Dashing Through the Mall: Santa, BabyAssignment HumbugDeck the Halls

by Sherryl Woods

  “Either. Both.” He cleared his throat. “Either or both.”

  She cocked her head. She was directly under a street-lamp, so he could see the smile in her eyes. “As you’ve pointed out repeatedly,” she said softly, but not so softly that he couldn’t hear, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  His heart drummed. Please let him have read the signals correctly. She’d seemed so gung ho against him this morning, but now…now, the signals she was sending out were as clear as the ones conveyed by candles shining in a window.

  Was Merry welcoming him back into her life, the same way those candles welcomed visitors during the holiday season?

  He pinned her with his gaze. The parking lot light shone down on her, bathing her in a warm glow. In front of him, he could see everything he’d ever wanted.

  “I’m not inviting you to spend only this Christmas with me, Merry.” He needed to make his position clear. “I’m asking for all the Christmases to come. Every one, for the rest of our lives.”

  She stared at him, this woman he’d loved almost from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, this woman he never wanted to live without.

  “Why don’t you just ask me if I’ve changed my mind about the wedding?” she whispered.

  He couldn’t contain the hope that soared in him now. It made him feel almost light-headed. She wouldn’t prompt him like that if she meant to say no.

  “Have you changed your mind, love?” He stepped toward her. “Will you marry me?”

  “Y…”

  The sound of a bag ripping followed by a thud interrupted her answer. He gazed down at his feet to see the box containing the indoor grill, which had crashed to the pavement a mere six inches from his foot. Talk about bad timing.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  He grimaced. “Nothing you need to see yet.”

  He reached down to pick up the box, and inadvertently dropped some of the other bags. Presents spilled from them. The stuffed pig, the iPod, the sun-sensitive tote. They all ended up next to the grill box.

  Merry stared at the loot on the pavement.

  “Those things you bought today,” she said in a strange, strained voice, “they weren’t for your family, were they?”

  He’d meant the gifts to be a surprise but could hardly keep them a secret now.

  “You’re right,” he admitted. “They’re all for you.”

  She didn’t say anything for a long moment, but stared at him as though she’d never seen him before. Her expression hardened.

  “Then here’s your answer.” Her voice sounded strident, her words clipped. “No. I haven’t changed my mind. The wedding’s still off.”

  She dropped the bags she’d offered to carry, spun on her heel and left him amid the presents and his dashed hopes.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE COOL NIGHT AIR slapped Merry in the face as she hurried toward the entrance of the mall. Her eyes stung with the effort not to cry.

  To think she’d been on the verge of telling Patrick that she loved him and wanted to go through with the wedding.

  No matter how much her heart ached at the thought of never being his wife, now that was impossible.

  “Merry, wait!”

  Patrick was behind her, but she rushed blindly on, through the mall doors and down the main thoroughfare. She doubted she’d ever moved so fast in her life. The Christmas village was ahead, where she’d watched the improbable snow whirl around the happy children.

  She saw the snow again, but this time she was approaching the scene from a different direction. This time she saw the oversize fan lifting the artificial flakes into the air. She stopped, her eyes blurring with unshed tears, as the magic she’d thought she glimpsed disappeared like snowflakes in the sun.

  She hadn’t seen a snow squall inside the mall. She’d seen a mirage.

  “Merry, don’t do this. Talk to me.”

  It was Patrick’s voice, close enough behind her that she couldn’t escape him now. She blinked a half-dozen times to dry her tears, then turned for the inevitable confrontation.

  He looked both stunned and hurt, his hair tousled from his dash through the parking lot, his expression confused.

  “What just happened back there?” he asked. “Why did you run off like that?”

  The fact that he had to ask underscored their problem. She gestured broadly in the direction of the parking lot, where he must have abandoned all her unwanted gifts. But his brow furrowed, as if he still didn’t understand.

  “Because of the presents,” she explained.

  “The presents?” He sounded incredulous. “You won’t marry me because I bought you presents?”

  The knowledge that she’d been right to break the engagement caused her stomach to pitch and roll. How naive she’d been to get caught up in the excitement of the season and let herself believe they could work things out.

  There wouldn’t be any magical ending for her and Patrick, just as there hadn’t been any magic in the Christmas village.

  Her throat constricted but she didn’t cry. “You don’t know the first thing about me,” she choked out.

  “How can you say that?” He stepped closer so that she couldn’t miss the sincerity in his expression. “I bought the grill because you like to cook. I got the stuffed pig because the pig is your favorite animal. The tote bag has a beach scene and changes colors in the sun, both of which you enjoy.”

  “Why can’t you see that presents aren’t enough?” she said and realized she’d stumbled across the crux of the problem. She bit her bottom lip in a failed attempt to keep it from trembling. She steadied it with her top teeth, composed herself, then said, “They never have been. Not when they were from my parents and not when they’re from you.”

  “Your parents? What do your parents have to do with this?”

  “Nothing. Everything.” She tried to compose her thoughts and then the words spilled out of her like water from a faucet. “There was never an occasion when I was growing up that they didn’t shower me with presents. It took me longer than any kid I knew to open everything on Christmas morning.”

  “But that’s what every kid wants.”

  “It’s not what I wanted. I wanted parents like yours.”

  “Like mine? But there were five kids in our family. We hardly got anything for Christmas.”

  “Your parents watched you when you opened your presents. Mine were in Aruba or Cancun or Hawaii.” She barely paused. “Would you be there for our kids, Patrick? Would you be there for me?”

  “Of course I would.”

  “There’s no of course about it. Don’t you see the parallel? My parents bought all those gifts to make up for not being there. Since you changed jobs, you’re not around, either.”

  “That’s not fair. I just started at The Goulden Group, Merry. I need to establish myself so I can build a secure future for us. I want you to have the best of everything.”

  “But this is how it starts. Once you buy the big house and the expensive car and everything else you think you need to be happy, you have to keep working those long, ridiculous hours. Because if you don’t, you won’t be able to afford to pay for it all.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. He appeared to be completely at a loss, the way her parents would be if she told them the same thing.

  “I can return the presents,” he said, his brow still furrowed. “This doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

  “Not a big deal?” she repeated and shook her head. “You mean, like the doves?”

  “Exactly. Like I keep telling you, I don’t care about the doves.”

  But because he didn’t have a handle on why she didn’t care to have them at the wedding, similar items would crop up for the rest of their lives if she married him. It wouldn’t always be something as ephemeral as doves, but it would always be something.

  “You should return the presents. But it won’t make any difference with me and you.” She forced the next words past her trembling lips. “It’s over,
Patrick.”

  She watched sorrow descend over his face like a dark cloud and felt the same sadness envelop her.

  “You really mean it this time, don’t you?” he asked.

  Again tears formed in her eyes, threatening to spill over. Again she held them back. “I really do,” she said softly.

  She could almost see the wheels in his head turning, but he didn’t know her well enough to mount an argument that would convince her to change her mind.

  “I’ll give the engagement ring back, of course,” she said through the thickness in her throat.

  “No.” His head shook. “You can sell the ring if you want, but I won’t take it back. I gave it to you. It’s yours.”

  He was so adamant that she nodded. She already knew she’d never sell the ring, and not because it was worth a small fortune. She’d keep it forever as a remembrance of a man she’d always love.

  “Merry! Patrick!” A woman’s voice rang out, reminding her they were in a public place. Merry turned to see a familiar blonde rushing toward them, dragging an oversize box. “I found it!”

  She wasn’t much more than five feet tall, her hair was a riot of curls and she had a spring to her step. After a moment, Merry placed her. Kelly, the woman looking for the perfect gift for her husband.

  “Aren’t those golf clubs?” Merry asked when Kelly reached them.

  She nodded happily. “They most certainly are.”

  “What’s perfect about golf clubs?”

  “One of the reasons my marriage broke up is that I was always complaining about how much time my husband spent at the golf course,” she said.

  “Then you did it,” Patrick said. “Congratulations. You really did find the perfect gift.”

  “Why?” Merry asked. “I still don’t get it.”

  “By buying the golf clubs, I’m telling my husband I won’t nag him about the time he spends away from me,” Kelly said. “I’m telling him I accept him just the way he is.”

  Kelly strongly suggested they get her on tape so she could tell the WZLM-13 audience the ending to her story. Patrick’s camera bag was still slung over his shoulder. He removed it, and Merry went through the motions until Kelly was through talking.

  “Thanks,” she said with a huge smile. Before she left, she looked from Merry to Patrick and said, “I just have to say this. You two would make the cutest couple.”

  Kelly bustled off, taking her high-spirited energy with her. Merry didn’t want to think about her pronouncement, because she and Patrick would never be a couple again. He’d claimed love was enough. But it wasn’t.

  “You should go pick up those things you dropped,” she told him. “I’ll wait for you here.”

  He didn’t speak, but nodded briefly. And then he turned away from her. She watched him go. Although he was only walking to his car, it felt as though he moved a little farther from her life with every step he traveled.

  THE FALLEN PRESENTS lay where Patrick had left them, although anybody passing by could easily have run off with them.

  The likelihood of that happening tonight, of all nights, was low. Bad things didn’t happen on Christmas Eve. The night before Christmas was supposed to be full of wonder and magic.

  So why on this enchanted night was he losing the only woman he’d ever loved?

  Patrick couldn’t make sense of how a day that had begun with such promise could be ending this way. He’d go to great lengths to fix whatever had gone wrong between him and Merry, but he wasn’t exactly sure what it was.

  He was forced to concede that she was right. He didn’t understand her.

  He picked up the presents he’d chosen so carefully, noting that the box holding the grill was crushed and the product probably broken. Like his heart. He took a deep breath, the cold like ice in his lungs, and loaded the bags in the trunk of his car.

  His body on autopilot, he drove to a spot closer to the mall, parked and got out of his Lexus. His mind churned with the puzzle of why his quest to buy Merry the perfect present had backfired.

  The women he’d dated in the past enjoyed receiving gifts, as did his mother.

  When he began making money of his own, he’d showered his mother with the fruits of his success: jewelry for her birthday, electronics for Mother’s Day, flowers for no reason at all and surprises galore at Christmas.

  Bridget MacFarland had appreciated every last one of the gifts, probably because her husband had never been in a position to buy her much more than the necessities.

  Patrick’s father had ably supported his large family by laboring long hours on a construction crew after the MacFarlands had emigrated from Ireland. Any money left over after expenses had gone into savings.

  Eventually Sean MacFarland had been able to invest in a roofing business, the profits of which were still paying for the college education of his two youngest daughters.

  Patrick knew the value of hard work. He’d put himself through college on scholarships, grants and the money he made from summer jobs. But he’d never worked harder in his life than he had these past three months at The Goulden Group.

  He’d taken the job primarily because he wanted to afford more than the necessities for Merry. So why couldn’t Merry, like his mother, be pleased about receiving gifts that had come from his heart?

  Among the people exiting the mall when he entered were an elderly man humming loudly to the tune of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and a young couple with toddlers who’d probably spoken to Santa.

  All was as it should be on Christmas Eve at King’s Mall, except that he wasn’t going to have Merry in his Christmas.

  She was waiting for him at the directory near the front of the mall. So many people had crowded around the directory earlier today that it had been a struggle to get close to it.

  But with less than an hour to go before the mall closed, the crowds were largely gone. Only a smattering of shoppers remained.

  He squared his shoulders as he approached, aware that despite everything he hadn’t stopped hoping for a Christmas miracle. He kept his voice light and asked, “What’s the plan?”

  She answered in her professional TV-reporter voice, the one that put distance between herself and the person she was talking to. “I thought we’d go back to housewares at Harrington and Vine’s. That’s where the longest line was earlier today.”

  The store where the jolly man had sung his fa la la’s was also where Patrick had fooled himself into believing in happy endings.

  The mall was silent except for the soft sounds of the Christmas carols Patrick no longer felt like humming along with. He could hear the click of their heels on the floor—and angry voices. Patrick stopped walking.

  “Do you hear what I hear?” He listened more carefully and heard two distinct voices, both of them male, both of them loud. “I think they’re coming from the novelty shop.”

  “I think you’re right,” Merry said.

  Together they moved toward the store, which Patrick recognized as the same one he’d patronized earlier today. Making sure Merry was safely behind him, he entered the novelty shop and followed the angry words.

  Near the counter, two men who looked to be in their thirties shouted at each other. They were a good physical match, about six feet tall and two hundred pounds apiece.

  One man had shoulder-length hair and a thick mustache, but his most prominent feature was a face turned red with anger. The other man, who wore his hair in a military-style crew cut, seemed more in control except for his clenched fists.

  “I saw it first,” Red Face shouted. “So it’s mine.”

  “That’s bull,” Crew Cut retorted. Clutched in his hand was a familiar rectangular box. “Whoever grabs it first, gets it.”

  “You only got to it first because you shoved your way in front of me.”

  “It’s not my fault you’re slow.”

  Merry craned her neck to see around Patrick, whose body shielded hers from the confrontation. “What are they arguing over? What’s in the box?�
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  Patrick took a closer look and realized why the box had seemed familiar. He had one inside his Lexus.

  “It’s the Walter Cronkite bobblehead. They’re fighting over a doll,” he said flatly and turned on his camera.

  “What are you doing?” Merry asked.

  “Getting some video.” He gazed over his shoulder at her. “Isn’t this the kind of thing you’ve been looking for all day?”

  “Yes, but…”

  Red Face’s booming voice drowned out whatever she’d been about to say. “Slow? I’d watch what I said if I were you. I have a black belt.”

  “You’re the one who should watch what you say to me,” Crew Cut rejoined. “I played football in college.”

  The salesclerk, a small man with a build more suited to gymnastics than contact sports, ventured forward but stopped shy of the two men.

  “Can’t we settle this another way?” The clerk’s voice sounded nervous. “I have other bobblehead dolls. Maybe one of you would rather have a Johnny Carson. Or a Jimmy Carter or a Ronald Reagan. We’ve still got all of those left.”

  “I want the Cronkite,” Crew Cut bellowed. “My father will get a kick out of it. Cronkite was his favorite newsman.”

  “I want the Cronkite, too,” Red Face shouted. “My son’s planning to go into broadcast journalism.”

  “Cronkite retired more than twenty years ago. Your son probably doesn’t even know who he is. My father cried the night he went off the air.”

  “I’ll teach my boy about Cronkite.” Red Face’s voice rose another notch. “I’ll explain why he was the most trusted figure in America.”

  “Guys, please.” The little salesman threw up his hands. “How can you act this way? It’s Christmas Eve.”

  “I don’t care what day it is. I want that doll!” Crew Cut shouted.

  Red Face wouldn’t let him have the last word. “So do I.”

  They looked daggers at each other, neither man giving an inch. Patrick usually kept his camera running and let situations run their course, but he couldn’t in good conscience stand by while men came to blows on Christmas Eve. He shut off his camera and stepped into the fray. “I can settle this.”