Page 101 of Devil’s Disciples

I filled with nervous anticipation as I picked up the book and flipped through the pages. It included all my favorites.

“This is awesome,” I said. “You have no idea what this means to me.”

“I do it every year,” he said.

I looked at him in disbelief. “Really?”

“He’s not kidding,” Goose said as he pulled out of the garage. “Has since he was a kid.”

If doing so was even possible, my heart melted a little more for Baker. I laughed to myself that we’d gone about everything all wrong, fucking before we dated, and admitting our love with each other the night a man got murdered.

No matter, I wouldn’t change it if I could.

We drove to La Jolla, through an area I had no idea existed. The homes were mansions, and they were covered with the craziest displays of lights, decorations, and mechanical displays. It put Syracuse to shame.

Their wrought iron gates were open, inviting season onlookers the ability to come in and enjoy their displays of festive spirit.

The first home was complete with a fountain in front, and had a grand entrance that looked like something even the Kardashians couldn’t afford. After parking the van, we walked to the door, booklets in hand.

Baker knocked with the knocker. In a moment, the door opened.

A handsome man in his early forties stood pencil straight. He gave a nod to each of us. “Good evening. Happy Holidays.”

We burst into song, singing one of my all-time favorites, Oh Come, All Ye Faithful. Halfway through the song, a man, a woman I assumed was his wife, and two small children came to listen.

After singing O Little Town Of Bethlehem, Baker tipped his hat. “A Merry Christmas to you.”

“Thank you,” they said in unison.

We went house to house, visiting the last home just before midnight. No one complained, and no one refused our offerings. After we finished singing at the last home, for an elderly couple that I feared we woke from a night’s sleep, the man – dressed in red pajamas – stepped onto the porch.

He cupped his shaking hand to his mouth and cleared his throat. “Thank you!” he shouted. “We look forward to this, every year. Last few years, a tattooed boy has come by. Haven’t seen him yet this year, though.”

I realized Baker was wearing a long-sleeved blazer.

Baker patted him on the shoulder, and then gave a nod. “Have a Merry Christmas. Maybe he’ll be by in the next day or so.”

The man gave a nod and yelled his response. “Sure hope so! He’s got a set of pipes!”

It was the first Christmas since my arrival that I felt festive. The caroling gave me a sense of holiday spirit that I’d been missing for years. I couldn’t help but admire Baker for doing it, and wondered what drove him to do so year after year.

On the way to the van, Baker turned to me and grinned. “Come back day after tomorrow?”

“Day after tomorrow’s Christmas Eve.”

He stroked his beard. “Makes it that much better, doesn’t it?”

I glanced over my shoulder. The man in the pajamas was still standing on the porch, waving.

“Yes,” I said, hooking my arm through his. “I’d love to.”

Epilogue

We put up the tree on Christmas Eve, which was a tradition of Baker’s. Although there weren’t any gifts under it when we went to bed, I enjoyed decorating it immensely, and hanging the lights together was a memorable experience. Spending the night with him – and waking up at his side Christmas morning – was going to be gift enough.

We woke the next morning, and showered together. Eager to give him the gifts I’d bought, I begged him to go into the living room and look under the tree. After he’d fallen asleep, I got up and placed his presents under the tree, and I was giddy to have him see them.

Hand in hand, we walked into the room. Much to my surprise, the tree was surrounded by gifts.