He turned back into the dark hall without a word and let the aluminum screen door bang shut against the wooden frame.

The living room smelled of burned oak logs and damp carpet.

My sister Tessa sat at the far end of the brown velvet sofa, her long nails painted a bright metallic silver.

She didn’t look up from her phone when we came in, though her thumb kept flicking across the glass in quick, sharp strokes.

Across from her, her husband Craig was leaning back in the vinyl recliner rubbing the back of his thick neck, while their thirteen-year-old son Tai kicked the leg of the wooden end table with his sneaker.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Tessa said to her glowing screen.

“Interstate 45 was backed up near the Loop,” I said.

“Craig put in fifty hours at the construction site this week and still got here early,” she said.

She dropped the phone onto her knee and examined her manicured nails.

“His crew supervisor told him yesterday a project manager title is coming his way in January.”

Craig gave a short chuckle and gazed up at the acoustic ceiling tiles, his hand still on his neck.

I knew for a fact his residential framing company had shut down three separate job sites back in August, but I kept my hands in my pockets and didn’t say a word.

“Where are the presents for the kids?” Hugh asked from his armchair by the hall door.

Tessa reached under the coffee table and pulled out a narrow box wrapped in thin green foil.