Angel Fire East by Terry Brooks

She wrenched her hands away and threw herself back down at the table, biting her lip. Nest stayed where she was, watching. Then she turned away and began to make the coffee herself.

“You want me to leave?” Bennett asked after a moment, head lowered in the veil of her dark hair. “Just say the word. Harper and I can be gone in a flash. We don’t have to stay here.”

“I want you to stay,” Nest said quietly.

“No, you don’t! You want me out! Admit it, okay? Don’t lie to me! You want your life back the way it was before I showed up!”

Nest finished with the coffee and walked back to the stove, deciding on pancakes and sausage. “Well, we don’t always get what we want in life, and sometimes what we get is better than what we want anyway. Gran used to say that all the time. I think having you and Harper and John and Little John for Christmas is a good example of what she meant. Don’t you?”

She waited a minute and then turned around. Bennett was crying, her head buried in her hands, her shoulders hunched and still. Nest walked over and knelt beside her.

“I don’t even have a present for her!” Bennett’s voice was a whisper of despair and rage. “Not one shitty present! I don’t even have the money to buy one! What kind of mother does that make me?”

Nest put her arm around Bennett’s shoulders. “Let’s make her one, then. You and me. Something really wonderful. I used to do that with Gran, just because Gran liked making presents rather than buying them. She felt they were more special when you made them. Why don’t we do that?”

Bennett’s nod was barely perceptible. “I’m such a loser, Nest. I can’t do anything right. Anything.”

Nest leaned closer. “When the holiday is over, Bennett, you and I are going to see a man who works with addicts. He’s very good at it. He runs a program out of a group home he supervises. You can live there if you want, but you don’t have to. I like him, and I think you will, too. Maybe he can help you get straight.”

Bennett shook her head. “Sure, why not?” She didn’t sound like she believed it. She sighed and buried her face in her hands, the sobs ending. “God, I hate my life.”

Nest left her and went back to the stove. She worked on breakfast until the coffee was ready, then poured a cup and carried it over to Bennett, who hadn’t moved from the table. Bennett drank a little, then rose and began setting the dining-room table. After a while, John Ross and Little John appeared, the boy going straight to the couch to kneel facing out the window once more. Harper stared at him for a while from where she sat on the floor, then went back to playing.

They ate breakfast in the dining room with the lights on. The sky clouded over again and the sun disappeared from view until it was only a pale hazy ball, the air turned gray and wintry in its absence. Outside, cars moved on the street like sluggish beetles, the whine of snow tires and the rattle of chains marking their passage. Andy Wilts came by from the Texaco station to plow out the drive with his four-by-four. Bennett talked with Harper about snow angels and icicle lollipops, and Nest talked about driving out to get a Christmas tree, now that she had company for the holiday. Ross ate in silence, and the gypsy morph looked off into space.

When they were clearing off the table and putting the dishes in the dishwasher, there was a knock at the front door. Nest glanced out the curtained window and saw a county sheriff’s car parked in the drive. Not again, she thought immediately. Leaving Bennett to finish loading the dishes, she walked down the hall, irritated at the prospect of having to deal with Larry Spence yet again. What could he possibly want this time? Ross was in his room, so maybe she could avoid another confrontation.

“Good morning, Larry,” she said on opening the door, fighting down the urge to tell him what she really wanted to say.

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