Читать книгу Santa Brought A Son - Melissa Mcclone - Страница 11

As “Jingle Bells” played from speakers hidden among the fake snow and icicles at the mall’s version of the North Pole, Timmy Wilson stared at the line of kids waiting to visit Santa Claus. He was almost eight years old, too old to believe in Santa, let alone sit on his lap, but Grandma told him this was important to his mom so here he was.

“Tell Santa what you want for Christmas,” Grandma said.

“Shouldn’t Santa know what every kid wants?”

Grandma sighed. “That’s what your father used to say.”

Timmy missed his dad more than anything. He’d been in Heaven for three years, and Timmy figured his dad must play baseball everyday up there. “I wish he was here and could teach me how to throw a curve ball.”

She blinked. “Me, too, Timmy. Me, too.”

A girl, wearing an elf’s costume and pointy shoes, led him to Santa, who sat in a large chair. It sort of reminded Timmy of a king’s throne. This Santa had a real beard and small gold-rimmed glasses. His fancy red suit looked new, and his black leather boots shone. Much better than the Santa from the Main Street Thanksgiving Parade.

Timmy glanced around hoping none of his little league teammates were at the mall, too. He could just imagine the teasing he’d get if they saw him.

“Would you rather sit or stand?” Santa asked.

“Stand,” Timmy admitted, “but the picture is for my mom and she’d probably like me on your lap.”

Santa patted his knee. “Climb up. We’ll make it fast.”

Timmy sat on Santa’s lap. It wasn’t so bad. This Santa didn’t wear padding. He also smelled good, sort of like a candy cane and a cookie.

Mrs. Claus stood behind a camera. “Smile.”

The flash blinded Timmy. He rubbed his eyes.

“What do you want for Christmas?” Santa asked.

“I already sent you a letter.” The picture had been taken. Now all Timmy wanted was to be done so he could get a smoothie. “After Thanksgiving.”

“That’s right. You asked for a Gameboy Advance, a skateboard and a book on pitching.” Santa’s blue eyes twinkled. “But there’s something else you want, something you haven’t told anyone about.”

No way. He couldn’t know that. Not unless he had super-mind-reading power or if he was the real thing. And if he was the real Santa…Timmy felt all shivery inside like the time Grandpa let him eat chocolate cake with ice cream for breakfast. He nodded. “Can you…”

“That’s a big request,” Santa answered before Timmy could get the words out. “I’ll try, but I might need a little help. It’s a busy time of year. Maybe an elf could help me out. Or an angel.” Santa adjusted his glasses. “Christmas is a time for miracles. Do you believe in miracles, Timmy?”

“I’ll believe in anything if it gets me a new dad.”