Luther's morning routine hadn't changed in the eighteen years he'd lived on Hemlock. Up at six, slippers and bathrobe, brew the coffee, out the garage door, down the driveway where Milton the paperboy had left the Gazette an hour earlier. Luther could count the steps from the coffeepot to the newspaper, knowing they wouldn't vary by two or three. Back inside, a cup with just a trace of cream, the Sports section, then Metro, Business, and always last, the national and international news. Halfway through the obituaries, he would take a cup of coffee, the same lavender cup every day, with two sugars, to his dear wife.
On the morning after the caroling party on his front lawn, Luther shuffled half-asleep down his drive and was about to pick up the Gazette when he saw a bright collection of colors out of the corner of his left eye. There was a sign in the center of his lawn. FREE FROSTY the damned thing proclaimed, in bold black letters. It was on white poster board, reds and greens around the borders, with a sketch of Frosty chained and shackled somewhere in a basement, no doubt the Kranks' basement. It was either a bad design by an adult with too much time to spare, or a rather good design by a kid with a mom looking over his shoulder.
Luther suddenly felt eyes watching him, lots of eyes, so he casually stuck the Gazette under his arm and strolled back into the house as if he'd seen nothing. He grumbled as he poured his coffee, cursed mildly as he took his chair. He couldn't enjoy Sports or Metro-even the obituaries couldn't hold his attention. Then he realized that Nora should not see the poster. She'd worry about it much more than he did.
With each new assault on his right to do as he pleased, Luther was more determined to ignore Christmas. He was concerned about Nora, though. He would never break, but he feared she would. If she believed the neighborhood children were now protesting, she just might collapse.
He struck quickly-slinking through the garage, cutting around the corner, high-stepping across the lawn because the grass was wet and practically frozen, yanking the poster from the ground, and tossing it into the utility room, where he'd deal with it later.
He took Nora her coffee, then settled once again at the kitchen table, where he tried in vain to concentrate on the Gazette. He was angry, though, and his feet were frozen. Luther drove to work.
He had once advocated closing the office from the middle of December until after January 1. No one works anyway, he'd argued rather brilliantly at a firm meeting. The secretaries needed to shop so they left for lunch early, returned late, then left an hour later to run errands. Simply make everyone take their vacations in December, he had said forcefully. Sort of a two-week layoff, with pay of course. Billings were down anyway, he had explained with charts and graphs to back him up. Their clients certainly weren't in their offices, so no item of business could ever be finalized until the first week of January. Wiley & Beck could save a few bucks by avoiding the Christmas dinner and the office party. He had even passed out an article From The Wall Street Journal about a big firm in Seattle that had adopted such a policy, with outstanding results, or so said the Journal.
It had been a splendid presentation by Luther. The firm voted eleven to two against him, and he'd stewed for a month. Only Yank Slader'd hung in there with him.
Luther went through the motions of another morning, his mind on last night's concert by his junipers and the protest sign in his front yard. He enjoyed life on Hemlock, got on well with his neighbors, even managing to be cordial to Walt Scheel, and was uncomfortable now being the target of their displeasure.
Biff, the travel agent, changed his mood when she waltzed into his office with barely a knock-Dox, his secretary, was lost in catalogs-and presented their flight and cruise tickets, along with a handsome itinerary and an updated brochure on the Island Princess. She was gone in seconds, much too brief a stay to suit Luther, who, when he admired her figure and tan, couldn't help but dream of the countless string bikinis he would soon encounter. He locked his door and was soon lost in the warm blue waters of the Caribbean.
For the third time that week Luther sneaked away just before lunch and raced to the mall. He parked as far away as possible because he needed the hike, down eight pounds now and feeling very fit, and entered through Sears with a mob of other noontime shoppers. Except Luther was there for a nap.
Behind thick sunshades, he ducked into Tans Forever on the upper concourse. Daisy with the copper skin had been relieved by Daniella, a pale redhead whose constant tanning had only made her freckles expand and spread. She punched his card, assigned him to Salon 2, and, with all the wisdom of a highly skilled dermatologist, said, "I think twenty-two minutes should do it today, Luther." She was at least thirty years his junior, but had no problem addressing him simply as Luther. A kid working a temporary job for minimum wage, it never crossed her mind that perhaps she should call him Mr. Krank.
Why not twenty-one minutes? he wanted to snap. Or twenty-three?
He grumbled over his shoulder and went to Salon 2.
The FX-2000 BronzeMat was cool to the touch, a very good sign because Luther couldn't stand the thought of crawling into the thing after someone else had just left. He quickly sprayed it with Windex, wiped it furiously, then rechecked the locked door, undressed as if someone might see him, and very delicately crawled into the tanning bed.
He stretched and adjusted until things were as comfortable as they would get, then pulled the top down, hit the On switch, and began to bake. Nora'd been twice and wasn't sure she'd tan again because halfway through her last session someone rattled the doorknob and gave her a start. She blurted something, couldn't remember exactly what due to the terror of the moment, and as she instinctively jerked upward she cracked her head on the top of the BronzeMat.
Luther'd been blamed for that too. Laughing about it hadn't helped him.
Before long he was drifting away, drifting to the Island Princess with its four pools and dark, fit bodies lounging around, drifting to the white sandy beaches of Jamaica and Grand Cayman, drifting through the warm still waters of the Caribbean.
A buzzer startled him. His twenty-two minutes were up. Three sessions now and Luther could finally see some improvement in the rickety mirror on the wall. Just a matter of time before someone around the office commented on his tan. They were all so envious.
As he hurried back to work, his skin still warm, his stomach even flatter after another skipped meal, it began to sleet.

Luther caught himself dreading the drive home. Things were fine until he turned onto Hemlock. Next door, Becker was addi............