Читать книгу A Gift For Santa - Beth Carpenter - Страница 11
ОглавлениеTwenty-one days till Christmas
“...AND A NINJA SWORD, and books, and a puzzle.”
Chris glanced over to make sure the parents were able to hear the conversation. They smiled and nodded, so apparently there were no surprises.
He reached into the bowl beside his chair. “Got it. Have a merry Christmas, Sean. Here’s a candy cane.”
Today, they were working a party for a large group of homeschoolers and their parents at the community center. Chris was starting to get the hang of this Santa thing. Kids were just people, but without the filters. They were noisier and messier, but also more spontaneous and joyful. And they believed in magic, some more than others. But whether they were skeptics or true believers, they knew Christmas was special. And he got to be the spirit of Christmas. How cool was that?
Of course, a two-minute conversation with a kid who believed you had the power to make their dreams come true was a far cry from actual parenting. Even his own father used to feign interest in Chris’s activities every once in a while. How did parents do this? A couple hours of holding the kids on his lap and talking to them left Chris as tired as if he’d been digging ditches, and yet parents did it all day, every day.
Marissa started to lead the next child forward, but another boy, maybe four or so, ran to the front of the line. “My turn to talk to Santa.”
“No, it’s Nolan’s turn.” Marissa’s voice was firm. “You need to get in line with the others.”
“But I wanna go now.” Tears squeezed from the boy’s eyes and he wailed, “It’s my turn. My turn.” He sobbed as if his heart were breaking, and sank to the floor.
Chris winced. So much for getting the hang of things. He’d have to remember this next time he felt cocky. The boy’s mother hurried over, but made no move to pull him away. Instead, she crossed her arms and made eye contact with Marissa.
Marissa gave her a sympathetic smile and led the next boy in line around the weeping child sprawled across the vinyl floor. “Santa, this is Nolan.”
Okay, if that’s how they were going to play it. “Hi, Nolan.”
Chris watched the other boy from the corner of his eye while carrying on his conversation with Nolan, at least as well as he could with earsplitting screams a few feet away. Within minutes, the sobs diminished and the boy opened his eyes. When he realized no one was paying attention to him, he stopped crying as if turning off a faucet, and allowed his mother to escort him to the back of the line. When his turn came twenty minutes later, he cheerfully recited a long Christmas list, including requests for his baby brother and the dog. He gave no indication he even remembered he’d had a tantrum.
Wouldn’t that be great? To be able to simply put past mistakes behind you, without giving them another thought? At what age did you start to keep track of all the stupid, thoughtless and selfish actions that you and the people around you committed, letting them build up into walls? Chris wondered. On the other hand, what if everyone just acted as rotten as they wanted, without consequences? There was a reason people called it childish behavior. Kids were a puzzle.
How did Marissa know how to handle all this stuff? She was an only child, raised by an older couple. But somehow, she seemed to know exactly how to manage a herd of excited kids without breaking a sweat. She’d always wanted kids. Maybe she did a lot of children’s outreach programs with her job. That sounded like something she would enjoy. Or maybe she had a boyfriend with kids back in the lower forty-eight, so was used to hanging around with them. Chris pushed that thought away without giving himself time to wonder why it made him feel antsy.
Once he had talked with all the twenty or so kids at the party, he and Marissa went outside to watch the reindeer rides. With no snow, Becky had hitched up a red wagon that could hold one or two children at a time. Marissa offered to take over and give her a break.
Chris pulled out his phone from inside his Santa jacket and snapped a few photos of Marissa leading the reindeer and wagonful of wide-eyed children around the parking lot. “They’re having fun,” he stated.
Becky waved at the little ones before turning to him. “Don’t post those online without their parents’ permission.”
“No problem.” The photos were just for him, although he wasn’t sure why he wanted them. To remember the day, he supposed, and his time as Santa Claus. It surely had nothing to do with how cute Marissa looked in her elf costume, leading the reindeer and laughing with the kids.
When the party was over, Chris helped Becky and Marissa load their equipment. After waving goodbye to the last child, Becky went inside to collect the fee. Chris arranged the sections of the Santa throne in the bed of the truck. “How long until you go back to work?” he asked Marissa.
She flashed him a look of suspicion. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On when I find a job.”
Chris closed the tailgate. “You didn’t have one lined up before you quit? That doesn’t sound like you.”
“I didn’t quit. The facility I was working at closed down.”
“Why?”
“Lack of funds.” She pushed a lock of hair away from her face. “Don’t worry. I’ve got applications out and a headhunter looking. I’m sure I’ll find something soon.”
“And in the meantime, you’re staying here?”
“This is where my family lives.” She crossed her arms. “Why? Is Alaska not big enough for the both of us?”
“Just asking. I figured you’d need to get back to a husband, or at least a boyfriend, who misses you.”
“Well, I don’t.” She spoke a little too quickly. “I don’t have a boyfriend and I’m not looking for one. Right now, I just want to get Becky and Oliver through the Christmas season and then get my career back on track.”
Chris smirked. “So, you’ve made a few changes to the master plan?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know, the plan where you’ve established your professional reputation by thirty, and by thirty-five you have two or three children and a golden retriever. You’re what, thirty-four now? You’re running a little behind.”
A strange expression flashed across her face. “Very funny.” She spun away from him and flounced across the parking lot.
What was that all about? Marissa never backed down from a good sparring match. He trotted after her. “Marissa?” She didn’t slow. He finally caught up with her and caught her by the elbow. “What’s going on?”
She spun around, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Nothing. Leave me alone.”
“Look, I’m sorry if I said—”
She jerked her arm from his grasp and turned away. “Forget it. Just go away.”
“But you’re upset.”
“Don’t talk to me. I don’t want you here. How much clearer can I be?”
“Bo, I didn’t mean—”
Her head shot up. “Don’t call me that. Don’t ever call me that. Just go.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, I’m going. Whatever it was, I’m sorry.”
“Fine. Go.”
Chris crossed to his own truck and got in, but instead of starting the engine, he sat there watching her. She stood at the edge of the parking lot, her back rigid, as if it was taking all her strength not to burst into tears. Which was crazy. Marissa didn’t cry. She planned.
Where most people hung posters or art on their walls, she posted goals. She created notebooks full of lists, time lines and flowcharts, color-coded and with footnotes. She made contingency plans, and if those fell apart, she wasted no time on regrets, but immediately started a new plan. Chris had to admire her ability to strategize and follow through.
Even so, he’d never been able to resist the occasional urge to sabotage her daily schedule. “Sometimes you’ve just got to throw out the plan and follow your heart,” he’d tell her. He showed her the joys of spontaneity, of ducking out of a party early to spend the evening wrapped in blankets, gazing at the stars from the bed of his truck. Of blowing off a dinner reservation in favor of an impromptu picnic. Of stolen kisses in elevators and coat closets. And she’d loosened up a little, learned to let go, while she’d taught him how to organize his business. They were good for each other. When he’d needled her about her grand plan just now, he’d meant to tease, the way they’d always teased each other. Hadn’t he?
Or maybe there was a part of him that wanted to hurt her, the same way she’d hurt him when she made it clear her love for him only extended so far. That her desire for motherhood trumped her promise to marry him. Maybe he’d done it on purpose, to see her suffer.
If so, it had backfired, because he felt no satisfaction, watching her pain. Only an overriding desire to make it stop. But it was too late. The damage was done.
Marissa stood motionless for several minutes. It was only after she disappeared into the community center that Chris started his truck and drove home. There was really no reason to feel guilty. So he’d stepped over a line he didn’t know was there. He’d apologized. Several times. That’s all he could do. Besides, why should he care about Marissa’s feelings? She wasn’t concerned about his.
He parked in the driveway of the split-level house at the end of a cul-de-sac that backed against the woods in Bicentennial Park. The smell of fresh-baked cookies greeted him as he opened the front door. “Dana?” Kimmik ran to greet him, his tail thumping against the banister railing as he led Chris upstairs to the kitchen.
Wire racks full of shaped Christmas cookies covered most of the kitchen island, but Dana’s bag was missing, as were her keys. Chris grinned. If she didn’t want him to eat the cookies, she shouldn’t have left them unguarded. He helped himself to a slightly lopsided star, breaking off a corner for Kimmik before taking a bite himself. Yum. The quality of food had improved considerably in this house since his sister moved in. He finished the cookie before shedding his Santa hat and coat. Kimmik whined and scratched at the door, so Chris let him into the backyard before heading for the shower to wash the dye from his beard and eyebrows.
He emerged fifteen minutes later and thirty years younger. He threw on old jeans and a flannel shirt, and padded barefoot across the room to let Kimmik inside. But when he whistled, no dog appeared. He leaned out the door to look for him, but saw only an empty yard with the gate standing open.
Shoot. He couldn’t lose Sam’s dog. He crammed his feet into shoes, threw on a jacket and hurried out. Let’s see, where would a loose dog go first? Probably straight into the woods. Chris would just have to pick a trail and follow it, hoping the sound of his voice would bring Kimmik home.
He shivered. Frosty weather and wet hair wasn’t a good combination. He should have grabbed a hat. He was considering whether to go back for one when he spotted Kimmik up Bunchberry Street, chasing after a stick and returning it to someone Chris couldn’t see behind a bush.
Letting out a breath of relief, he trotted toward them. “Here, Kimmik.” But the dog didn’t come. When Chris reached the bush, he spotted a boy in a baggy green jacket determinedly holding on to the dog’s collar while Kimmik, still holding the stick in his mouth, struggled to break loose and answer Chris’s call. As soon as Kimmik saw him, he stopped struggling and wagged his tail.
“Hi, I’m Chris. Thanks for taking care of Kimmik.”
The boy studied Chris with skepticism. “That’s his name?”
“Uh-huh. It means dog in Inupiat. Right, Kimmik?”
The dog wiggled in agreement, but the boy didn’t release his hold on the collar. “Kimmik likes to fetch sticks.”
“He sure does, but he shouldn’t be out of his yard unsupervised. Do you live around here?” Chris was familiar with most of the kids on the street, at least by sight, and was pretty sure he’d never seen this boy before. He was seven or so, with brown hair spilling forward from under the hood of his sweatshirt, and he was eyeing Chris with contempt, as though he could barely bring himself to answer such an absurd comment.
“He wasn’t unsupervised. He was with me.” Chris noticed the boy didn’t answer the last question. He decided not to push it.
“Yeah, it was lucky you were there when he got out so he didn’t get into traffic or anything.”
The boy looked at the stick Kimmik was holding, obviously wanting more playtime with the dog, but Chris’s ears were freezing. Before he could figure out how to get the kid to release Kimmik’s collar, a woman’s voice called, “Ryan.”
The boy stiffened, but didn’t answer. She called again.
Chris jerked his head in the direction of the voice. “Your mom is calling.”
“She’s not my mom.” The boy finally released Kimmik, who ran to greet Chris. With a mighty sigh, Ryan trudged away.
Chris located the voice as coming from a woman standing on the second-story deck two houses down, and waved. “Merry Christmas, Sandy.”
“Merry Christmas,” she called back. “Ryan, hurry. We have to go now, or we’ll be late.”
With no discernible change in speed, the boy made his way toward her. Once, he looked back, the expression on his face like that of a starving man being dragged from a Thanksgiving meal.
Chris shrugged. Not his problem. He whistled, and Kimmik danced up to him, carrying the stick. He threw it ahead, playing fetch with Kimmik all the way home. He was shutting the gate when Dana’s jeep turned into the driveway. She waved before pulling into the garage. Chris slipped in the back door. When he arrived in the kitchen, Dana was there, unpacking a bag of groceries.
“Hey, how was the Santa gig?”
“Not bad.” He swiped another cookie from the rack and bit into it.
“If you’ll wait a little while, I plan to frost those cookies.”
“No need.” He took another bite. “They’re good like this.”
“So what are you doing running around in the cold with wet hair? Trying to catch pneumonia?”
“You sound like a mom.” He thought about that while he finished the cookie. “Well, maybe not our mom, but somebody’s mom. Actually, I realized Kimmik had gotten out and went to find him.”
Dana frowned. “How did he get out?”
“The gate was open and I didn’t notice.”
“That’s odd. It was closed when I let him out a couple of hours ago.” She rubbed Kimmik’s ears and looked into his eyes. “You haven’t learned to open the gate, have you?”
Kimmik declined to answer, rubbing his body against her legs. Chris went to pour himself a glass of milk to go with his cookies. “I doubt it. Must have not latched well, and blown open or something.”
Dana emptied a bag of tiny oranges into a wire basket. “Still no snow in the forecast. Good thing you found this Santa Claus job.”
Chris nodded. It would be, except today when Becky tried to pay him, he’d turned the check down. If Oliver had something wrong with his heart, they probably had prescriptions and doctor bills to worry about, and Chris didn’t feel right taking their money. Becky had tried to insist, but he’d said he wouldn’t cash the check even if he took it, and she’d finally backed down.
Dana grinned. “A friend of mine was at the Grizzlyco party the other night with her daughter and told me all about the Santa Claus there. You must feel like a rock star, having all those kids waiting in line to talk with you, and a pretty elf fawning over you.”
Chris shook his head. “Believe me, the elf is doing very little fawning. I’m not her favorite person.”
“You know her outside work?”
“I did, a long time ago.”
Dana’s ears perked up and Chris braced himself for the upcoming interrogation. When Dana was a teenager, Chris had left his family after a disagreement with their father. Nineteen years later, Dana came searching for him, and along the way had fallen in love with his roommate and best friend, Sam. Now that she’d married Sam and moved into the house with them, Dana was determined to catch up on everything she’d missed in Chris’s life. “What’s her name?” she asked.
“Marissa Gray.” He picked up a couple cans and set them in the pantry. “You don’t have anything planned for dinner, do you? Because I’m hungry for Thai. Do you want pineapple curry?”
“That sounds good.” She seemed to be accepting his change of topic, but the glint of curiosity in her eyes warned him she wasn’t giving up. Before she could frame another question, Chris pulled out his phone and started walking toward the stairs that led down to is bedroom. “I’ll call in the order.” He really wasn’t up to a conversation about his history with Marissa right now. No doubt Dana would get the whole story from Sam tonight.
“Chris?”
Too slow. He stopped without turning around. “Yes?”
There was a short pause before she spoke. “Get extra rice.”
BECKY STOPPED THE truck and trailer in the pullout beside the main road. A motley collection of mailboxes lined the edge of the pavement. Marissa hopped out to collect their letters. As she returned to the truck, she happened to glance up at Becky, catching her unaware. Worry lines formed deep furrows across her forehead, and the slump of her shoulders hinted at her exhaustion. Oliver’s illness was taking a toll on both of them. But when Marissa opened the door, Becky turned to smile at her, banishing any trace of sadness or fatigue. Marissa smiled back. “Good party today.”
Becky put the truck in gear and turned down the secondary road that led to the farm. “Yes. Chris is good with the kids.”
He was. And it was driving Marissa crazy. When they were engaged, Chris had as much as told her he wanted nothing to do with children, and yet he seemed to have a natural way with them. Marissa wondered, not for the first time, if his no-kids stance was only an excuse to get out of marrying her. But she didn’t need to lay all that on Becky. Her aunt had enough to worry about.
Instead, Marissa opted for loyalty. “He’s not as good as Oliver.”
“Well, that’s a given. Oliver is the master of all things Santa.”
“Yes, he is.” Marissa smiled again, thinking about her uncle’s constant research on Christmas traditions past and present. They drove along for another fifteen minutes, past the entrance to their solitary neighbor’s seasonal cabin, and turned in beside the faded Reindeer Farm sign with a stylized portrait of a reindeer pulling a sleigh. The truck rattled over the drive, which was in desperate need of gravel and grading, and came to a stop near the barn.
Marissa pulled down the ramp on the trailer. “Why don’t you go check on Oliver and let the aid go home? I’ll take care of the reindeer and everything.”
Becky looked relieved. “Thank you. I’ll do that. Leave the truck, and I’ll unload later.”
Marissa nodded, although she had no intention of leaving work for Becky. She unloaded the reindeer, brushed each one, and led them into their pen. “You girls did well today. Great party.” She gave each of them a pat on the rump before she left the pen.
It had been a good party. The homeschool kids were really into the magic of the reindeer and Santa Claus, and Chris was selling the whole child-loving, jolly old elf persona quite well. But, of course, it was an illusion.
And she should recognize an illusion when she saw it, having been fooled so many times. She’d been so in love with Chris. The day he put a ring on her finger, she was happier than she’d ever been. But then he’d started to withdraw, to push her away. When she tried to make plans, he’d change the subject. It all came to a head that weekend they’d skied at Alyeska. The day she’d brought up children.
Just outside the resort, they’d spied a family gathering at one of the Nordic ski trails—two boys, maybe nine and seven, a preschool girl riding on her dad’s back, and the mom with a baby in a front pack. The mother transferred the little girl and the baby into a pulk, one of those small nylon tents on a sled, while the dad got the two boys outfitted with skis and poles, all involving an incredible amount of noise and confusion. But eventually, the family started off down the trail, with the dad pulling the pulk behind him and the mom chasing after the two boys, who’d surged ahead. After they’d gone by, Marissa laughed. “They have their hands full.”
“I’ll say.” Chris looked after them and smiled as the boys raced forward, pretending they didn’t hear their mother calling for them to slow down.
Marissa took his hand. “How many do you want?”
“How many what?” Chris seemed genuinely confused.
“Children. How many kids do you think we should have?”
The look of horror on his face said it all. “Kids? Oh, no. I’m not cut out to have kids.”
Marissa tried to smooth over his blunt reply. “It wouldn’t be for a few years. The plan is to get my career established first, and have the kids between thirty and thirty-five.”
“No. Not now, not in a few years.”
“But—”
“No. I know what it’s like to have a bad father. I wouldn’t do that to an innocent child.”
“Oh, come on, you’d be a great dad. Just think—”
He stopped in his tracks. “No, I wouldn’t. I won’t.”
Marissa crossed her arms across her chest. “What are you saying? You’ve just made that decision for both of us? What I want doesn’t matter?”
He blew out a breath. “It’s always about what you want. I’ve agreed to all your wedding plans. I’ve agreed to leave my job behind if you decide you want to move away from Alaska once you graduate. But not this.”
“So, you’re not even willing to compromise?”
“Compromise how? Half a kid? Children can’t be a compromise. If both parents aren’t fully committed, they shouldn’t have children. Period.” He turned away and strode toward the hotel.
She ran to catch up and grabbed his arm to stop him, to force him to look at her. “I’ve always wanted children. What if this is nonnegotiable for me?”
Chris shrugged. “Then I suppose you’ll have to make up your mind which is more important, marrying me or finding someone who wants kids. It’s your decision.”
And in the end, she made it. She couldn’t marry someone so deeply selfish he wasn’t even willing to discuss the possibility of children, knowing how important they were to her. Pretty ironic as it turned out, but the point stood. She’d believed Chris was the one. She was wrong.
And she’d been wrong again. Wrong when she’d thought Robert would make the perfect husband and father, and so very wrong when she’d believed Jason was someone she could trust. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
So many bad choices, but she was finally taking the lessons to heart. She had poor judgment when it came to men. Much better to focus on the aspects of her life she did well, like her career and her family. Not that she’d done so well with family in the past few years, but now she would, because the scare with Oliver made her realize he and Becky meant more to her than anything else in the world.
She went back to work, taking care of the rabbits and feeding the goats and Willa, the potbellied pig. Once she’d checked that the chickens were all right, she unloaded the party gear from the truck. The mail still lay on the front seat where she’d left it.
She put the truck away and carried the letters to the house, sorting through them to see if anything had been forwarded to her. A large “second notice” stamp on one of Oliver’s envelopes caught her eye. Uh-oh.
Oliver had always handled the bills. Maybe with his illness, he’d fallen behind. Marissa decided that after dinner she would volunteer to help out. The scent of sage and onions greeted her when she opened the back door. Becky was stirring the chicken soup she’d started in the slow cooker that morning. Marissa closed her eyes and inhaled. “Mmm. I’m starved.”
“Then it’s a good thing we’re ready to eat.” Becky dished up bowls of soup filled with big chunks of chicken, vegetables and barley. Oliver sat at the kitchen table, slicing bread. Marissa hurried to wash up.
After dinner, she washed the dishes and Becky dried. While her aunt was still wiping down the countertops, Marissa slipped into the living room to talk with her uncle. “I brought in the mail today and left it on your desk.”
“Okay, thanks.” Oliver reached for the remote control.
“I, um, couldn’t help but notice that one of the envelopes said second notice.”
Oliver didn’t look at her. “Humph. Must be some computer error or something.”
“Do you want me to check? I’m good with paperwork, if you need me to balance your accounts or anything.”
“No, no. I can handle it.” He was answering too quickly.
She studied his face, at least what she could see of it, since he still hadn’t looked her way. “I know you can, but as long as I’m here, why don’t you go ahead and write the check so I can put it in the mail tomorrow?”
He snapped the television on to some reality show that she knew he had zero interest in. “Not necessary.”
“Aren’t you curious as to which bill is late?”
He shook his head and pretended to watch the show. He knew. It wasn’t some computer error. Oliver knew exactly which bill was late and why. What was going on with their finances?
“Uncle Oliver, tell me the truth. What’s wrong?”
For a moment, he ignored her. Finally, he clicked the TV off, but continued to stare at the screen. “We’re having a little cash flow problem.”
“Why?”
“I made a bad investment.”
A sense of foreboding formed an icicle in her stomach. “What kind of investment?”
He shrugged.
And she knew. “You invested with Jason, didn’t you?”
Jason had gone out of his way to welcome them when they’d visited in February. He’d asked all sorts of questions about the farm and life in Alaska. He’d seemed fascinated with Oliver’s stories of the reindeer farm and how isolated they were with their closest neighbors a mile away, a couple who used the house only in the summer. And of course, Oliver ate it up.
Jason had never mentioned money or investing while Marissa was around. He’d obviously waited until he had Oliver alone. Of course, even if Marissa had realized he was soliciting investments from Oliver, she wouldn’t have objected. After all, she’d entrusted her own modest savings with him. And now Oliver and Becky were facing old age and illness without any financial cushion, while Jason lived it up with their money on a tropical island somewhere. Damn him.
Oliver eyed her with concern. “Honey, it’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”
“I should have known. The whole setup was wrong. It was too good to be true. He was too good to be true.”
Her uncle reached for her hand. “Don’t beat yourself up. Most people are basically good. So, you and I let a slick huckster take our money. Next time we’ll know to ask more questions. But what would be the real tragedy is if we let him destroy our faith in people, don’t you think?”
How did he do it? Here he was, sick, unable to pay his bills and yet he was comforting her. Her heart swelled with pride to be related to such a man. She hugged him. “I think you’re the world’s best uncle.”
He chuckled. “I believe I have a mug that says so. Don’t you worry about that bill. Once Becky takes today’s check to the bank, we can pay it and the feed store. And the good news is we have several more parties scheduled between now and Christmas. We’ll be fine.”
But what about after Christmas? There was a huge gap between Christmas parties and the summer tourist season. They were going to require a regular income above their modest retirement checks just to get by, and the transplant wouldn’t be cheap. As soon as she could make it happen, Marissa needed to find a job.
