A Perfect Christmas by Carolyn Astfalk

Author:Carolyn Astfalk [Astfalk, Carolyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Multa Verba

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By late afternoon, Dad, Peter, and I had assembled and decorated the tree. Our shabby angel, Angie, sat ramrod straight atop the tree, skimming the ceiling. Garlands made of pine cones and red fabric bows draped the boughs, and an assortment of ornaments dangled from the tips of the artificial limbs—red satin balls, plastic-bead icicles, and ornaments my parents made when they were kids. All of the breakable items had been strategically placed out of reach of Lily and Clementine.

Multi-colored lights glimmering, the tree stood in front of the living room picture window. Majestic.

Outside, Peter steadied the ladder, and I fed Dad strands of lights that he wrapped around the porch pillars and railings. Dad tossed a net-style set of lights over the fat boxwood bush along the driveway, I hung an old wreath on the front door, and we called it a day.

Inside, Mom had managed to pull a couple of boxes of decorations from the attic. The boxes sat, lids open and contents strewn on the coffee table, while she fed Linus.

Dad, Peter, and I hung our coats on the rack as Lily descended the steps, a small department store gift box in her hands. On the top, in black magic marker, it read “Nativity.” A wide grinned stretched across her cheeks.

Her foot, hidden somewhere in a puffy royal blue slipper with a giant Paw Patrol pup head, caught on one of the dinosaurs I’d knocked over yesterday. She yelped and grabbed for the rail, sending the box tumbling down the steps.

I stretched a hand out, hoping to grab the box before impact, but it landed upside down on the tile floor.

My spine tensed at the sound of something shattering.

Seeing ceramic shards spilling onto the floor, Peter gasped and clapped a hand over his mouth.

Lily, who seemed no worse physically for her misadventure, wailed at the sight on the entryway floor. Alongside the overturned box lid, two camels, covered in regal blankets, lay decapitated. An angel had lost her wings, and baby Jesus lay face down beside it.

I stooped and picked up the tiny statue of my Savior, afraid of what I might find. I examined it, careful not to do any more damage. One skinned knee, a scraped nose, and only one hand.

Dad bit out a swear word, and Mom didn’t bother to scold him.

So much for setting up the crèche.

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