The Santa Accident

by Gemma Brocato

  Chris waved him off with a frown. “I forgot to bring the others with me. Here, let me put my personal number on the back. The front is my business number.”

  While Chris scrawled on the back, Ivy stared at the bumper. At least the two guys were nice about everything. They should be, considering they’d hit her. She hadn’t been her typical pleasant self. Her phone buzzed again, letting her know in an insistent kind of way that she was now forty minutes late.

  “I’m sure my insurance company will be in touch with yours.” She clutched the phone and card in one hand, and moved toward the car.

  Cole’s bright blue gaze burned her back; she was sure he was tracking her movements to the driver side. He cleared his throat. “We’ll be seeing you soon.”

  Ivy shook her head. Seeing her? She didn’t think so. Lifting a hand, she waved bye and slid behind the wheel. At least the SUV was drivable. She looked at her phone.

  Cintravtor not here yet. U OK?

  Ivy translated the typo’ed message to read ‘contractor’.

  Fine. On my way, she replied. At least she wasn’t the only one late.

  With a final look in the rear-view mirror, she pulled away from the scene of the accident, Cole’s memorable face growing smaller and smaller as she accelerated.

  Two

  With a shaking hand, Chris passed the keys to Cole as Ivy drove away. “I can’t drive,” he stated flatly.

  Lifting his hand, palm out, Cole refused them. “Chris, accidents happen. I was watching. You didn’t do anything wrong. That blue car speeding through the intersection was the cause of this, not you.” They’d had this argument more and more lately. Chris was old, sure. But not ancient enough, or slow enough, to force him to give up driving privileges. Chris knew that’s what weighed most heavily on his uncle’s mind.

  “My reaction time is too sluggish. I’m a hazard.” Lips turned down, Chris pressed the keys back into Cole’s hand, then backed away. He skirted around the front end of the truck. He climbed into the cab, slammed the door then crossed his arms over his chest.

  With a flash of bright red lights, Ivy’s car disappeared around a corner farther down the road. Cole scrubbed his hand over his jaw and gave up trying to change Chris’s mind. Nothing he could say would work to convince the man.

  Foot on the brake, Cole keyed the ignition and the large truck growled to life. He turned right, following behind Ivy, and accelerated smoothly back into traffic. “You should text them to let them know we were delayed but on our way now. I’m sure they’re worried.” They were supposed to be at their destination a while ago. He was glad they’d opted to drive together, even if it meant that after the meeting, he’d need to drop Chris at his next gig, and then pick him back up after supper.

  “Good idea.” Chris withdrew his phone from his pocket and stared at it, thumb hovering over the screen. “Maybe I’ll just call.”

  Cole laughed. “Whatever it takes, old man.” He immediately bit his tongue. He shouldn’t have teased about Chris’s age. The guy already felt bad enough. He snuck a glance at Chris, only to discover a wry grin on his face.

  His uncle put the phone to his ear and wagged a gnarled finger at him. “I can still beat you at checkers and curling, so mind yourself.”

  “Yeah, like those are such tough sports,” Cole parried back, relaxing behind the wheel as he navigated around a corner. Thankfully, traffic was lighter now, and they’d be at the club in no time.

  “Hey, it’s Chris Kerstman. We were in a little fender bender, so we’re running late,” Chris spoke into the phone. “No, no. We’re fine, so is the other driver. No need to reschedule.” A pause, during which Cole could hear a raised female voice from the small device pressed to Chris’s cheek. “Right, we’ll be there in five minutes.”

  As Chris stowed his phone, Cole braked for a red light. The buildings in the area were seedy and run-down. He hated this part of town. It brought back memories he’d prefer to keep buried in an escape-proof box in the deepest hole his mind could create.

  Agitated by the location, he drummed his fingertips on the wheel. “This is one of the biggest projects we’ll do this year, but I still don’t understand why you insisted on costing it out so low. We could have priced way higher and still have submitted the low bid.” Not to mention that it was a rush job. They wanted the renovations completed before Christmas.

  “This is for a charity, Cole. For boys and girls. And old folks like me. A place you could have ended up if things had been different. I wanted to give something back. There’s a space.” Chris pointed to an empty slot.

  Easing the truck to a stop in front of the vacant building, Cole killed the engine and stared at the structure. This was the building they’d be renovating over the next few weeks. At least there was electricity. Shadows moved within, visible through the filthy glass block windows. The window feature was nice, admitting light, but concealing the occupants. It would create a cheery environment, even on the gloomiest days.

  “Will you bring the blueprints, Cole? I need to grab these bags.”

  “Sure thing,” Cole replied.

  Chris reached behind the seat and pulled out four festive gift bags, each one with a different winter scene.

  Chris took his clients seriously and had an uncanny knack for delivering little mementos for them that somehow were perfect for each recipient. And he never showed up at any meeting or gathering empty-handed. There was always some small gift. It was a savvy business technique. Cole had grown up loving his uncle’s generosity as a kid, been embarrassed by it as a teen, and now, as a grown man in a rough and competitive business, he’d grown to appreciate the little extra touch.

  Cole tucked the bulky roll of blueprints under his arm and followed Chris to the entrance. As soon as he stepped into the building, it felt like he’d entered a different world. Stepped back in time. He could appreciate the solid bones of the former garment factory. History lived in each pillar, each windowpane, each gash on the wide plank floors. Floors he planned to sand and restore to the golden glory he knew had been hidden by years of hard use as an industrial sewing room. In some areas, electrical cords still hung from the ceiling. The thick black cords reminded him of snakes. He hated snakes.

  In the far corner of the room, a group of elderly women clustered to the right of a pine tree that looked like Christmas had puked on it. A mishmash of decorations, some countrified, some elegant enough to grace a palace, were piled so thick on the branches, the shape of a pine tree appeared like an abstract concept.

  It brought back memories of the last Christmas he’d ever spent with is mother. Another memory he typically kept buried deep in a cast-iron box with a stout lock. Hell, that Christmas when he was nine was nearly the last time he’d seen the woman who’d given birth to him. Cole shook away the sour thoughts and focused on the building they’d been hired to renovate.

  The only other things in the space were mismatched chairs, some wretched, stained cardboard boxes, dusty mounds of fabric piled in one corner, random building materials, and a layer of dust so thick he could bury treasure under it.

  “I told you, I’m fine.” A low, husky voice erupted from the center of the cluster. She wasn’t visible, but even without facial clues, Cole recognized agitation in her tone. “It was just a small accident. The only damage was to the car.”

  Hold the phone! Cole knew that voice. He quickened his step after Chris, eager to verify the identity of the speaker. The gathered women parted and Cole recognized the bright blue coat and curly cinnamon-colored hair slicked back into a tight ponytail.

  Ivy’s head swiveled his direction as he approached, her eyes widening, lips forming a perfect O. “You!”

  Beside him, Chris’s step faltered and he drew to an abrupt halt. “Oh, my.” The bags rustled in his shaky hands. “We seem destined to keep running into each other.”

  “As long as from here on out it’s figuratively, not literally,” Ivy quipped, a smile lurking on her plump cherry-red lips. “I owe y
ou both an apology. I wasn’t very nice back there.”

  What was she talking about? She’d been upset, sure, but she’d been funny and super cute, hardly mean.

  He grinned to ease her discomfort. “I thought the crack about the naughty list was brilliant.”

  “You were fine, young lady. Sweet as sugar plums. I’m glad you’re okay.” Chris stepped in and offered her one of the colorful bags. “This is for you.”

  Ivy accepted the gift with a frown drawing her brows low. While Chris handed round the other gifts he bore, Ivy tightened her fingers on the bag he’d presented her. Looking somewhat wary, she withdrew a tissue-wrapped object. She set the sack on the floor and pulled a small snow globe free of dark green paper. Inside the sphere a man and woman stood close, as though dancing.

  Ivy tipped the globe upside down and wound the tiny lever on the bottom. A Christmas song played out. Cole recognized “The Holly and the Ivy.”

  “Oh, that’s the only carol I really like.” A wistful, sexy purr in her voice drew Cole in, made his body strain toward hers.

  She stared at the snow falling in the miniature globe as the couple captured inside it twisted in time to the music.

  She swung her gaze toward Cole, warmth glittering in the depths of her limpid brown irises. She nodded toward him. “You recognized my name before. Was this why? You’re the contractor for the Alpine project?”

  “Guilty. Although to be honest, I didn’t connect you immediately with this project. I just knew I’d heard your name before.”

  “Ivy is our expert designer,” Sylvie Roberts quipped. Cole had spoken to her back when the board had contacted Petry Creations to request a bid on the project.

  “Hang on, Sylvie,” Ivy protested. “Don’t mislead Mr. Petry. I don’t have any formal education in architecture. I just have an eye for color and creating displays using clothes and books and such.”

  “Oh, but you do such great work!” one of the other ladies exclaimed. “Everyone loves your work at the mall.”

  Chris raised his bushy white eyebrows. “Pardon me, but would you be the creator of the fabulous Christmas displays at Hickory Ridge Center? They’re spectacular. It’s always been a joy to come to work there.”

  Ivy’s own brows needled together. “Guilty. This is my first year at this center. And I apologize right now for my remark about the naughty list. I was a trifle distraught at the moment.”

  “Well, I do look the part. That’s why in addition to running the photography franchise, I play Santa every year.”

  Ivy climbed to her feet with a chuckle. “So I really have been rear-ended by Santa Claus.”

  “Chris is the person who ran into you? Oh no!” Sylvie clutched her hands together dramatically. But there was a decidedly impish gleam in her eyes.

  Wondering what that was all about, Cole side-stepped a little closer to Ivy. A hint of something fresh and sweet lingered in the air between them, like almonds and vanilla. “We’ve worked out all the details. We’re going to let the insurance companies deal with it. I’m sure it won’t distract us from the common goal of renovating the Alpine into a true showcase.”

  Giving him a side-eye, Ivy frowned. “We want it to be a comfortable spot for the kids, where they can play and learn. Not something of museum quality, where they are afraid to touch anything for fear of breaking it. This is meant to be their safe place.”

  “Maybe showcase was the wrong word.” Cole faced her.

  Her boot beat a tattoo on the floor. “Maybe? It’s definitely the wrong word.”

  Cole didn’t understand why she was impatient with him. He extended his hand, palm out, in an invitation. “Let me show you what I envision for the space. Please.”

  She eyed his hand like he held a lit firecracker and she wasn’t about to grasp it.

  Cole swept his arm to the side, indicating the back of the building. “We can start with the kitchen, since it really is the heart of most homes. This one is no different.”

  Together, they moved toward the rear of the space. Dust floated in the air, highlighted in the late afternoon sunbeam spearing through the glass block windows. He marched them past piles of debris and boxes and long tubes made of sturdy cardboard. Ivy skittered sideways when old papers rustled in the breeze of their passing.

  Staring at the pile of newsprint, she remarked with a shudder, “I hope you have a plan for ridding the place of rodents. I hate mice.”

  “Aw, come on. Didn’t you know mice can be magic?”

  “Dude, we aren’t living in a Disney film. Mice carry disease and filth everywhere they go. At my day job, I hear them all the time while I’m in the unfinished spaces working on displays.” She shuddered again. “I’d almost rather see them than hear them.”

  They swept through a swinging door to a large, mostly empty space that Cole intended to turn into a kitchen-slash-cafeteria for the multi-generational club. Chris, Sylvie, and the other ladies followed in after them.

  Cole moved to one side, making room. “We’re taking this space down to the studs to convert it into a lunch room. I know it’s hard to picture, but we’ll split the room into two open sections, separated by a wall with a service window built in, to keep the kids on one side and the volunteers on the other.”

  He took Ivy’s arm and walked her to the opposite wall. Touching her felt natural, as though he had every right to do so. She’d unbuttoned her coat as they walked, revealing a faded pink sweatshirt with slashes of yellow and green paint on it. The garment was shapeless and worn, but Cole could tell it had to be one of her favorites. The baggy top shouldn’t have been alluring, but Cole had trouble peeling his eyes away.

  And she left her elbow in his hand, even edging closer to him as they moved. “So on this side you’ll add in stoves, refrigeration units, sinks and that sort of thing?”

  “Right. Just think about the way your lunch room looked in elementary school.”

  “Alien and scary, you mean. Staffed by sour-faced lunch ladies?”

  “Huh? Lady, you went to a completely different kind of school than I did.” He laughed and she joined in—a light, tinkling silver-bell sound that shifted something in his chest.

  Behind them, the older crowd were murmuring among themselves. Chris was leading them through an invisible layout, explaining where things would go.

  Cole continued his description, guiding Ivy through his envisioned plan. “All the food will be served from a counter between the two spaces. The idea is to keep the kids out of the way as the volunteers work. They’ll prep snacks over there.” He pointed to the back wall.

  There was an oversized window centered on the wall, with chicken wire embedded in the safety glass. Another nod to the seedy condition of the area. Security windows designed to keep unwanted elements out.

  His fingers curled in, nails digging into his palm and Ivy’s elbow. The sight of the web of wire encased in glass brought back memories of his childhood before he’d gone to live with Chris, and of visits to his mother at the state penitentiary for women. A window to deter the kind of people his mother hung out with would have come in super handy. Lord knew it kept her new roommates in.

  Three

  Ivy cringed as Cole’s grip tightened on her elbow. She didn’t have to be empathic to know that something bothered him. Not that she was an empath; that would be a useful skill to have, though. It would be nice to know what people really felt or thought. Then again, maybe not always. Like when there were large crowds around. She sure didn’t want to know what people were thinking then. The volume of thoughts during the holiday season would be deafening.

  Eager to distract him, she pulled her elbow free of his clutches and began to walk away. She skirted an old bench and walked the perimeter of the room.

  She’d been shocked when Cole and Chris had walked through the door to the Club’s new headquarters. Not only would she see Chris at the mall every day, but now she’d be forced to work with him on the Alpine project. She hoped their little fender bender would
n’t cause things to be weird between them. Her thoughts drifted back to the snow globe she’d left in the main room. The gift had been charming and wistful; the single couple dancing under a snowy sky. It was as if Chris had known exactly how isolated she wished to be to survive this busy season.

  Now, looking around, she renewed her appreciation of the proposed facility, even though it resembled a cesspit at the moment, the sinks disgusting and the countertops and Linoleum floor crusted with generations of dirt and neglect.

  They’d chosen this building because of its proximity to two different elementary schools and the needs of the neighborhood. Development plans included expanding the Club to incorporate a senior day center with the after-school program. Exposing kids to the experience and wisdom elderly people had in abundance and at the same time offering the old folks a chance to interact with young energetic kids, breathing a bit of new life into their tired existence. Ivy had seen studies about the good intergenerational care centers did and had been excited to be part of the planning process. Even though the timing sucked. God, she’d rather have a red-hot poker shoved in her neck than face the struggle to try to get through another November.

  Cole’s company’s bid had been unbelievably low. And since the Club was being built with donations and grants, low was certainly a good thing. The building had been sold to them for the paltry sum of five hundred dollars, just enough to cover a tax lien on the place. That had been their first stroke of luck. The second was that Sylvie’s husband’s company had pledged a ton of money for renovations.

  But Cole’s reaction to the kitchen area made her wonder if they’d made the right decision, even considering the next lowest bidder had come in nearly five hundred grand higher than Cole’s estimate. If working here was going to be a problem for him, they might have to reconsider and start drumming up more money.

  Fortunately, that wasn’t her decision. But she sure as heck would voice her opinion to Sylvie privately if she even suspected Cole was dropping the ball. For whatever reason.