“Yeah,” Chad said with a laugh. “‘Since I started microwavin’.’”
“Not,” Editta hastened to chime in, “that anyone has microwaved Christmas Eve dinner.”
“The horror,” Derrick muttered. “Did somebody say ‘eggnog?’”
As the clan traipsed across the house towards the kitchen, Derrick introducing Lee to his sisters-in-law en route, the French doors to the backyard opened, admitting a quick current of frigid air, along with Randy and a swarm of Little Halvorsons crying, “Uncle D! Uncle D!” And once Derrick was ensconced in the breakfast nook with a mug of eggnog and a fervent retinue of young admirers, he relaxed, happy to let the snow-packed miles of highway knotted at the base of his skull melt away.
This was to be Derrick’s first Christmas at home without Peter, whom Derrick’s family had a
