A Small Town Christmas

by Sheila Roberts

  “Well, then,” Glen said, “if we’re gonna be on time for the school program we’d better get going.” He clapped his hands together. “Okay, guys. Let’s go get some dinner.”

  “Beggie tales,” Tyler protested as Glen turned off the TV, shutting down Bob the Tomato.

  “We’ve gotta go eat, kid. Otherwise we’ll be late for your sister’s concert.”

  “Beggie tales,” Tyler repeated, and started to bawl.

  There was no reasoning with a two-year-old. Glen scooped him up and followed Laura and Amy to the front door.

  Tyler kept crying all the way. He finally simmered down to whimpers when he saw Laura pulling their coats out of the closet.

  “Oh, we almost forgot the camera,” she said. “Put your coat on, sweetie,” she instructed Amy, and hurried off to the spare room that doubled as an office to retrieve the digital. “Can you get the diaper bag?” she called to Glen.

  “Got it. Stay right there,” he told the kids.

  He found the diaper bag hanging on a peg in the laundry room where Laura always kept it along with the spare diapers. Of course, it was empty. The daycare must have used up the last of them.

  He sighed. Why was it always such a big production to go anywhere with kids?

  He had just reloaded when he heard Amy cry, “Tyler, no! That’s mine.”

  Oh boy, Tyler the Terrible was at it again and that meant trouble. Glen left the laundry room at a fast trot.

  “Tyler, no!” This was followed by fresh wailing from Tyler. Really not good.

  Glen’s trot became a gallop and he and Laura both got to the front hall just as Amy shoved her little brother. Tyler tumbled back, his crying accelerating to a screech. He caught a potted plant on his way down and tipped that over, sending dirt everywhere. Amy the aggressor stood clutching a stuffed reindeer.

  “Amy!” Laura scolded.

  “He took my reindeer,” Amy said.

  What a mess! Glen set the pot upright again while Laura got a completely bananas Tyler on his feet, all the while soothing, “It’s okay. You’re all right.”

  “You need to share with your brother,” Glen said to Amy. He had to raise his voice to make himself heard over his son. The kid was going to break his eardrums, he was sure.

  “He’d wreck it,” she insisted.

  “Tyler, stop crying,” Glen pleaded. “We’re going to Burger Land. I’ll get you a Monster Meal.”

  Tyler was crying too loud to even hear him.

  “Come on. Let’s get your coat on,” Laura said calmly to the howling Tyler, and started stuffing him into his jacket.

  How did she manage to stay calm when Tyler was carrying on so hard he looked like his face was going to melt? Listening to that racket fried practically every nerve in Glen’s body. He took the Dust Buster out of the corner of the coat closet and set to work vacuuming up the mess. Even that couldn’t drown out his son.

  Laura picked up Tyler the noise machine. “Okay, let’s go. Make sure you get the right costume,” she told Glen as she opened the door.

  What did he look like, an idiot? “I’m on it,” he snapped, and stuffed the Dust Buster back in the closet. He was just getting his keys when the phone rang. He snagged it with one hand while he grabbed a bag with the other. “Hello,” he barked into the receiver.

  “Hello, sir. I’m Leon from the Holly Herald. How are you tonight?”

  Fried and half deaf. “Look, I’m headed out the door,” Glen said.

  “Well, this will only take a minute,” Leon assured him. “I’m calling to offer you a free trial subscription to the Herald.”

  Laura was already buying the paper on a regular basis, thanks to the strike. Once this was over Glen didn’t care if he ever saw that rag again. Anyway, he got all his news on the Internet.

  “No, thanks,” he said.

  “How about just the Sunday edition?” Leon pushed.

  “Come on, Glen,” Laura called from the driveway.

  “I’m in the damn Sunday edition,” Glen snarled, and hung up.

  With everyone piled in the minivan, they all took off for Burger Land. Tyler had finally shut up, but it took Glen two burgers and a salad to feel like he was in control of his world again. Tyler spilled ice cream all over himself, but who cared? At least he wasn’t crying.

  “We’d better get going,” Laura said after she’d mopped Tyler down. “We don’t want our star to be late,” she added, smiling at Amy.

  “I have a part to say,” Amy announced once they were back in the minivan, then launched into her speech. “I am Mother Nature’s child, and when it’s cold and snowing you can make a fire from me and get warm while I’m glowing.”

  “Good job,” Glen told her. “You’ll do great.”

  At school, Laura took Tyler and went to find seats in the auditorium, leaving Glen to get Amy to her classroom. Mrs. Green, the kindergarten teacher, was in her glory, oohing and aahing over every kid’s dopey-looking costume as she helped each one get ready. Two slightly frazzled parent helpers—both dads, big surprise—were helping her get the kids’ costumes on over their regular clothes. One guy was trying to pin leaves in his little girl’s hair. It gave Glen horrible flashbacks of when he had to get Amy ready for her picture with Santa. The guy saw Glen and glared at him like it was all Glen’s fault he was in this room with twenty hyped five-year-olds. Right. Like it was Glen who started this thing.

  Mrs. Green came up to him and Amy, her dangly Rudolph earrings flashing. “Hello, Amy. Hello, Mr. Fredericks. Did Amy tell you she has a part to say tonight?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Glen said. “She knows it by heart.”

  “And she’s going to do a very good job,” said Mrs. Green. “Aren’t you, Amy?” Mrs. Green was the perfect woman to be a kindergarten teacher. She was middle-aged, short and round, and looked like everybody’s grandma.

  Amy looked adoringly at her and nodded.

  She patted Amy’s shoulder, then said to Glen, “We’re a little behind, so maybe you wouldn’t mind staying behind a moment and helping Amy into her costume?”

  That was the last thing Glen wanted to do, but how did you say no to Grandma? “Sure, no problem.”

  Another parent came into the room, kid in tow, and Mrs. Green gave Glen and Amy a final smile and hurried off to usher in the new arrival.

  “Well, let’s get you ready for your big role,” he said to his daughter. He opened the bag and pulled out…“What the hell?” Panic rose in him clear up to his eyeballs. “This is your angel costume,” he told Amy. What was that doing here? He shoved it back into the bag.

  “But, Daddy, I’m a tree,” she said, looking at him wide-eyed.

  Shit, shit, shit. Where was the tree costume? Back home, of course, in the other bag. What was he going to do? He couldn’t put Amy in this. She’d stick out like the Easter Bunny at a Halloween party.

  She was biting her lip now and looking around at the other kids in the room. Tree, tree, angel. She was going to be a math genius; even at five she could tell when things weren’t adding up.

  “Don’t panic,” Glen said to both of them. “It’ll be okay.”

  No, it wouldn’t. This was a disaster. His kid would be a laughingstock. He thought fast, calculating the time it would take to get from school to home and back again. They were here fifteen minutes early. It would take almost ten of those fifteen minutes to get out of here and to the house. But these things never started on time. Then the principal would give a welcome speech. That would take at least five minutes. He could do it. He had to.

  Kneeling in front of Amy, he took both her arms. “Daddy’s going to run home and get your tree costume, so don’t worry. Okay?”

  She nodded, a world of trust in those big eyes. “Okay.”

  He turned and bolted for the door. Going out of the room he almost knocked over Mac, who was delivering his son.

  “Whoa, dude. What’s the hurry?”

  “I’ve gotta get home,” Glen called over his shoulder. “We got the
wrong costume.”

  “You’ll never make it back in time,” Mac called after him.

  Oh, yes, he would. He was in the minivan in less than two minutes. He took it slow going out of the parking lot, not wanting to run down a kid, but once he was on the road, he floored it. He had to get back with that costume.

  His cell phone rang and he pulled it out of his coat pocket and checked the number. Laura. If she thought he was going to take her call so she could rag on him she was nuts. He dropped the phone back in his pocket and pressed down harder on the gas pedal.

  He made it home in record time, snagged the bag, and dashed back to the minivan. You can do this, he told himself and screeched away from the curb. Just a few more minutes…

  He was almost to the school when he heard the police siren. Shit, shit, shit!

  Rosemary Charles had noticed that Glen Fredericks wasn’t seated in the school auditorium with his wife like the rest of the men. She’d elbowed Rick and pointed to where Laura Fredericks sat. A tall, skinny guy with hair like Weird Al was leaning over the chick’s shoulder, whispering something in her ear.

  “Something’s gone wrong,” Rosemary said.

  That was obvious. Laura Fredericks looked ready to go ballistic. She shot up from her seat like she’d gotten an electric shock to the butt and scooted down the row of people, trampling several sets of feet in the process, then raced out of the auditorium.

  “Okay, I smell something juicy,” Rosemary said. “Be right back.” Then she was off across the auditorium and talking to the tall, wild-haired guy and his wife. She nodded sympathetically, but she was wearing her reporter’s-scoop smile when she came back to Rick. “Oh, this is good. Fredericks brought the wrong costume and he’s gone home to get the right one.”

  Rick frowned at her. “And you’re hoping like hell he screws up and doesn’t get back in time so his kid will be scarred for life.”

  Rosemary frowned back. “I don’t want his kid scarred for life.”

  “But you want him to not make it back. That’s kind of sick, isn’t it?”

  Rosemary smiled. “His little girl will be okay, trust me. Teachers are always prepared for this sort of emergency. And it’s Fredericks’s suffering I’m interested in. It’s great for the story. So, I need you to go hang out in the parking lot and get a picture of him coming in.”

  “I’m surprised you don’t want a picture of the kid in her underwear,” Rick grumbled.

  “Just go, will you?”

  He was here on assignment. He had to. But he didn’t like it. And as he lurked in a dark corner of the parking lot, hunched inside his coat, he felt like some sort of traitor to his sex.

  The cold air tickled the back of his neck with icy fingers, and he pulled his coat collar tighter around his neck. This was a total waste of his talent. Some photographers got pictures of people digging through the ruins of war, or of runners breaking through the tape for a gold medal. What was he getting? Pictures of pathetic Christmas trees and even more pathetic men who couldn’t even find the right costume for their kids’ Christmas program. This was dumb, if you asked him. But no one had.

  In the distance he heard a police siren. Probably the one big thing that would ever happen in Holly was taking place right now and here he was, hanging around the elementary school parking lot, missing out.

  But wait. The siren was getting closer.

  Suddenly he saw a minivan blowing up the street, a patrol car in hot pursuit. Who did the clown think he was, O. J. Simpson? Was he ever going to stop? Wait a minute. That minivan looked familiar. Forgetting all about feeling like a traitor, Rick took off across the parking lot. This picture wouldn’t exactly measure up to Olympic gold, but it was as close to gold as he was going to come here in Holly.

  “Officer, I can explain,” Glen started to say to the angry cop approaching his window. And then he recognized that square jaw and the thin lips. “Oh, no.”

  The thin lips got even thinner and pulled down into a frown. “What was it this time, Mr. Fredericks? Did you run out of eggnog?”

  “I got the wrong costume for the school program. My little girl’s gonna be the only one who’s not wearing leaves. They’re starting any minute.” The cop didn’t look like he believed Glen. “I’ve got it right here,” Glen rushed on and started to reach for the bag next to him.

  “Keep your hands where I can see them,” barked the cop.

  “Oh, man, look. I’m not lying. And you know I’m not a criminal. You already ran my license twice, for God’s sake. You can check my story for yourself if you don’t believe me. The bag’s right there.”

  “I’m going to ask you to please step out of the car, sir.” Hand on his gun, the officer stepped back.

  As Glen got out he caught sight of that damned photographer from the Herald, across the street, snapping pictures. “Great. This is just great,” he muttered.

  The officer leaned in the car and snagged the bag. He opened it and looked inside, then tossed the bag back on the seat with a disgusted frown.

  “Okay, can I please go to the school now?” Glen pleaded.

  “As soon as I give you a ticket. Please get back in the car. I’ll need your license and driver’s registration.”

  “Oh, come on!” Glen cried. “The program’s going to start. I promised my kid.”

  “The sooner you get that information for me the sooner you can go.”

  “Oh, man. How about a little sympathy here?” Glen begged as he dug out his license. “You’ve got kids. What would you have done if you were me?”

  “Checked the bag before I left home.”

  Glen handed over his license and registration, then swore under his breath as Barney Fife went back to his patrol car. He drummed the wheel while the cop did his thing. His heart was thumping like he was racing down a football field. Come on, come on, come on! He was starting to sweat now. He looked at his watch. Okay, the program had started. If the cop gave him his ticket in the next sixty seconds, then if he made it into the parking lot in under a minute, if he ran down the hall…he’d still be almost fifteen minutes late. Please don’t have started on time.

  The officer came back with yet another present from the Holly P.D. “You might want to remember that I’m right behind you when you pull out.”

  “Thanks,” Glen said between clenched teeth. This was police brutality. Or something. He was going to report this guy.

  He pulled out. Slowly. Went down the street. One mile under the limit. Signaled. Turned into the school parking lot. And parked his car in a load zone.

  He grabbed the bag with the costume and bolted into the school. Down the hall, turn the corner, past the principal’s office, down one more hall, heart pumping, lungs stinging. There was Mrs. Green’s room.

  And no one was in it.

  “Noooo,” Glen bellowed, and collapsed on a little desk. The thing crumpled under his weight and tipped him on his butt. It was the final straw. He lifted his eyes heavenward and roared, “Why me?”

  But deep down, he knew. This was like some huge, cosmic plot to ruin him. God was punishing him. First he’d taken his wife for granted, then, only last week he’d…He had to get to confession. He’d go tomorrow, he resolved. If he lived through tonight.

  He picked up both himself and the desk, then left the room for the auditorium, where Laura would be waiting to kill him.

  Twenty

  The kindergarten class was just filing off the stage when Glen made his way down a row of irritated parents, muttering, “’Scuze me.”

  Laura frowned up at him. “Why didn’t you answer your cell?” she hissed as he fell onto the seat next to her.

  “I was kind of busy,” he hissed back. He looked at the departing forest of trees. “Where’s Amy? Did she get to go on?”

  “That’s what I was trying to call you about. Mrs. Green had an extra costume that she keeps for emergencies. You didn’t need to leave.”

  He’d risked heart failure, broken the sound barrier, gotten anoth
er ticket, and sent his car insurance rates through the roof for nothing. And he’d missed seeing Amy make her speech. He crossed his arms in front of him and began to quietly turn the air blue.

  “Glen.” Laura glared at him.

  He shut up, polite on the outside, cursing on the inside.

  “Hey, sorry you missed seeing your kid,” Mac said to him after the program was over. “At least your wife got pictures of it.” He stuck his cell phone in Glen’s face, showing Glen a picture of his son. It was impossible to tell whether or not the kid in the picture was Mac’s. Mostly it looked like a brown cardboard tower with legs under it.

  They collected Amy, who, like all the other kids was already bouncing in anticipation of cookies and punch. “Did you see me, Daddy?”

  Laura was looking at him in disgust. He felt like the world’s biggest doof. “You were great,” he said. No lie there. He was sure she was.

  They ate cookies and drank gross red punch with the other parents for a while. But then Tyler managed to dump punch all over another kid and it was time to go.

  They found the minivan right where Glen had left it. No ticket, thank God. Maybe he just wouldn’t tell Laura about the one he got tonight. She’d find out soon enough, and she already had plenty to get on him about. And she was gearing up for it. He could tell by the way she was snapping her gum. He climbed in behind the wheel and braced for the assault.

  Sure enough. “Glen, I thought you checked the bag.”

  Was every woman given a lifetime supply of salt at birth to rub in a guy’s wounds? “Don’t start with me,” he warned as they drove out of the parking lot.

  “It’s probably going be in the paper, you know. Rosemary Charles and the photographer were here tonight.”

  “I know,” Glen said between gritted teeth. That would be front page news. And tomorrow she’d have something to say about that, too. Like he needed her telling him he’d screwed up. Like he couldn’t see that for himself. Like he didn’t already feel rotten. Like this wasn’t all her fault in the first place, her and her damned strike. He kept his gaze straight ahead. If he even so much as looked at Laura right now he knew his head would pop off.