of the hanging lamp, an image he’d hold in his mind forever.
    Would she believe her eyes when she happened upon the zebrawood box? Would she even remember that long-ago visit to Brosman’s?
    Of course she would; Mariel forgot nothing. Over the years, she had counted his failures like beads, recording every one of them, though to her credit this was not out of spite. He knew the mental list was a shield against expecting too much and having her discontent sour into resentment.
    Even so, in his most honest moments, he guessed if it wasn’t for his parenting, she would have set him adrift years ago. She valued that. It was also true that she had once admired his refusal to give up on his books, never lording it over him that she was the primary breadwinner. Those sands had shifted over time, too. With the sales of the first novel dead (how that was about to change!) and the other two unable to earn back even their modest advances in spite of great reviews, her respect for his craft had worn thin. Now and then, he caught her watching him work with her brow stitched with petulant lines, as if broadcasting her impatience with his silliness. When he proffered some word of blind hope about one of the books, she would respond with a roll of her eyes and a sigh, just as she did when she was exasperated with one of the kids.
    Joe decided he would accept her apology, verbal or unspoken, graciously.
    Hannah and Christian would hear the incredible news come morning, to go with the presents their parents would wrap during the wee hours as they polished off the pricey bottle of pinot. The thought reminded him of the first night that they had slept together and he wondered if his good luck meant some of that magic would be revived, too.
    Turning on to his street, he saw sliding, tumbling, snow-crusted children in front of every house and slowed to a crawl. The looks on their ruddy faces and their joyous laughter as they went careening through the clouds of fluttering white brought a small throb in his chest. Brosman was right: this was how Christmas was supposed to be. Given the state of the climate, it might not happen again while these kids were young.
    His next-door neighbor Don was in his driveway, fiddling with his snow blower. God forbid a few flakes marred the beauty of his newly-resealed macadam. He straightened as Joe pulled into the garage, offering a wave and his customary frown. Don owned two vehicles, a Lexus and some SUV thing the size of a tour bus, and was perpetually offended by Joe’s rundown import.
    Well, fuck you and your gas hogs,
Joe muttered. Old Don was in for a surprise, too. Not that Joe had ever cared what he thought.
    He found Mariel dashing about in dizzy circles, her cell phone on and off her ear as she hurried from room to room, getting ready for their Christmas Eve and morning. Her greeting was a small, blank smile cast in his general direction. He took a bottle of water from the fridge and watched for her a few moments. She was still a handsome woman, though in the last couple years she had gone a little hard around the edges in both her looks and her temperament. They had been an odd match, something like the princess and the