Comfort & Joy by Kristin Hannah

Daniel is smiling brightly and holding a beautiful, dark-haired woman close. There’s no mistaking the love in their eyes.

    No wonder Daniel is rude to me. This time is tough enough on him and Bobby without an uninvited spectator.

    For the next half hour, I busy myself in the kitchen, making lunch and then cleaning up my mess. When I’m done, I return to my room, where I wash out my other clothes and hang them over the shower rod to dry, then I wander back to the lobby.

    The fire is fading now, falling apart in a shower of sparks.

    I am standing in front of it, warming my hands when they return.

    Bobby comes in first, looking utterly dejected. “Hey, Joy. Dad says I can’t play my GameBoy for two days. And I didn’t start nothin ’.”

    I turn to face them.

    Daniel sits in the chair opposite me. I can tell by the way he looks at Bobby that he’s been as bruised by this fight as his son. He doesn’t look angry; rather, I see sadness in him. “This is a family matter,” he says pointedly. “Don’t talk to her. Talk to me .”

    Shut up, Joy.

    Shut up.

    I can’t do it. Daniel’s been out of his son’s life for a few years; maybe he hasn’t been around children in that time. “Kids get in fights,” I say as gently as I can. “I’m a high school librarian. Believe me, I know.”

    “Not my dad,” Bobby says, sidling up beside me.

    “Not me what?” Daniel says, irritated. When he looks at us—Bobby and me—he’s not smiling.

    “You’d never get punched at school.” Bobby’s voice quivers. In the tremor, I hear how much he wants not to have disappointed his father.

    To my surprise, Daniel smiles. “When I was a lad in Dublin, I got into plenty of scraps.”

    “Really?”

    “Aye. And I got my arse kicked, I’ll tell you. My own Da used to go after me. He said he didn’t wanna raise no Mama’s boy.” His smile fades. “There’s nothing wrong with bein’ a mama’s boy. She loved you something fierce, Bobby.”

    “I know.”

    “But she wouldn’t want you fighting at church group.”

    “I know that.”

    I want to jump in with some stellar bit of advice that changes their lives and draws them together, but I know it’s not my place.

    For too long, we’re all quiet.

    Finally Daniel stands. “I’d best get to work on the bedrooms upstairs. No one is going to buy this place in the shape it’s in. You coming?”

    “I’m gonna show Joy my arrowheads.”

    Irritation flashes in Daniel’s eyes and then is gone. “Fine. I’ll work alone then.” Without another glance, he goes up the stairs and disappears.

    As soon as Daniel is gone, I look down at Bobby. “You aren’t too nice to your dad.”

    “He isn’t too nice to me.” He pushes the hair from his eyes, revealing an angry purple bruise above his eye. “He yelled at me about fighting, and it wasn’t even my fault.”

    I wish I could reach out for him, but he doesn’t seem ready for comfort. So, instead, I say, “How does the other guy look?”

    “I missed,” Bobby says miserably. “And I wanted to hit him. I was so mad .”

    “What happened?”

    His shoulders lump in defeat. “Arnie Holtzner punched me.”

    “The butthead? How come?”

    “ ’Cuz I’m a crybaby.”

    “You are no crybaby, Bobby. You’re a very brave boy.”

    “Yeah.”

    “Tell me what happened.”

    “We were makin’ Christmas ornaments out of cotton balls and Life Savers. I said I din’t want to make one, and Arnie asked why, and I said ’cuz the ornaments were stupid and he said I was stupid and I said I wasn’t. Then he socked me.”

    I want to say, Arnie’s an ass, but I hold back. “Why didn’t you want to make an ornament?”

    “ ’Cuz we aren’t gonna have a tree.” His voice catches. He glances at the door his father just slammed. “My mom would never forget Christmas.”

    I know I should keep my mouth shut, but when I look down at this bruised little boy, I am drawn by some force that can’t be