Those Christmas Angels (Angels Everywhere #5)(111)

That explained why Carter had heard his father return to the house shortly after he’d left for work.

Bailey clapped her hands. Even Carter smiled. It was an old Christmas tree, a little worn and raggedy, but a whole lot better than the miniature one they had now. That one was more like a plant than a tree.

His first thought was that he wanted to show it to Rusty, except he couldn’t because Rusty wasn’t with him anymore. It hurt to remember his dog, but Carter couldn’t think about anything else. He hoped Rusty would go to a good home and that someone in his new family would love him as much as Carter did.

“Do the lights work?” Bailey asked.

“We’ll have to see,” his mother said. She got down on the floor, crawled behind the tree and plugged in the cord. The lights flickered for a moment and then went out.

“That’s probably why it was in the garbage,” Carter told his mother.

“It’s just a pretend tree,” Bailey whined.

“It’s pathetic-looking,” Carter muttered. “But…it’s okay.” He tried to pretend he was happy about the Christmas tree, and he was, only…only it was old and the lights didn’t work and no one else wanted it. That made him think of Rusty again. No one else had wanted him, either, but Carter did, in the worst way.

“We can make it look pretty,” Bailey said, rebounding from her disappointment. “I have some colored paper from school and I could make an angel for the top,” she said excitedly.

“We could string popcorn and cranberries, too,” their mother suggested.

Carter didn’t say anything for a long time. “I know how to cut out snowflakes,” he finally told her.

“Thank you, Carter.” As if recognizing how much effort it had taken him to offer, his mother hugged him tightly.

Carter tried to squirm out of her embrace. He was too big to have his mother hug him, but at the same time he kind of liked it. He didn’t want his friends to know about it, though.

“We’ll have the tree decorated when your father gets home from work,” his mother said.

“Okay.” Carter was willing to do his share.

Soon the aroma of popping corn filled the house. Carter sat at the kitchen table and patiently pierced the kernels with one of his mother’s big sewing needles. He strung twenty-five kernels, then added a cranberry. Bailey decided to string her own and followed his pattern.

“Make it your own way,” he snapped at his sister. “You don’t have to do everything like me, you know.”

“Carter,” his mother said. “She just wants her string to match yours.”

“Why can’t she do her own design?”

“Because you’re her big brother and she looks up to you.”

Carter wanted to be angry, but he wasn’t. His sister had helped him with Rusty and had loved the stray, too.

“What do you think Rusty’s doing right now?” he asked his mother. “Will he remember me?”

“Of course he will,” his mother said. “Rusty will always remember the boy who brought him food and washed the mud off his fur.”

“And played catch with him.”

Carter thought he might cry, but instead he smiled. Thinking about all the things he’d done with Rusty seemed to ease the ache in his heart.

The phone rang and his mother answered it quickly. “Hi, honey.”

That meant it was his father.

“We’re decorating the tree,” his mother continued.

His father must’ve said something else because his mother went quiet.

Then she said, “Of course. He’s right here.” Placing her hand over the mouthpiece, she turned to Carter. “Your dad said he’d like to talk to you.”

“Okay.” Scooting off the chair, Carter took the phone. “Hi, Dad.”

“How’s it going?”

Carter shrugged. “All right, I guess.”

“What do you think of the Christmas tree I found?”

“The lights don’t work,” he murmured.

“I’ll take a look at those when I get home.”

It was unusual for his father to work on Sundays. But he must’ve been putting in overtime at the restaurant. Christmas was a busy season and his father said they could use the money, so he worked as many overtime hours as he could get.

Carter wished his father was home the way he was almost every Sunday. Usually they watched football together. If he’d been able to keep Rusty, then his dog would’ve joined them. Carter was sure Rusty would enjoy football as much as he did.

“You still feel bad about Rusty?”

“Yeah.”

“So do I,” his father admitted.

“I know.”

“He’s going to a good family and they’ll love Rusty, too.”

But Carter didn’t want any other family to love Rusty. He wanted Rusty to be his. He hung his head. “When will you be home?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“Bye, Dad.”

“Bye, son.”

Carter handed the phone back to his mother; before she hung up, their father spoke to Bailey, too.

Then he heard it.

A dog barking.

It sounded as if Rusty was right outside the door. That wasn’t possible, but it sure sounded like his dog.