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So he wandered back into the living room and reached into the box of Christmas stockings and pulled out the whole stack. Mother had cross-stitched their names and an iconic picture on each stocking. His own was a spaceship. Ender's stocking had a steam locomotive. But it was Ender in space, the little twit, while Peter was stuck on land with the locomotives.
Peter thrust his hand down into Ender's stocking and started making it talk like a hand puppet. "I'm Mommy's bestest boy and I've been very very good."
There was something in the toe of the stocking. Peter reached deeper into the sock, found it, and pulled it out. It was just a five-dollar piece--a nickel, as people had taken to calling them, though it was supposedly ten times the value of that long disused coin.
"So you've taken to stealing things out of other people's stockings?" said Mother from the doorway.
Peter felt as embarrassed as if he had been caught in an actual crime. "The toe was heavy," he said. "I was seeing what it was."
"It wasn't yours, whatever it was," said Mother cheerily.
"I wasn't going to keep it," said Peter. Though of course he would have done exactly that, on the assumption that it had been forgotten and would never be missed.
But that was the stocking she had been holding and weeping over. She knew perfectly well the nickel was there.
"You still put stuff in his stocking every year," he said, incredulous.
"Santa fills the stockings," said Mother. "It has nothing to do with me."
Peter shook his head. "Oh, Mother."
"It has nothing to do with you," said Mother. "Mind your business."
"This is morbid," said Peter. "Grieving for your hero-boy as if he were dead. He's fine. He's not g
oing to die, he's in the most sterile, oversupervised school in the universe, and after he wins the war he's going to come home amid cheers and confetti and give you a big hug."
"Put back the five dollars," said Mother.
"I will."
"While I'm watching."
That stung. "Don't you trust me, Mother?" asked Peter. He spoke in a sarcastically aggrieved voice, to hide the fact that he really was hurt.
"Not where Ender is concerned," said Mother. "Or me, for that matter. The coin is Ender's. It shouldn't have anybody's fingerprints on it but his."
"And Santa's," said Peter.
"And Santa's."
He dropped the coin down into the sock.
"Now put it away."
"You realize you're making it more and more tempting to set this thing on fire," said Peter.
"And you wonder why I don't trust you."
"And you wonder why I'm hostile and untrustworthy."
"Doesn't it make you just the tiniest bit uncomfortable that I have to wait until I'm sure you're not going to be home before I can allow myself to miss my little boy?"
"You can do what you want, Mother, whenever you want. You're an adult. Adults have all the money and all the freedom."
"You really are the stupidest smart kid in the world," said Mother.
"Again, just for reference, please take note of all the reasons I have to feel loved and respected in my own family."
