was single and not a mother. The only child-rearing experience she’d had was with her identical twin nieces, Zoe and Zara, whom she adored. Until recently, anyway. Overnight the five-year-olds had become miniature monsters and all because her sister had followed the “Free Child” rules as set out by Dr. Jeffries.
“My wife,” Bill said, “is on the verge of a breakdown.”
K.O. pitied the poor woman—and her husband.
“We’ve written Christmas letters for years and while life wasn’t always as perfect as we—well, as we implied...” He let the rest fade away.
“You painted the picture of a model family.”
“Yes.” Bill cleared his throat and offered her a weak smile. “Patti, that’s my wife, chose to present a, shall we say, rosier depiction of reality.” He exhaled in a rush. “We never included family pictures and if you met my son, you’d know why. Anyone looking at Mason would know in a minute that this kid isn’t a member of the National Honor Society.” He released his breath again and shook his head sadly. “Mason’s into body piercing,” Bill added. “He pierced his eyebrows, his nose, his lips, his tongue, his nipples—”
K.O. stopped him before he went any lower. “I get it.”
“You probably don’t, but that’s lucky for you. Oh, and he dyed his hair green.”
“Green?”
“He wears it spiked, too, and he...he does this thing with paint.” Bill dropped his voice.
K.O. was sure she’d misunderstood. “I beg your pardon?”
“Mason doesn’t call it paint. It’s some form of cosmetic he smears across his face. I never imagined that my son would be rummaging through his mother’s makeup drawer one day.”
“I suppose that is a bit disconcerting,” K.O. murmured.
“I forget the actual significance of the black smudges under his eyes and across his cheeks,” Bill said. “To me it looks like he’s some teenage commando.”
Yes, this letter would indeed be a challenge. “Have you thought about skipping your Christmas letter this year?” K.O. asked hopefully.
“Yeah, I’d like to, but as I said, Patti’s emotional health is rather fragile. She claims people are already asking about our annual letter. She’s afraid that if we don’t send it the same as we do every year, everyone will figure out that we’re pitiful parents.” His shoulders drooped. “In other words, we’ve failed our children.”
“I don’t think you’ve necessarily failed,” K.O. assured him. “Most teenagers go through a rebellious stage.”
“Did you?”
“Oh, sure.”
“Did you pierce anything?”
“Well, I had my ears pierced....”
“That’s not the same thing.” He peered at her earrings, visible through her straight blond hair, which she wore loosely tied back. “And you only have one in each ear—not eight or ten like my son.” He seemed satisfied that he’d proved his point. “Then you’ll write our Christmas letter and smooth over the rough edges of our year?”
K.O. was less and less confident that she could pull this off. “I don’t know if I’m your person,” she said hesitantly. How could she possibly come up with a positive version of such a disastrous year? Besides, this side job was supposed to be fun, not real work. It’d begun as a favor to her sister and all of a sudden she was launching a career. At some stage she’d need to call a halt—maybe sooner than she’d expected.
Her client shifted in his seat. “I’ll pay you double what you normally charge.”
K.O. sat up straight. Double. He said he’d pay double? “Would four days be enough time?” she asked. Okay, so she could be bought. She pulled out her Day-Timer, checked her schedule and they set a date for their next meeting.
“I’ll give you half now and half when you’re finished.”
That seemed fair. Not one to be overly prideful, she held out her hand as he peeled off three fifty-dollar bills. Her fingers closed around the cash.
“I’ll see you Friday then,” Bill said, and reaching for his briefcase, he left the French Café carrying his latte in its takeout cup.
Looking out the windows with their Christmas garland, she saw that it had begun to snow again. This was the coldest December on record. Seattle’s normally mild climate had dipped to below-freezing temperatures for ten days in a row. So much for global warming. There was precious little evidence of it in Seattle.
K.O. glanced at the coffee line. Wynn Jeffries had made his way to the front and picked up his hot drink. After adding cream and sugar—lots of both, she observed—he was getting ready to leave. K.O. didn’t want to be obvious about watching him, so she took a couple of