The Christmas Keeper (Laurel Holidays #6)

7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

“ S o exactly what is it supposed to represent, dear?”

I shot Kenan a look. The fire hall was packed with people and gingerbread artwork. Mrs. Prickett, the head of the Whiteham Christmas Fete Committee and co-chair of the gingerbread bake-off, was about a hundred years old, thin as a toothpick, and wearing a tinsel dress. She was also greatly befuddled over our, our as in Kenan and Brann’s, entry. Our. A couple. Sort of. Maybe. Possibly. Ugh. I did not do uncertainty well.

“Well, it’s a nightmare scene from Silent Hill ,” I tossed out like spaghetti at the wall in hopes my explanation would stick. Mrs. Prickett blinked up at me through her thick bifocals. “ Silent Hill is a scary movie.” I thought of delving into Pyramid Head and how the monster represents the protagonist’s guilt about murdering his wife, but this ho-ho-ho celebration hardly seemed the place. I mean, there were elves all over. And Mrs. Prickett did not seem to be the one to discuss such dark and possibly masochistic things with. She was older than dirt and wearing a tinsel dress.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” she replied with a weak smile as Kenan placed our terrifying attempt at recreating Graceland on a long folding table. The entry beside ours was Santa’s workshop, complete with little gumdrop reindeer and a fat marshmallow Santa. Fucking Wanda Wilkes. She always had to go that extra mile, or gumdrop Rudolph as it was. Good thing I didn’t own a dog because she sold the licenses at the courthouse, and I would be damned if I’d pay eight bucks to someone who was such a gingerbread exhibitionist. I could be cranky and spiteful. Ask anyone in town. They’d all agree.

“It was supposed to be Graceland,” Kenan politely tried to clarify, but that only made it worse. There was no resemblance to that grand estate that Elvis called home. Although the tiny blue shoes—globs of dough that we’d spray painted blue—that we had placed on the uneven front steps gave it a nice touch we had felt. Those little sapphire loafers were the only thing that could tie this monstrosity to the King. “But it ended up looking like the Addams Family house.”

“Oh, I remember that show. Such a lovely couple. Just like you two!” Mrs. Prickett beamed up at us. I stammered.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Kenan said and got a little pat on his arm from one of the four gingerbread judges before she rushed off to find a priest to bless the horror that was our bake-off entry.

“You don’t have to say that we’re a couple,” I quickly said as a group of unruly urchins raced past with bags of apples. Probably for the apple dunking booth the local Presbyterian church was manning under the American flag on the wall.

“Do you not want people to know that we’re together? If not, I’m afraid that ship has sailed, sugar.” He nudged me in the side and swept his hand outward. Every eye in the fire hall was on us. Eighty percent were smiling, and 20 percent were scowling. “I think they know where I’ve been sleeping and it ain’t in your office.”

“Swell.” I shot a glower at all the gawkers. Most looked away. Paula, another courthouse worker and a regular at the alehouse, stared hard at Kenan. When she noticed me looking at her, she smiled and then averted her gaze. “Why does that woman gawk at you all the time?”

“Maybe she’s never seen such a stunning Jew before?”

“Yeah, that tracks. Most in this town have probably never laid eyes on a Jew in real life.”

“Well Al knows about Adam Sandler so there’s that.”

And as it so often happens when you mention the devil who pops up?

“Ah, there’s the man who’s heading the diversity entertainment corps tonight!” Al bellowed as he charged at us. He was wearing a dark green Christmas camo suit. Kenan’s brown eyes flared. “You’ll be pleased to know that not only will we be having a Jewish representative, but we also invited Fred Ottoman from the Lutheran Church out on Lipp Road near the junction.” Al was so proud. He actually tugged on the lapels of his ugly suit as he rose to his toes. “Yes, sir, we’ve opened the doors of religious acceptance here in Whiteham. You’re on in half an hour right after Mabel and Mauve Krester perform “Jingle Bell Rock” on their musical saws. Everyone is quite excited about them being here! They were headliners at the fair last year. Not everyone can boast about playing in the beef barn to over a hundred dedicated saw enthusiasts!”

Kenan and I watched Al swagger off into the crowd. He turned to me.

“The man does realize that Lutherans are Christians so…”

“Yeah, no, he probably doesn’t, but it’s progress of a sort.” I gave his pinkie finger a tug with my pinkie finger. “Do you want a dipped apple?”

“Nope, I’ll hold off until after I perform. Don’t want to sing with caramel and nuts in my teeth.” We strolled around the hall, pinkie holding pinkie, and chatted with folks. Well, Kenan did most of the chatting. I just nodded and grunted. I wasn’t a small talk sort of man. But Kenan seemed to be, so I let him chit-chat until the Krester sisters were announced. Kenan slipped out the side door to get his guitar as the elderly spinster twins took seats in front of a tall, stately evergreen in the corner of the hall and pulled out their saws.

“Nice to see you out and about,” Paula said as she sidled up to me with a steaming cup of mulled cider in her hands. “I’m working the cider stand and thought I’d bring you a drink. Just to shake things up.”

“That’s very nice of you,” I confessed, took the cider and blew over it before sipping. The rich taste of apples, cinnamon, cloves, and allspice tingled on my tongue. “I’m not generally a fan of these kinds of gatherings.” Two young boys, around ten, barreled into my back. Cider sloshed to the rim of my cup but thankfully, not over the top. The kids never looked back as I mumbled about rugrats under my breath.

“No, I suppose not, but still it’s nice to see you here. Kenan is working wonders with you.” She smiled at me as if I was supposed to be impressed or touched or…I had no clue. “Speaking of Kenan…”

She had to stop talking as the hall was filled with the alien sounds of musical saws. I sipped my cider as the twins played four songs and then left after taking several bows. When I glanced down to speak to Paula, she was gone. Huh. Had she even said goodbye? I looked around and found her at the mulled cider booth ladling hot drinks and collecting cash for the fire company. Shrugging, I moved closer to the tree, eyeing the glass balls with worry. Whoever thought that glass balls would survive with so many rambunctious ruffians dashing around obviously was not accustomed to kids. Not that I was either. What I knew about kids was nominal. Although now that I was going to be an uncle next summer, I had better brush up on uncle stuff, whatever that entailed. Probably buying toys and dandling my niece/nephew. Was there a proper dandle technique? Man, I had some big reading online to do.

Baby thoughts shifted to handsome man thoughts when Kenan wiggled through the crowd now packed in around the Christmas tree. I smiled widely at him as his dark sight found me to the left of his stool.

“Evening, everyone,” Kenan called to the crowd. “I’m Kenan Gardet, and I play and sing a little. Thanks to Al for inviting me to perform a few songs for you tonight. I hope you enjoy the tunes I’ve chosen.”

Everyone clapped politely, some with more exuberance than others. Many of my customers were here, and they knew firsthand how fucking talented Kenan was. The others would find out momentarily. I smiled at Glory, Al’s wife, who was moving through the crowd with a donation plate. Not for Kenan, but for the fire company, which was funded mostly by local city government and community grants. All the firefighters were volunteers. That was just how it worked out here in the rural communities.

Kenan strummed his guitar after getting it settled on his thigh. “Since tonight is all about celebrating not only the holidays but each other’s individual lights, I thought I’d start with a song that my grandfather enjoyed a great deal at this time of the year. It’s called “Eight Nights of Joy” by Rabbi Joe Black. I hope you enjoy it.”

I sipped slowly, the cider opening my sinuses, when Kenan began to sing a song I’d never heard before. It was snappy and upbeat, a real toe-tapper as Mr. Blum would call it. I gazed around the hall, a fast look-see with the hope of seeing my neighbor, but he wasn’t there. Perhaps he had dropped by earlier to avoid the chaos and rude cider-spilling kids, who were waiting to sit on Santa’s lap.

The crowd applauded loudly after the song ended. Kenan bowed his head, curls falling into his face, and it took every ounce of willpower I had not to step out of the crowd and brush those tight ringlets back.

“Thank you, thank you.” Kenan smiled softly at the citizens of Whiteham who, it seemed, had accepted this tall, dark stranger into their midst with little upset. Sure, a few of the bigots who disliked me for liking men also seemed to dislike Kenan for liking men as well as for wearing silver Star of David hoops in his ears tonight. But overall, my customers and the folks who he had interacted with here had been kind to him. Or if they hadn’t been, he’d not mentioned it to me. And I felt that he would, given we were sharing a bed.

All of his possessions were at my place now. The whole sleep in my office thing had fizzled out pretty damn quickly. Not that I was complaining. Kenan could curl up beside me until…well, until sometime in the future. There. No dwelling on the past and no fretting about the future. I was here, and he was here, and the songs he was singing were beautiful.

He belted out “Candy Cane Christmas” and followed with a classic rendition of “O Come All Ye Faithful” and then wrapped up his little set with an original song about life on the road. He sang about sleeping under the stars, snow on your nose, and the kindness of strangers. His gaze never wavered from mine as he sang that final song. When he was done, everyone clapped wildly, me included, or as wildly as I could while holding a cup of cooled cider.

When he rejoined me, which was a little bit later as everyone in town stopped him while he moved through the throngs, I offered him some of my cider.

“Thanks, my throat is a little dry,” he said as he took the Styrofoam cup. His calloused fingers brushed mine, sparks dancing from my fingertips to my chest. Even the slightest touch from this man made me feel woozy.

“I think Paula may have spiked the cider,” I said to cover my giddiness.

When we both glanced at the cider booth, Paula was once again staring at Kenan. He nodded at her as he raised his cup.

“Does she look at everyone as if she’s trying to see through them ala Clark Kent?” Kenan asked.

“Not that I’ve ever noticed before. I think she’s got the hots for you.”

“Oh well, she’s barking up the wrong tree. I’m already in a thing with you.”

I tore my sight from Paula to look at Kenan. “Are we in a thing?”

“Are we not in a thing?”

Okay, he had me there. I mean, I guess what we had could be coined a thing. Thing by definition was something that you didn’t want to give a specific name to, and since I was in this weird place where I was trying not to get too involved while being wholly and totally involved, I guess we were, in fact, and toot sweet, in a thing.

“Yeah, I think we are in a thing.”

And with that, he backed me up a few steps to just under a fake sprig of mistletoe and kissed me on the mouth. Right in front of God, Al, and Santa, who was just exiting the men’s room.

***

Saturdays at the alehouse are busy.

The day before Christmas Eve was pandemonium.

Kenan and I had run our asses off all day, and his performance after our elite supper hour had netted him over two hundred in tips and three encores. Seriously, the people of Whiteham adored him. And he seemed to really like them. It showed in his interactions with everyone while playing or even behind the bar. He was the calamine to my stinging nettles. The only person who seemed odd with him was Paula. To the point that she even tried to pull me aside during his time singing, but I was too damn busy to take ten to talk. Whatever her issue was, and I suspected it might be his religion, I didn’t have the time or the interest to hear it.

If Al and Glory could get over their problems with menorahs, so could she. No one was forcing her to come into my pub. She could go home to drink beer.

Other than Paula trying to have some clandestine meeting with me, everything else was coming up roses. The till was full. The patrons were smiling and Kenan’s tiny gifts were now sitting under a new tabletop artificial tree at home, right next to his grandfather’s menorah, on a side table that had previously held junk mail. We’d not lit the menorah’s candles, but we did plug in the fiber optic tree. It was enough. I’d told him it was silly to show off such tiny presents, but he merely arranged them as he liked and reminded me that the best things came in small packages which had led me to another quandary.

If you give someone Hanukkah presents, do you also give them Christmas presents? And if so, what the hell would I give the man who has brought so much to my life in such a short span of time? I’d ask Mr. Blum, but he was packing to fly out early tomorrow to spend the holidays with his sister in Daytona Beach. This morning when Kenan was showering I’d spent a few minutes scrolling online, but it was hard to refine my search enough to get decent answers. Gift for a man who has shown up out of the wintry blue to make your days feel like spring even though it’s colder than a witch’s titty got me some really odd, and somewhat disturbing, results.

So I’d shelved that worry for today, Christmas Eve day, and fell into bed last night, too tired to even give Kenan a decent goodnight kiss. We’d bussed cheeks, then fell right to sleep. Now I was awake, early given the lack of sun, and wondering what had pulled me from my sleep.

Kenan was sprawled out beside me, naked and warm in some cheery flannel boxers, when I heard the knock at the front door again. This time he must have picked it up as well, for he lifted his head, curls stuck to his whiskers, and gazed at me in sleepy confusion.

“Wassat?” The man was too cute when he was half-asleep.

“I think it’s someone at the door. Probably Mr. Blum dropping off the lasagna pan before he heads to the airport.”

“Mm, okay. Got to pee,” he mumbled, leaving the bed to yank on some superbly tempting gray joggers at the same time I pulled on some fleece sleep pants. It was exactly six in the morning. Dear Lord, save me from early flight travelers on Sundays. The knocker rapped on the door with a little more gusto. Poor old fellow was probably freezing his testes off. The temps of late had felt like they’d blown in off the back of a yeti. Hustling over cold wood floors, I heard Kenan flushing as I unlocked the door and threw it open.

“Surprise! Merry Christmas!” Nora and my parents yelled as tiny flakes of snow blew into my stunned face.

Kenan pattered out with polar bear boxers on his head and some sloppy joggers hanging off his hips. “Nesi’a tova,” he called out just as his gaze met my mother’s shocked face. “Oh. That is not Mr. Blum.”

Nora giggled. My mother gasped. Dad’s eyes flared. Kenan ran back to the bedroom.

I stared at my family, dumbstruck. “What the hell are you doing here?” I finally managed to cough out as my sister fell into a fit of unwarranted hysterical snickers.

“Was that a half-naked man with polar bear underwear on his head?” Mom asked.

“No, Mom, it was a half-naked polar bear with man underwear on his head. Here’s your sign.” Her scowl was deep. Hey, she was the one who made us watch all those Bill Engvall comedy shows when we were kids.

“It’s very cold out here, son,” Dad commented, shoulders up around his ears.

“Oh sure, yeah, come in.” I stood to the side. They filed in. My parents looked rather distressed and my sister looked giddy. “I just talked to you last night,” I hissed at Nora as my parents took off their coats and boots. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?!”

“It was a surprise. We’ve not had Christmas together for years. So surprise!” She threw her arms into the air and then around my neck. I grumbled into her soft hair before giving her a quick, gentle, and hugely begrudging hug and releasing her. “Antoine is playing in Buffalo today, so he’ll be flying in later tonight for a day or two holiday break as well. I love what you’ve done with the place.”

“I haven’t done anything with the place since you were here last,” I replied, taking their coats and chucking them on the sofa. Mom rolled her eyes.

“I know. I was being facetious.” Nora gave me a pert hair flip and toed off her little boots.

“It’s quite telling that your son has a new boyfriend, and no one knows about it,” Mom commented as she stared holes at my bedroom door. “When did this happen” Her sight darted around the room. I sidestepped to block the tiny table of holiday cheer but was too late. “Is that a menorah?”

Nora’s eyes went round as dinner plates.

“He’s Jewish?” my mother asked.

“Yes, he is, and he is mortified to have met you in such an indelicate way,” Kenan said as he exited the bedroom, fully clothed, his smile tense.

“Oh my God, you are so cute!” Nora gushed and ran over to hug him. “I’m so happy that my brother finally found someone.”

And there were the tears. “Nora, come on, don’t cry all over the man,” I softly said as I tried to pry her off Kenan. She was having none of it. “She’s pregnant. She cries over insurance commercials,” I whispered to Kenan, who was, as to be expected, unprepared for a weeping woman to be boohooing all over his sweater.

“Don’t make excuses. It’s perfectly fine to show emotions,” Nora sniffled, then let go of Kenan, who patted her shoulder awkwardly.

“Well, I’m feeling several emotions,” Mom interjected. Dad was in the kitchen making coffee. That was his go-to when things got tense. He made coffee while Mom verbalized.

“I’m sure you are, Mrs. Argraves,” Kenan slid in before I could open my mouth to reply. “Surprises are always so unexpected.”

Bless the man, he was just as rattled as the rest. I mean, yeah, surprises were unexpected, which was why they were surprises. I disliked surprises greatly. My sister knew this, hell the whole family knew this, and yet here they were without warning. I had suspicions as to whom it was that had plotted this little drop-in, and she was going to get an earful. A mild earful as she was pregnant, but an earful just the same.

“Yes, yes they are,” Mom tightly responded. “But there are mild surprises and then there are huge, distressing surprises.”

“Oh? What do you find so distressing, Mother? That your gay son has a man sleeping over or that the man sleeping over is a—”

“Coffee is ready,” Dad called out, his shout breaking what was going to be a showdown.

“Oh yay, coffee. Let’s go have coffee. I love coffee, but I can’t have any now that I’m preggo.” Nora latched onto Kenan, hand on his arm, and pulled him into the kitchen.

Mom and I glowered at each other until she spun on her heel. “I wish you wouldn’t use such an ugly term, Nora. You’re expecting, not preggo. Ugh, that word is so tacky.”

Kenan threw me a nervous look over Nora’s head.

I took a few steps but recalled that my chest and feet were not dressed. “I need a shirt,” I muttered and left the four of them to coffee. I took a moment to scrub at my face with my cold hands in the privacy of my bedroom before pulling on some wool socks and an old hoodie with a pink piggy on the front.

When I returned to the kitchen, things had not miraculously gotten any better. If anything, the vibes were worse. Kenan and Dad stood by the fridge, sipping coffee in silence as my mother and sister were seated at the little round table. Nora was chirping away merrily at Kenan about her new husband’s shoes while Mom sat sipping her coffee, her thin brows in a deep V as her sight lingered on the tree/menorah table.

I paused to turn on the tree. I really wanted to light some candles for the menorah, but that might be considered rude, and since I was entertaining the thought just to be spiteful, I merely gave the candelabrum a warm pat as I walked by it.

“So, now that we all have coffee—” Dad said.

“I have tea. It’s decaf,” Nora clarified. “I carry bags in my purse because it’s so hard to find decaf tea anywhere, it seems.”

“Correction. Nora has tea, and the rest of us have coffee. Why don’t we all gather our wits and think about a nice place to have breakfast? Is that diner out by the lake still in business, Brann?” my father enquired.

Dad stayed where he was, as did Kenan, and I slid in next to Kenan to stand protectively by his side as my father handed me a cup of coffee.

“Yeah, it’s still there. Gas workers kept it going since the pandemic,” I replied, taking a drink, my sight resting on my mother, daring her to say something off-color.

“Excellent. The last time we were here, we had some of the best pancakes there. Big fluffy ones with chocolate chips topped with whipped cream. I ate two platefuls, then on the way home had to stop the car because I thought I was going to get sick all over—”

“You could introduce us to this young man,” Mom sliced into Dad’s pancake adoration. “Or are we to sit here not knowing his name?”

“Mom, Dad, Nora, this is Kenan Gardet. He works for me at the alehouse,” I said, bracing for the next round of disapproval. Her face tightened.

“Good Lord above, Brann. He could sue you for sexual misconduct. Whatever is going on in that head of yours? I know you men tend to think with your penises, but this is just foolishness! Are you hoping to be dragged through the courts by this person?” She flung a hand at Kenan.

“This person has a name,” I snapped.

“Maybe we should take a few moments to re-center our emotions?” Kenan offered. Dad jumped on that with both feet, as did Nora, who was now looking a lot less chipper around her grand surprise. “Let’s go tend to the geese.”

Kenan took me by the hand. We stepped into chore boots and yanked on coats in simmering silence. I could hear my mother talking to my sister in a low rumble as we exited the house. The cold did little to lower the heat burning inside me.

“Fred and Wilma must have heard the back door close,” Kenan said, his words clouds that lingered in front of us. I grunted. He sighed. The mist rose slowly and then dissipated. I could hear the geese making their usual hurry-up honks as I stormed across the snowy yard. I had to stop at the gate and that was where Kenan caught up. “Brann, I am so incredibly sorry for that whole nightmare scene. If I had known it was your family…”

“No, do not apologize. You did nothing wrong.”

“I was wearing underwear on my head. I mean, sure, Mr. Blum probably would have gotten a chuckle out of it since he was the one to give me the boxers, but even so, I could have just told him they fit well and not bounded out like a toad hitting a hot pavement just to get a guffaw.”

“Nope, nope. This is not on you. You were just being friendly and maybe a little silly. My mother—”

“Will calm down once she has had time to process. Your sister and father are so nice.” He took my chilly face between his palms. “Trust me. Even your mother, who is kind of upset right now, will remember how much she loves you. Things will calm down.” He gave me a soft kiss as the geese, hearing our voices, began noodling at the coop door with their bills.

I tried, honestly, I did, but I could not let go of all the lingering upset. Kenan was jovial, or giving it his best effort, as we did morning chores. The geese, probably sensing my tension, were being standoffish, or more standoffish than was normal for the two of them.

“I promise I’ll clean out the bain marie after the holiday party this afternoon and bring home all the wilted lettuce and funky tomatoes,” I told them. Fred craned his neck at us while Wilma demurely nibbled at some pellets and washed them down with fresh water. I glanced at Kenan, sprinkling some fresh bedding around the pen. “I usually make them a tossed salad for the holidays.”

He paused, smiled at me, and tossed the last handful of hay to the cold earth. “For someone who claims to be heartless, your heart seems pretty easy to find.” He placed a chaff-covered hand on my chest, right over my heart. “Yep, there it is. I found it.”

Oh yes, he had found it and held it in his warm, musical hands until it had thawed. Much like that fledgling robin I’d picked up this past summer. He’d tumbled from the nest during a thunderous storm that had blown through like a typhoon. Soaked to the skin, I held him in my hands, seated under his upset mother in the oak above me, until he had stopped shivering. Then, with an irate mom trying to dive bomb me, I shimmied up the tree to place the tiny bird back in its soggy nest. Two days later, the nest was empty of birds but the lawn was covered with robins. I told myself that one of those bobbing around in the grass was the little wet fledgling.

“I’m sorry about my mother.” I sighed and enveloped him in a crushing hug.

“Don’t be. Her biases aren’t reflected on anyone other than herself.” He pecked my neck, his lips warm on the cold flesh. “Also, she might turn around to be just fine once she gets over her Hebrew shock.” I pulled back to gaze at him. “That’s like sticker shock, only it’s over a Jew and not over a used Corolla.”

That made me smile. The man had a wicked wit. “Well, she can get over her snit or she can be a long time mad.”

I took his hand and led him back inside, proudly, arms swinging, to find my mother’s demeanor had calmed significantly. I couldn’t say if my father, or Nora, or perhaps both, had given her some shit, but she was actually halfway pleasant, if not a little distant, the rest of the morning. We went to the lakeside diner, ate ourselves nearly sick on chocolate chip pancakes, and then dropped the family off at the one and only motel in town. The Whiteham Winds was a nice little hotel, clean with friendly staff, and incredibly grateful for the customers since winter was an off time of year for an area that thrived on tourism.

“We have a party from two to six for the courthouse employees, so we’ll be able to meet you for dinner out at the Invers Inn over in the next county around seven,” I told my folks as we got them situated in their hotel rooms. “Nora made the reservations already and is heading to the airport to pick up Antoine as we speak.”

“You should have let your father check your tires before letting her take off,” Mom said while unzipping her suitcase.

“They’re good tires,” I assured her. Dad rolled his eyes as he turned on the TV to find the classic Western channel he was so fond of. Once he located Gunsmoke , he was happy. Then it was time for Mom to roll her eyes. She was not a fan of Marshall Dillon. “She’ll be fine. She manages to drive around Canada all the time by herself.”

“She probably takes better care of her things than you do,” Mom replied as she shook the wrinkles out of a blouse. My jaw tightened.

“Oh gosh, look at the time,” Kenan called from the corner by the door. “We have a lot of setting up to do for the party. Looking forward to sharing a lovely steak dinner with you both later today.”

With that, he pulled me from the room. We started walking to the alehouse. It wasn’t far. It would have to be in Ohio for me to work off the aggravation that my mother seemed to stir in me with such ease.

“Hey!” Kenan shouted.

I stopped, spun, and saw him standing outside the alehouse. Well, shit, I’d stomped right by it.

“Sorry, I was trying to walk off some parental exasperation,” I said as I moved past Al’s Hardware. I flipped off Santa just because he was all about the ho-ho-ho. And people wonder why I dislike this frigging holiday so much.

“I understand. I’ve been trying to do that for two years. I walked to the west coast and back, but the hurt never went away.”

“Damn it all.” I gave him a fast hug. “I’m such an ass. Here I am bitching about my mom sniping at me about the state of my car’s upholstery, and you’ve been disowned by yours.”

“That was her call. Your upset is right here in your face, but mine is far away. Just try to keep in mind that she might nitpick about your choice of tires and men, but she is here to celebrate Christmas with you, her gay son.”

He was so right. “You are a miracle.”

“Oh God, hardly.” A self-deprecating chuckle burst out of him. “It’s easy to see what others are doing that needs work. It’s much harder to view yourself and your foibles.”

I nodded. That there was the truthiest truth to ever be truthed.