The plan

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Daniel said and sniffed. Daniel was always fighting a cold, must have something to do with Michael, Matthew, and Martin. The three little monsters. Poor Daniel and Bethany, saddled with triplets. And Daniel climbed telephone poles for a living and Bethany was a stay-at-home telemarketer. Life sucked.

“Sure, buddy,” Marshall said. For the first time since they were kids, Marshall wasn’t the only son home before the holidays. “Anything you say.”

“Bethany and I are taking the boys and Dad to the Nutcracker Christmas Eve while you and Mom get situated at home. Then we’ll have an early dinner and go to church at 7:30.”

“I see,” Marshall said and pursed his lips.

“And tomorrow, I’ll be putting up the Christmas lights and some wreathes around the house,” Daniel said.

“Isn’t that usually Dad’s job? I thought you and I would play racketball at the gym,” Marshall said, thinking about the personal trainer with the contoured leg muscles, V-shaped back, and chiseled chin.

“Nah, Dad’s been a little tired these days. I said I’d do it.”

“But he likes all that stuff. I suppose you’re twirling the garlands up the staircase, too?” Marshall said. Daniel always had to be in control.

“We’re not doing any garlands this year. There’s something you should know ...” Daniel said.

“Not doing any garlands? That’s an annual tradition.” Not only was Daniel taking control, he was changing everything.

“Marshall, listen. I have –“

“It’s an annual tradition, we do it every year.”

“Please, Marshall, shut up and listen. Dad has Alzheimer’s. Everything’s changed.”