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Bah Humbug / L.L. Bartlett
    Bah, Humbug
    A Jeff Resnick Story
    By L.L. Bartlett

    Copyright © 2010 by L.L. Bartlett

    ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

    This story is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the
author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously--and any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business
establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

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    Bah, Humbug
    A Jeff Resnick Story
    By L.L. Bartlett

    “ You won’t forget to top up
the water in the Christmas tree stand, will you?” my brother
Richard asked, his gaze darting to the long line at the security
check-in outside the waiting area at the Buffalo International
Airport.
    “ No,” I told him for the
tenth time. And I wouldn’t forget to water the plants. Clear off
the steps, or do any of the other nit-picky chores he’d outlined on
the list he’d left taped to his refrigerator door.
    “ We should’ve gotten an
artificial tree. Then I wouldn’t have had to worry....” he went
on.
    “ You’d worry if we’d gotten
a flame-retardant, stainless steel tree with sprinklers connected
to every branch,” his wife Brenda piped up, as she stooped to
rearrange the top layer of books, candy, vitamins and other
sundries in her carry-on bag. Brenda never traveled
light.
    “ Just think, later tonight you’ll
be standing on a beach, under romantic moonlight,” my girlfriend
Maggie said and sighed.
    “ If the plane isn’t late.
Or the weather acts up, or—”
    “ Will you stop being so
pessimistic,” Brenda told Richard.
    “ I don’t know why I’m so
nervous,” he admitted, and tugged at the collar of his turtleneck
shirt. No wonder he was sweating. He also had on a parka—something
he wouldn’t be needing south of the border.
    “ I’m the one who gets
premonitions,” I told him. It had been that way since March, when
I’d been bashed in the head with a baseball bat by some punk who
thought he needed my wallet more than I did. Since then I’d known a
lot of things—and not many of them were pleasant. Brenda says I’m
psychic. I say … I know some things. “I predict you guys will have a wonderful,
relaxing, stress-free vacation.”
    “ That’s good enough for
me,” Brenda said, and snatched up Richard’s hand, squeezing
it.
    He managed a hesitant smile, the edges of
his mustache quirking upward.
    A family of five, all loaded down with
carry-on baggage, passed us, and the line at security got that much
longer. “We’d better get going,” Brenda said, noticing. She
captured Maggie in a hug. “Now take care of Jeffy while we’re gone.
Make sure he eats at least one good meal a day.”
    “ I will, I will,” Maggie
promised.
    Brenda grabbed me next, kissing me on the
cheek. “And take care of my girlfriend.”
    “ You’ll only be gone six
days. How much trouble can either of us get into?”
    Brenda pulled away, giving me the fish eye.
“Knowing you, a lot!”
    “ Come on,” Richard urged,
picking up their carry-on luggage. He paused, gave me a knowing
look that transcended words. A look that said, “I love you. I’m
glad you’re back in my life. And don’t forget to take out the
trash,” all rolled into one. I hoped he read most of the same on my
face. What he actually said was, “Take care of the house, kid. I’m
depending on you.”
    “ Be good,” Brenda called,
following Richard to the waiting line. “Merry
Christmas!”
    “ Bon voyage!” Maggie
wrapped one arm around mine, waving to their backs as they joined
the line of