Blank faces

Blank faces. Puzzled faces. Sad faces. A groan from just over his shoulder as the pain hit Nora. Looking at the boys, with his wife literally breathing down his neck, Luther Krank knew that this was the pivotal moment. Snap here, and the floodgates would open. Buy a tree, then decorate it, then realize that no tree looks complete without a pile of presents stuffed under it,fake uggs boots.
Hang tough, old boy, Luther urged himself, just as his wife whispered, "Oh dear."
"Hush," he hissed from the corner of his mouth.
The boys stared up at Mr. Krank, as if he'd just taken the last coins from their pockets.
"Sorry we had to go up on the price," Randy said sadly.
"We're making less per tree than last year, Mr. Scanlon added helpfully.
"It's not the price, boys," Luther said with another bogus grin. "We're not doing Christmas this year. Gonna be out of town. No need for a tree,SHIPPING INFO.. Thanks anyway."
The boys began looking at their feet, as wounded children will do, and Mr. Scanlon appeared to be heartbroken. Nora offered another pitiful groan, and Luther, near panic, had a brilliant thought. "Don't you boys go out West each year, for a big camporee of some sort? New Mexico, in August, I seem to recall from a flyer."
They were caught off guard but all three nodded slowly.
"Good, here's the deal. I'll pass on the tree, but you guys come back in the summer and I'll give you a hundred bucks for your trip."
Randy Bogan managed to say "Thanks, but only because he felt obligated. They suddenly wanted to leave.
Luther slowly closed the door on them, then waited. They stood there on the front steps for a moment or two, then retreated down the drive, glancing over their shoulders,ladies rolex presidents.
When they reached the truck another adult, in uniform, was told the bizarre news. Others heard it, and before long activity around the trailer came to a halt as the
Scouts and their leaders grouped at the end of the Kranks' driveway and stared at the Krank house as if aliens were on the roof.
Luther crouched low and peeked around the open curtains of the living room. "What are they doing?" Nora whispered behind him, crouching too.
"Just staring, I guess."
"Maybe we should've bought one."
"No."
"Don't have to put it up, you know."
"Quiet."
"Just keep it in the backyard."
"Stop it, Nora. Why are you whispering? This is our house."
"Same reason you're hiding behind the curtains."
He stood straight and closed the curtains. The Scouts moved on, their trailer inching down the street as the trees on Hemlock Street were delivered.
Luther built a fire and settled into his recliner for some reading, tax stuff. He was alone because Nora was pouting, a short spell that would be over by morning.
If he'd faced down the Boy Scouts, then who should he fear? More encounters were coming, no doubt, and that was one of the very reasons Luther disliked Christmas. Everybody selling something, raising money, looking for a tip, a bonus, something, something, something,jeremy scott wings. He grew indignant again and felt fine.
He eased from the house an hour later. On the sidewalk that bordered Hemlock, he shuffled along, going nowhere. The air was cool and light. After a few steps he stopped by the Beckers' mailbox and looked into the front window of the living room, not far away. They were decorating their tree, and he could almost hear the bickering. Ned Becker was balancing himself on the top rung of a small ladder and stringing lights, while Jude Becker stood back a step and carped directions. Jude's mother, an ageless wonder even more terrifying than Jude herself, was also in on the fray. She was pointing directions to poor Ned, and her directions were in sharp conflict to those of Jude. String them here, string them there. That branch, no that other branch. Can't you see that gap there? What on earth are you looking at? Meanwhile, Rocky Becker, their twenty-year-old dropout, was sitting on the sofa with a can of something, laughing at them and offering advice that was apparently being ignored. He was the only one laughing, though.