The Judge Who Stole Christmas by Randy Singer

worries about today’s court hearing and the way things were escalating out of control. Thomas, on the other hand, slept soundly, snoring as loud as ever. Twice she woke him up, supposedly to stop his snoring. “ Thomas , can you roll over on your side, please?” Secretly she hoped he would wake up enough for them to discuss this situation.
    But not Thomas. Stubborn, silent Thomas. He could sleep through Armageddon.
    Theresa flipped on the kitchen light, emptied yesterday’s coffee grinds from the filter, and started a new pot. She warmed Elizabeth’s bottle just in case. She started cooking the oatmeal and dropped two slices of bread in the toaster. She heard the alarm go off in the bedroom and Thomas roll out of bed. Within minutes he had dressed and joined her in the kitchen.
    During the spring, summer, and fall, Thomas had a steady lawn-care business taking care of the rich folks in Virginia Beach and Chesapeake. During the winter, Thomas morphed into a lumberjack, paying farmers for the right to cut trees on their property, then selling the firewood to convenience stores for resale to customers. He would be gone before the sun came up, spending his first few hours splitting and wrapping the logs he had hauled out to the road the prior day. Thomas could never understand why anybody would pay so much for a half-dozen fireplace logs. Based on the proven willingness of city folk to pay for bottled water and bundled wood, Thomas kept threatening to figure out a way to distribute clean country air as well. “I’ll put it in aerosol cans and sell it in New York City,” he said. “Before you know it, I’ll be a billionaire.”
    Theresa spent the days cooped up in the trailer, taking care of Elizabeth and two other toddlers who belonged to a single working mom. The Hammonds weren’t rich, but they got the bills paid. Their savings account, however, had been wiped out by medical bills and the funeral expenses for little Joshie, not quite a year and a half ago.
    â€œMornin’,” Thomas said as he came over and kissed Theresa.
    â€œMornin’.”
    He ate in silence for a few minutes while Theresa put away the dishes that had been drying in the drainer overnight.
    â€œComin’ to court this afternoon?” he asked.
    â€œDon’t think so.”
    Thomas paused as he took a sip of coffee and a bite of oatmeal. “’Cause?”
    Theresa placed the final few glasses in the cupboard and hesitated. She wanted to support him so badly—but why did it always have to be them ? Why couldn’t somebody else fight this battle? It couldn’t come at a worse time.
    She sighed, lacking the emotional energy for a fight. She grabbed the peanut butter out of the cabinet, the jelly from the refrigerator, and started making sandwiches. “Elizabeth can’t stay still that long. Plus I promised the other kids we’d go Christmas shopping after school.”
    â€œAlready spent a lot of money on the plywood,” Thomas said as if Theresa didn’t know. “Don’t get carried away.”
    â€œForty-eight dollars for the plywood,” Theresa said. “And another eighteen-fifty for the paint.”
    More silence followed, which drove Theresa crazy. “That’s sixty-six dollars we don’t have, Thomas.”
    He grunted and ate a few more bites of oatmeal. “I’ll make it up this week. Firewood sales are always good around the holidays.”
    You gonna sell firewood from jail? she wanted to ask. But what good would that do? She should be supportive, not nagging. But sixty-six bucks was a lot of money. And that federal judge scared her. She fixed lunch in silence and thought about everything that could go wrong. She waited until he had finished his breakfast to bring it up again.
    â€œWhat did Jasmine say?” Theresa asked. She put two PB&J sandwiches in small sandwich bags and then placed them in a larger white plastic