Paradise Lost (Private 9)

CHAPTER 28 THE BLUR

Christmas with the Langes was a much more formal affair than it ever had been in my household. Back home, Scott and I would get up ridiculously early and tear into our gifts while still in our pajamas--hair sticking out in all directions, morning breath at full force, Mom and Dad nursing coffee and hanging around with their eyes at half-mast. After we'd made a disaster area of the living room, we'd all reconvene in the kitchen for scrambled eggs, sausage, home fries, and chocolate chip muffins, then pass out until my grandparents arrived, when there would be a few more presents to open. Even during my mom's crappy years, Christmas usually managed to pull itself off in the same old comfy way. But at the Langes', there was nothing comfy about the holiday.

Following some strict instructions from Noelle the night before, I was up with my bird at 7a.m., and showered, dressed, and at the breakfast table by 8 a.m. Almost everyone from the crew was there. The Ryans and Sienna were conspicuously absent. I assumed they liked to spend

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Christmas morning alone, being weird together. The Simons weren't there either, and I wondered what that might mean, but I kept my mouth shut. I was not going to be the first to bring up the specter of Poppy Simon.

For breakfast, we were served thick french toast with raspberries and powdered sugar. Conversation at the table was hushed and polite as we dug in. It was like we were eating breakfast in a library.

"Is it always this quiet on Christmas morning?" I whispered to Taylor, who was seated to my left.

"It's always this quiet at the Langes', period," Taylor replied. "You've been living here for over a week. You haven't noticed? "

"I guess we haven't been at the house much," I replied, taking a bite of the yummy french toast.

In fact, I had barely even seen Noelle's mother since we'd arrived, except in quick glimpses as she moved from one room of the house to another. She clearly had no interest in knowing me, which was fine. Although it might have been nice to get the chance to thank her for letting me stay there.

I noticed that Noelle's father and Mr. Hathaway were chatting intensely again, and I nudged Noelle, who was on my right. "What's up with the headmaster thing?" I asked. "Has your father said anything to you?"

Noelle cast a look in their direction. "No, actually. He hasn't." She put her silver knife and fork down with a bit of a clang. "So, Mr. Hathaway, I hate to interrupt," she said. "But has my father convinced you to take the job yet?"

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Everyone at the table fell silent. Graham and Sawyer exchanged a look as their dad cleared his throat and reached for his coffee. He cast a glance at Noelle's father like, Do you want to answer that, or should I?

"Noelle, I don't really think that's an appropriate conversation for the occasion," her father said with a placating smile.

"No? Isn't that what you two were just talking about?" she asked, taking a sip of grapefruit juice.

The two men pointedly looked away from each other. Mr. Hathaway asked Dash to pass the butter.

"Later, Noelle. But I appreciate your interest," her father said. "So, Claire, who has the honor of giving the first gift from beneath the tree this year?"

Noelle's mother, who was sitting at the head of the table wearing white silk pants and a shimmering silver boat-neck blouse, her dark hair back in a loose chignon, shot him a tight smile and sipped her mimosa. "Now, Wallace, you know I don't announce that until we're all seated around the tree."

I looked across the table at Upton, my expression incredulous. He hid a smile and ducked his head, suddenly intent on his last bite of food.

Once we had finished eating and everyone had gathered in the living room, Mrs. Lange took out a silver sack with a gold rope ribbon around the neck and held it up. "Everyone ready?"

No one said a word. They simply looked up at her expectantly. I saw a sudden flash of a kindergarten class, waiting for the teacher to begin story time.

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"Okay. Someone has got to tell me what is going on," I whispered to Kiran, who was seated on the white leather couch to my right.

"It's a system she came up with when we were about six years old," Kiran whispered back. "She couldn't deal with the mayhem of all the kids attacking the tree, looking for their presents, so she lets one person go at a time, and that person gives out all their gifts. When everyone's done opening, the next name is selected from the bag."

"Wow. Fun," I said sarcastically.

"It's a Lange family Christmas," Noelle said with a tight smile.

"I hope my name's not in there. I only got small gifts, and they're just for you guys," I whispered to Noelle.

"Don't worry. I let my mom know to keep your name out," she replied.

"Our first Santa of the day is . . . Kiran!" Mrs. Lange said, showing ev