"Nina Kiriki Hoffman - Home for Christmas" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hoffman Nina Kiriki)

returning a wallet like mine intact, and I wanted to find out more
about you.”
“Why?”
 “You are a kid, aren’t you?”
She stared at him, keeping her face blank.
“Sorry,” he said. He looked out the window at the night street for
a moment, then turned back. “My wife has my daughter this
Christmas, and I…” He frowned. “You know how when you lose a
tooth, your tongue keeps feeling the hollow space?”
“You really don’t know anything about me.”
“Except that you’re down on your luck but still honest. That says
a lot to me.”
“I’m not your daughter.”
He lowered his eyes to stare at his coffee mug. “I know. I know.
It’s just that Christmas used to be such a big deal. Corey and I,
when we first got together, we decided we’d give each other the
Christmases we never had as kids, and we built it all up, tree,
stockings, turkey, music, cookies, toasting the year behind and the
year ahead and each other. Then when we had Linda it was even
better; we could plan and buy and wrap and have secrets just for
her, and she loved it. Now the apartment’s empty and I don’t want
to go home.”
Matt had spent last Christmas in a shelter. She had enjoyed it.
Toy drives had supplied presents for all the kids, and food drives
had given everybody real food. They had been without so much for
so long that they could taste how good everything was. Dreams
came true, even if only for one day.
This year… She sat for a moment and remembered one of the
dreams she’d seen a couple of years ago. A ten-year-old girl
thinking about the loving she’d give a baby doll, just the perfect
baby doll, if she found it under the tree tomorrow. Matt could
almost feel the hugs. Mm. Still as strong a dream as when she had
first collected it. Yes! She had them inside her, and they still felt
fresh.
Food arrived and Matt ate, dipping her bacon in the egg yolks
and the syrup, loving the citrus bite of the orange juice after the
sopping, pillowy texture and maple sweetness of the pancakes. It
was nice having first choice of something on a restaurant plate.
 “Good appetite,” said Plainfield. He picked out a grape jelly from
an assortment the waitress had brought with Mart’s breakfast and
slathered some on his dry toast, took a bite, frowned. “Guess I’m
not really hungry.”
Matt smiled around a mouthful of biscuits and gravy.
“So,” Plainfield said when Matt had eaten everything and was
back to sipping coffee.
“So,” said Matt.
“So would you come home with me?”
She peeked at his dreamscape, found herself frustrated again by
graphs instead of pictures. “Exactly what did you have in mind,
Bud?”