by J. L. Jarvis
“Okay, well, I’ve got two parents—the original set—and a brother. He works for a big investment firm and makes boatloads of money. They’re very proud. And their other son… Well, I make a lot less. I think they envision me as a pocket-protector-clad pencil pusher for the State Department. I am their unfortunate underachiever with two very expensive degrees. But I’ve managed to lower the bar enough that they now seem grateful I don’t have masking tape holding my glasses together. In spite of it all, they love me and barely mention their disappointment anymore.” He smiled. “I’m kidding. Sort of. They’re actually very kind about it. And it’s not that I couldn’t tell them the truth. I’m allowed. But they’d worry. I don’t want to put them through that. So this works well enough.”
Chloe gazed at him. “For what it’s worth, I thought you were amazing from the first—no, second—no, third time I saw you.”
Luke leaned back. “First and second impressions were that bad?”
“Well, you’ve got to admit you’re a little aloof.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“And I got the whole Christmas lights problem, but you said you hated Christmas carols. It was kind of a deal breaker.”
Luke thought for a moment. “I’m not gonna lie. The ones that don’t suck just don’t get enough airplay.”
Chloe winced. “Yeah, you’ve made your stance on that clear. I’ve reclassified it from deal breaker to something I’m still working through.”
He looked at her dryly. “Keep me posted on your progress.”
She pointed at the TV. “Stop! That’s my favorite!”
Luke had been intermittently scrolling through movies. Maybe he should have scrolled faster. He winced. “Love Actually?”
Chloe clapped her hands together. “Yes! Let’s watch that!”
All he could think of was how he should have searched by genre and avoided holiday movies altogether.
She laughed. “In college, my suitemates and I used to get up and dance with Hugh Grant in that scene. I can teach you the moves.”
“No. I draw the line there—red line. No dancing.”
Chloe nudged him with her shoulder. “Oh, c’mon!”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, no dancing. But you’ve got to watch one Christmas movie.”
Saying no when she had such holiday stars in her eyes would be cruel, so he exhaled, defeated. Chloe slipped her arm into his and snuggled closer. He was beginning to see a plus side to Christmas movies after all.
Luke had managed to ignore his career situation for the evening, but morning brought him back to nagging job uncertainty. He had told her only part of the job situation. He’d been consulting on an undercover assignment that looked as though it might take him out of the country for weeks. If those weeks turned to months, where that would leave things with Chloe was anyone’s guess.
When she called and suggested they go into town, he was ready for a distraction. She giddily mentioned the annual Santa sleigh ride through town. She was way too in touch with her inner seven-year-old, yet that was one of the things about her he found most appealing. She had an open enthusiasm that was, even for him, contagious. He didn’t even put up a fight. They got into the car and headed for town.
Hot chocolates in hand, they worked their way to Main Street, where they found Laura outside her shop. Her recessed doorway gave them a perfect viewing spot, so they stayed there and waited for Santa.
After a couple of minutes, Luke asked, “So when does the big parade start?”
Laura’s eyes twinkled. “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s a small town and an even smaller parade. It’s not even a parade, really. Just Santa. This is solely for the children. Local merchants go in on the candy. It’s rumored that the local dentist pays more than his share. It’s an investment.”
“Look at the kids,” Chloe exclaimed. “They’re so happy!”
Laura went on to explain, “I shouldn’t spoil the surprise for you, but there’s just the one float. Santa’s sleigh doesn’t do well on salted, cleared roads, so one of the local farmers pulls a hay wagon with Santa’s sleigh on top. And then there are the elves. A half dozen soccer moms dress up as elves and ride along, tossing candy to the children.”
Luke turned to Chloe. “You’re not going to line up with the kids, are you?”
“Don’t tempt me. I mean, I could totally elbow those kids out of the way, but then I’d have to contend with their parents. I could take on the dads, but angry moms fight to the death.”
Luke hooked his arm about Chloe. “That’s what I love about you—kind and gentle, good to children and puppies.” He gave her a kiss on the forehead.
A woman rushed up to Laura. “Santa’s got the flu. He was determined to show up, and he did. But… well, let’s just say it’s a good thing we’ve got a spare Santa costume.” She made a sour face that said it all.
Laura looked stricken with panic. “We don’t have a Santa?”
She and the other woman tossed about names, but they had no idea where any of the potential Santas were in the crowd or if they were even there. Chloe looked crestfallen. The three women stared at each other, then as if on some cruel cue, they all turned and looked at Luke with raised eyebrows.
His eyebrows, in contrast, drew together. “No.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Laura said. “The elves do it all. You just sit there and wave—and say, ‘Ho, ho, ho,’ obviously.”
Luke shook his head and held up his palms toward the women in protest.
Five minutes later, someone had tossed a Santa suit into his arms, and he was wondering how he had let himself get into such a predicament. One of the key requirements of his job was to keep a low profile—no traffic tickets, no public demonstrations, and nothing that might draw media attention. Implicit in that was no parading through town on Christmas Eve dressed as Santa. But thinking he was just painfully shy, the women all convinced him that he would be in disguise, so no one would ever know.
“Look at this beard,” Chloe said. “In this, you are Santa—if Santa worked out, went meatless, and had Botox injections.”
Luke gave her a wry look, but it only made Chloe smile more. She was enjoying the whole situation a little too much.
“I’ll text everyone that we’re ready to go,” Laura said, reaching into her pocket. “Oh, man. My phone’s gone.”
The other woman held up her phone. “I got it.” She sent a quick text then put her phone back in her purse. “Wait a minute. My wallet’s gone.”
“Pickpockets?” Chloe asked. “I’ve had people try when I travel, but I wouldn’t expect it here.”
“I’ll text the police to be on the lookout,” Laura’s friend said.
Chloe was furious. “I can’t believe people would do this on Christmas Eve.”
Luke shrugged. “Crooks don’t take a holiday.”
She glared. “Nobody should steal on Christmas. The losers.”
“Showtime.” Laura swept her arm toward the sleigh. Luke sighed and climbed up into it.
As Santa’s sleigh headed down Main Street, he looked down at the children’s faces. He didn’t spend much time with children, and he gave them even less thought. But as he looked at them lining the street with such innocent joy on their faces, his heart grew three sizes. They were just so darn cute, and they loved Santa so much. He was not going to admit it, but he was actually having fun. Making children happy was not a bad way to spend a Christmas Eve morning.
As he waved at the children and watched them scramble for the candy the elves were tossing at them, he spied a face that didn’t quite look right. After more than a decade of keenly observing people, spotting someone out of place was automatic. There was something about that guy. He was looking the wrong way. Instead of facing Santa’s sleigh or the children, his eyes shifted about. A boy who couldn’t have been any older than eight reached into a woman’s purse, pulled out a wallet, and handed it off to the guy Luke was eyeing. The two were working
their way through the crowd.
Santa leapt from the sleigh and landed in a pile of snow at the curb. Seeing this, the guy took off at a run, pushing onlookers out of the way. Santa’s sleigh kept on going without him while Santa chased the pickpocket for two blocks, finally tackling him and knocking him to the ground. He pinned the guy down and held him until a police officer arrived and cuffed the crook.
Another officer arrived with the boy, who had taken off in the opposite direction. She said, “Look what I’ve found.” She kept a firm grip on the child while she nodded at his backpack. “Santa, would you mind taking a look in there for me? My hands are full.”
Luke took the boy’s backpack and opened it up to reveal a lovely assortment of cell phones and wallets.
The officer gave the boy a stern look. “Come with me. We need to talk.”
While the police escorted their suspects for the one-block walk to the station, Luke faded into the crowd, shedding his Santa costume as he went. He had already lost his white beard and hat.
After he tossed his red jacket to the ground, a young child came along and saw it. “Mommy, Santa melted!”
The mother said, “No, honey. He… wears layers. His jacket… probably just fell out of his sleigh.”
Luke grinned and stepped behind some shrubs, shed the Santa pants he’d been wearing over his jeans, and crossed the street. He then doubled back toward Laura’s.
“Luke?” Chloe found him pulling on his warm jacket.
“I need to speak with Laura and her friend.” He took Chloe’s hand, and they headed to Laura’s store. When they met up with her and her friend, he made them promise not to tell anyone who Santa was.
Chloe looked on, stunned, as he convincingly lied and said he suffered from excruciating shyness. He told them that any attention he got over his Santa heroics would set him back six months or more from the progress he’d made in therapy. He was so good, Chloe began to feel sorry for him. That troubled her most of all. Lying seemed to come so easily to him.
Over lunch, Chloe studied Luke. “I’ve got this impression of you, but there’s so much I don’t know. Am I just seeing what I want to?”
Luke looked into her eyes. “I hope you see who I am. That’s who I want you to see.”
Chloe nodded, but she felt overwhelmed. “I just need to get used to this other side of you.”
He reached across the table and put his hand on hers. “There’s no pressure or hurry. I’m not going anywhere.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’m not either.”
Eighteen
Chloe fastened an earring and answered the door with a broad smile, then she got her coat from the closet. “You’re early. Can’t wait to get to the Christmas Eve service? It’s the carol singing, isn’t it?” She turned and froze.
Luke held out his phone to her. Something was wrong.
It took her a moment to realize what she was looking at. On his phone was a social media photo of him in the Santa suit, glancing up as he held down the pickpocket and looked for police. His hat and beard had come off in the struggle. She looked at Luke with alarm.
“I’m trending on social media,” he said, looking stunned.
Chloe did a quick search on the phone’s browser. The story had been picked up by some media outlets as well. She read some of the headlines out loud. “Santa Pummels Pickpocket. Santa Claus is Coming with Cuffs. He Sees You When You’re Stealing.” Finally, she turned off the phone and handed it back.
Luke took the phone and shook his head slowly. “I’ve got to disappear before the media finds me. If it gets out who I really am, my house will be swarming with reporters and photographers. They’ll come here to your house, asking questions. You should go stay with your mother.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Do not talk to anyone, no matter what.”
He was scaring her. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. I’ll get in touch when I can.”
“When?”
His eyes fixed on hers. “It might be a while.”
She searched his eyes as questions flashed in her mind, but she wouldn’t trouble him.
He gazed intently. “Pack and leave as soon as you can—in ten minutes, fifteen tops. Plan to be gone for a few days at least, maybe a week. I’m not sure what’s going to happen with work. If I’m not back right away, tell anyone who asks that we broke up.”
“What?”
“It’ll keep them from asking more questions.” He clutched her against him for too brief a moment and kissed her. “I’ve got to go.” He kissed her again as if he were saying goodbye forever. “Don’t worry.” Then he left.
Chloe’s hands shook as she packed a suitcase and tossed it, along with a shopping bag full of presents, into her trunk. As she drove down the mountain, she passed a car, then another. Reporters already?
She hadn’t even wished Luke a Merry Christmas.
Chloe spent a melancholy Christmas with her mother then rang in the New Year trying not to worry about Luke. On New Year’s Day, she went home. The reporters were gone. No one cared about Santa since Christmas was over. Her mailbox was full of junk mail, but there was nothing from Luke. She obsessively checked her email and voice mail for days. A month passed with no word. She clung to the memory of his last kiss and embrace and reminded herself that he’d warned her he might be gone long.
As she did every week, she made a routine trip into town and stopped by Laura’s shop to say hello and to check on how her paintings were selling.
She did as Luke had suggested and told people they’d broken up. She hated the lie, but she couldn’t deny that, for the most part, it made things easier for her. No one asked about him anymore, and most didn’t even ask about her. But, in one way, it made everything worse because she was left with no one to talk to about Luke. He became a sad, lonely ache in her heart, so much so that she began to believe it might really be over between them.
Laura greeted her warmly, as always. Her friend may not have known the truth about Chloe and Luke, but she knew that Chloe was hurting. They’d talked about it a couple of times until Chloe had finally said it was too hard to talk about anymore. At least that part was true. If she couldn’t talk about the truth, there was no point in talking at all.
Laura’s face brightened. “Oh, someone stopped by two days ago. He took an interest in your work, but he said he really preferred abstract expressionism.”
That piqued Chloe’s interest, and her face must have shown it. “That’s not even close to my work.”
“I know. I explained that we don’t really sell much of that. Our clientele tends to like realism along the lines of Wyeth, Hopper, that sort of thing. He didn’t look too surprised. But he really spent time looking at your paintings. I was sure he was going to buy one, but he just gave me his card and said to call him if I got any abstract expressionism in.”
“May I see the card?”
“Sure.” Laura looked under the counter. “Here it is.”
Chloe tried not to show how fast her heart was pounding. “May I take a picture of it?”
“Sure.”
“What did he look like?” she asked as she snapped a photo of the card.
Laura thought for a moment, slowly shaking her head. “Average height, thinning hair, glasses.”
Chloe glanced at her watch. “Oh, wow. I’ve lost track of the time. I’ve still got shopping to do, and I need to get home for a one o’clock business call.”
A customer arrived at the counter with a handful of items.
“I’ll let you go,” Chloe said. “Good to see you!”
She couldn’t walk quickly enough to her car. Someone named Leonard Anderson—the same initials as Luke—had asked about abstract expressionist paintings by Chloe? No one would have looked at her paintings and even thought that, let alone asked if she had anything like it. So for someone with Luke’s initials to make such an inquiry was too coincidental. It had to have something to do with Luke. She didn’t recognize the man’s des
cription, but Luke must have sent him. The details were just too specific.
She got into her car, locked the door, and immediately pulled out her phone. She dialed *67 to block the caller ID, just in case it turned out to be some dogged reporter who’d tracked her down and been lucky enough to mention the painting style that her aunt had known so well. She dialed the number on the card. While it rang, she glanced around, her pulse racing. When she heard the tone and a recorded voice, she stopped and stared at her phone. Disconnected? She leaned her head back on the headrest. How could it be disconnected? She tried again, but the result was the same. She took in a deep breath and exhaled. Luke, what does it mean?
While she drove home, she mulled everything over. Other than studying it in art school, the only connection Chloe had to the abstract expressionist movement was through her aunt, and the only person who knew that was Luke. But why would he torment her by leaving a disconnected phone number? Unless he’d never intended to speak with her directly. Or maybe he couldn’t. It could simply have been a way to make contact, to let her know he was safe and that he was thinking of her. But why couldn’t he come himself? Where is he? At least he’d found a way to make contact. That was something. But it wasn’t enough.
If there was any other explanation, Chloe couldn’t come up with one, so she chose to assume Luke was sending a message. But she still didn’t understand why he would send it via the mysterious man in the shop. More importantly, she hoped she was understanding him fully and there wasn’t a coded message she’d missed.
Her heart sank at the thought that she’d overlooked something vital. But he had to expect that she might not be able to decipher a code. She forced herself to stop trying to see what wasn’t there. Luke knew her. She trusted that any message he tried to convey would be clear. The most obvious message must have been that he was okay.
She missed Luke and worried about him, but there was nothing she could do. She redirected her energy into something she could control, her art. The more she missed Luke, the more she immersed herself in her painting and business. Learning as she went along, she was steadily building a business, and the progress was satisfying. She was enjoying her life as an artist.
