The Judge Who Stole Christmas by Randy Singer Page A

bag. She threw in a PowerBar, the remainder of an opened bag of chips, an apple, and a napkin.
    Thomas had been watching her pack his lunch from the breakfast table. He stood and placed his dishes in the sink. “What am I gonna eat for dessert?” he asked.
    Theresa shook her head and placed a brownie in his lunch bag too. “Now, what did Jasmine say?”
    â€œShe thinks we’ve got a good case. Says the worst I’ll get is a good chewing out.”
    â€œAnd then?”
    â€œThen, in a worst-case scenario, the judge will tell me not to do it again.”
    â€œThen?”
    Thomas picked up his lunch from the counter, added another brownie, and grabbed the drink cooler from the refrigerator. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
    Theresa came over and wrapped her arms around him. He put his lunch on the counter and gave her a quick hug, the same kind of out-the-door hug he gave her every morning. But this time she didn’t let go. She had to say something, though she couldn’t look at him when she did. “I can’t go through this again, Thomas.” Her voice became thick. “Promise me you won’t go to jail again.”
    He held on to her and stroked the back of her hair. “I’m not going to jail, Theresa. Jasmine said we’ve got a good case.”
    â€œPromise me you’ll back off if you have to.”
    He hesitated.
    â€œPromise me, Thomas.”
    He kissed the top of her head and gave her a squeeze—a subtle signal that it was time to let go. “You know I can’t do that, Theresa. A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.”
    She hated that expression. Hated it! What’s that even supposed to mean? That a man’s got to go on some crusade for Christmas and ignore the needs of his own family?
    She unwrapped her arms and pursed her lips. She had stood silently by her man so many times in the past. Thomas and his crusades. Thomas and his convictions. It had already cost them a son. Couldn’t he see that? “Sometimes,” she said, “a man’s got to do what’s right for his family.”
    Thomas just looked at her, sadness and resolve filling his eyes. Then he grabbed his lunch and headed for the door.

Tiger loved the Dollar Store! He squeezed the five-dollar bill in his right hand and elbowed his way from aisle to aisle, breathlessly checking out all the stuff. There were so many people in the store, he could barely move around. But fortunately Tiger was small and could squeeze past people and . . . whoops! He knocked over a bunch of Christmas tree decorations and some Christmas curly swirl. He bent over to pick up a box of the ornaments and took a quick look around—nobody watching. He gently kicked the stuff over to the side and took off. His mom always said if you broke something in a store, they made you pay for it. No way was he gonna use his money on Christmas curly swirl.
    Halfway down the next aisle he found some stuff his mommy would love! Bubble bath, necklaces, girlie junk everywhere! Stinky, Tiger’s big sister, was hanging out in this aisle. Her real name was Hannah, a name she now wanted everyone to use, but Tiger liked the nickname his dad had given her when she was still in diapers. When Stinky saw Tiger, she put her hand over her little shopping basket, as if she had already picked out his present. Then she hurried off to another aisle.
    Something caught his eye that he knew his mommy would like. “Excuse me,” he said, pulling on the leg of a kind-looking lady. “Can you reach that for me?” He pointed to the necklace, and the lady smiled and handed it to him.
    It looked even better up close. It was a big necklace with a flashing light on a little thing that hung down. If you twisted the top of that hangy-down thing, right where it attached to the necklace, the necklace would flash—like a police car. How cool!
    Mom was done.
    Dad