A Lot Like Christmas

by Dawn Atkins

  “We’re moving on to Chase’s wine, Dad,” Fletcher said, shooting a look at his brother, admitting defeat to a respected opponent. Chase opened the bottle and poured them all glasses.

  “So Chase tells me you two make a good team out at Starlight Desert,” Marshall said to Sylvie.

  “We’ve worked it out,” she said. “We have to, since this is our crucial season. The Black Friday promotion should really boost revenues.”

  “Starr always loved the mall at Christmas. Do the stores still sponsor needy children?”

  “You bet. And we’ve arranged it so all the employees shop for the gifts in each other’s stores, which is a nice way to help each other while also helping those in need.”

  “Starr used to get tears in her eyes over the thank-you cards, you know. She put them in a scrapbook. I’ve got it here somewhere.” He started to head out of the room.

  “Later, Dad,” Fletcher said. “It’s about time to eat.”

  “I think there were some pictures in there of you boys on one of your campouts. Remember those?”

  “Campouts?” Sylvie asked, turning to Chase, who groaned.

  “Ancient history,” Fletcher muttered.

  “We used to spend the night at the mall,” Chase said to Sylvie. “I was twelve, so you were, what, eight, Fletch?”

  “Starr would help them set up a tent and sleeping bags,” Marshall said, his eyes shining with pleasure. “She’d give them Thermoses of hot chocolate and potato chips and red licorice and those graham cracker marshmallow messes….”

  “S’mores,” Chase said on a sigh. “They’re called s’mores, Dad.” He wasn’t as irritated as he let on, she could tell. He was leaning toward her so that their bodies brushed as they swayed, which contributed to her sense of the two of them as a couple.

  “It sounds like a blast,” Sylvie said.

  “Oh, it was,” Marshall said. “Starr used to spy on them. They’d eat themselves sick and Chase would scare the pants off his little brother telling ghost stories.”

  “It wasn’t the stories,” Fletcher said. “He’d hide in the planter, then jump out at me. Anyone would freak out.”

  “I forgot about that,” Chase said. “We used to slide down the promenade in our socks and holler for the echo.”

  “Not many kids have the chance for that kind of experience,” Marshall said. “You should appreciate it more.”

  “You wouldn’t have thought it was so great, Dad, if you knew we were also sneaking into the stores,” Fletcher said.

  “You what? You broke in?” Marshall’s eyebrows shot upward.

  “Through the old heating conduit,” Fletcher said, “from when they changed to the overhead AC.”

  “All we had to do was unscrew the vent plates and go through the tunnel,” Chase added, then turned to Sylvie. “It’s ground level, four feet high. The vents into the stores popped right out.”

  “Did your mother know about this? The shop owners would have been hopping mad,” Marshall said.

  “She might have known. But we were careful,” Fletcher said. “We put back any sports equipment we played with at Tracer’s.”

  “We’d fool around with the demo toys from Toy Town,” Chase added. “We mostly played hide-and-seek.”

  “And we took candy, but only a few pieces—about what Mr. Morgan would have given us anyway.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Marshall said. “So, see, that old mall has lots of good memories for you boys. That’s not something you throw away like that.” He snapped his fingers.

  “Times change, Dad,” Fletcher said. “And so has the neighborhood. Has Chase told you we’ve had vandalism? Graffiti on the walls, trash thrown around. Twice.”

  “Is that true?” Marshall asked Chase.

  “Minor incidents,” Sylvie said. “Pranks, really.”

  “Bad enough to be in the paper, I hear,” Fletcher said.

  “Just the weekly and only because our councilman wanted to grandstand over it,” Sylvie said.

  “The area’s clearly in decline,” Fletcher said. “Mason Construction had plans for a condo development but they couldn’t get the permits. Someone on the council blocked it.”

  “It didn’t happen to be Reggie Collins, did it?” Chase asked.

  “Might have been. Yeah, that sounds right.”

  “That’s our guy. Interesting. Why would a politician stumping for funds to save a neighborhood fight a condo development?”

  “I have no idea. What I do know is the last thing we need right now is bad publicity.” Fletcher’s tone was ominous.

  “Sylvie handled the reporter well. She offered to host a community meeting for Collins, to show we’re good neighbors.”

  “Excellent, Sylvie,” Marshall said with a sharp nod. “Starr always made the mall part of things. That’s why I gave James Abernathy some space for his jai alai club. A new sports team would bring in some tax revenue.”

  “Jai alai? What a ridiculous sport,” Fletcher said. The men debated that idea for a few minutes, and Sylvie was relieved when Nadia finally called them to the table.

  As they moved into the dining room, Chase put his hand on her back again. “You holding up okay?” he whispered near her ear.

  “I’m fine, but what does Fletcher have against Starlight Desert?”

  “Long story,” Chase said, then smiled. “Did Thor come up when you were alone?”

  “Not so far.”

  “Good.” He gave her a quick hug at the waist.

  She smiled at him, enjoying the shared moment.

  In the dining room, Sylvie took her old spot across from Chase. She glanced at the foot of the table where Starr used to reign over her gracious table, welcoming each guest with a warm smile. The empty chair made her stomach jump.

  Luckily Nadia distracted Sylvie from her sadness with the heaping tray of pierogies she placed in the center of the table, filling the air with the smell of baked pastry, pork, onion and garlic.

  There was borscht with a dollop of sour cream and a half dozen side dishes—piles of cabbage salad, fluffy potatoes, corn on the cob, pickled mushrooms and thick sausages, a salad called “herring in sheepskin coat”—herring and boiled potatoes, with beets and carrots mixed in mayonnaise.

  “Thank you, Nadia, for all my favorites,” Chase said.

  Nadia beamed, pink with pleasure. “All to you, Chase,” she said. “Because of you, Sergei will soon to be leaving my house.”

  “It’s too early to be certain, Nadia.”

  “I no count chickens while eggs they lay.” She gave a definitive nod, then turned for the kitchen.

  Sylvie watched Chase’s face. She could see in his eyes how much he cared for Nadia and wanted to help her and her family. Chase was definitely one of the good guys.

  They passed the food around and dug in, enjoying the delicious flavors with no sound but hums of pleasure, requests for dishes to be passed, the click of silverware and the ring of ice in water glasses. Chase’s eyes sought hers throughout the meal, making sure she was enjoying herself, smiling at her. Once he mimicked shooting a rubber band at her. She felt herself slipping into her old self here, feeling almost like she belonged again, even though she never really had in the first place.

  They were finishing the meal with groans about being stuffed, when Marshall balled up his napkin and leaned on his elbows, looking at Chase. “So I hear at the club you’re still rounding up investors for your project. Is that right?”

  “The more the merrier, Dad. Yeah.”

  “I’d have thought you’d have the financing nailed down by now, after the last mistake.” He reached for his wineglass.

  “We’re fine,” Chase said, a muscle ticking in his jaw, fire flashing in his eye.

  “Steady,” Fletcher breathed.

  “I think the project is a wonderful idea,” Sylvie said to smooth the moment. “It’s great you can help Nadia’s family and so many others.”

  “Sounds like a house of cards to me,” Marshall mutt
ered.

  “Not if you see the big picture,” Chase argued.

  “The big picture is one thing, but the devil is in the details. And the credit report.”

  Chase set his knife down hard.

  Marshall glanced at his son, his eyebrows dueling, as if he hadn’t intended his words to come out as they had. “I’m just saying look after the pennies and the dollars take care of themselves.”

  “That wasn’t what happened and you know it,” Chase said, locking gazes with his father.

  Marshall broke off first. “Hell, I don’t know. If it weren’t for big-picture guys, we’d still be in caves, I guess.” He lifted his wineglass. “To the big picture.”

  “And great credit scores,” Fletcher added, which sounded like a dig at Chase.

  Sylvie could see Chase was hurt, but trying to hide it. Marshall was tough to please and clumsy about showing his affection. The friction among them had to be longstanding judging from the sparks crackling in the air.

  Sylvie had always envied the McCanns. She’d been lonely with her quiet, self-contained grandparents. Though they never complained, Sylvie knew she’d robbed them of the privacy they valued, so she tried to not impose too much or get on their nerves.

  The McCanns had seemed so much happier. Relaxed and easy with each other. Normal. Both parents interested in their kids, lots of noise and celebration, games and parties and talk.

  But no family was perfect. Filled with imperfect people, how could it be?

  “We need big-picture and detail people at Starlight Desert, that’s for sure,” Sylvie said, wanting to ease the tension and advance her cause. “Take the Black Friday event. We’ve involved schools, which is big-picture community involvement, but there are millions of details to handle or it all falls apart.”

  “You say the schools are involved?” Marshall asked. He seemed relieved to switch topics. Sylvie ran through the basics of the promotion for him. “That’s quite impressive,” he said when she’d finished.

  “It’s Sylvie’s baby all the way,” Chase said. “We take our marching orders from her.”

  “We’re a team,” she said, blushing from his praise. “Team Starlight Desert, remember?” Warmth passed between them—they were in this adventure together. And there was something more that gave her a shiver inside—a sense of connection, of rightness.

  There you are. At last.

  “Not to rain on anyone’s parade,” Fletcher said, “but where’s the money for advertising, liability insurance and everything else an event requires?”

  “We have the stages and risers, the schools provide sound equipment and a lot of the promotion,” Sylvie said. “The insurance rider is in the works and we’ll piggyback ads onto our regular buys.”

  “Okay,” he said. “But what’s the plan for keeping all that confusion from getting in the way of the shoppers?”

  “First off, many of the shoppers will be parents of the students performing. They’ll have special discounts. And we’ll ask mall employees to manage traffic flow.”

  “Sylvie’s nailed it, Fletch. Leave her be.”

  “I’m sure that’s true.” He shot Sylvie a quick smile. “I’m just saying this isn’t the time to color outside the lines. I hear you hired Mary Beth back.”

  “We’re paying her out of my salary,” Chase said in a tight voice. “Let it go, Detail Guy.” He was trying to lighten the mood, but he was clearly annoyed.

  “I think it’s a great idea, Sylvie,” Marshall said. “And Starr would have loved the schools being involved.”

  “The mall is a business, Dad. We can’t get sentimental about it,” Fletcher said. “Mom’s not here to care one way or the other.” He stopped abruptly and a tense silence swelled like a dark cloud over the table.

  “I know I sound harsh,” Fletcher said quietly, humbly, speaking to Sylvie now. “I’m concerned because they’re predicting a bad retail season this year. I don’t want you to be caught short.”

  “Starlight Desert can weather the storm,” Marshall said. “Tell them what that consultant said to you.” He poked his fork in Sylvie’s direction.

  She summarized the report and Fletcher mumbled an interesting or two to be polite, but he clearly hadn’t changed his opinion. Maybe it was about Starr, the reminders his father kept bringing up.

  She looked at Chase and he mouthed, Sorry.

  “Dessert!” Nadia announced, descending on the table with a pink Bundt cake with yellow frosting smothered in confetti sprinkles, silver balls, gumdrops and M&M’s. “Favorite of Chase!”

  They all looked at Chase, eyebrows lifted in question, while Nadia cut them each a huge slice. “Eat, eat,” she said while they stared down at the gloppy mounds of sugar. “I get coffee.”

  “This is your favorite?” Fletcher asked when she’d gone.

  “When I was five maybe.” He picked up a fork. “Dig in or we’ll hurt her feelings.”

  “You dig in. My fillings ache just looking at it,” Fletcher said. “Where’s a Great Dane under the table when you need one?”

  “You’d send it into a diabetic coma,” Chase said.

  They lifted cake-loaded forks in salute to each other, the tension broken. Whew.

  “Down the hatch,” Marshall said, eating his bite.

  They joined him, grimacing, then laughing at each other’s expressions.

  Nadia brought in coffee and they all complimented the cake, rearranging their pieces to make it seem they’d consumed more than they had.

  The lighter mood seemed right for Sylvie to bring up Santa’s Workshop, her goal for the evening. “There’s a wonderful way you three can make ‘A Starlight Desert Christmas’ even more successful this year.”

  “Oh, yeah. Listen up.” Chase grinned. “This is good.”

  Fletcher and Marshall set down their forks and Sylvie explained the plan to the two wide-eyed men, emphasizing the media potential, the likely boost to sales from the publicity.

  When she finished, there was a stunned silence.

  “You want me to be Santa Claus?” Marshall finally said. “With a suit and a beard?”

  “You’ll be perfect.”

  More silence.

  “There’s no budget for costumes,” Fletcher said hopefully.

  “I can get them donated,” Sylvie said. “No worries.”

  “I would look pretty foolish,” Marshall said, but his lips twitched into a half smile.

  “You? Think about me and Fletcher with bells on our toes and little felt caps,” Chase threw in.

  “God.” Fletcher gave a mock shudder.

  “I say we do it,” Chase said. “For Starlight Desert. For Sylvie.” He paused. “And for Mom. Mom would love this.”

  More silence, but this time the three men looked at each other, considering the idea.

  “You’re absolutely right,” Marshall declared suddenly, banging his fist on the table so hard the cups rattled in their saucers. “I’ll be Santa and you boys will be my elves. It’s exactly what Starr would want.”

  Fletcher groaned. “This is insane.”

  “Come on, Fletch,” Chase said. “Sylvie says you can add a bow tie and a blazer and be Business Elf.”

  Fletch looked at her. “Did you say that?”

  “Sort of. We were joking around.”

  Fletcher’s mouth twitched this time. He clearly wanted to laugh. “As long as the costumes are free,” he said, “and you publicize the hell out of it and it’s only for a few hours.”

  “Actually, all weekend would be better, so we catch all the press we can,” Sylvie said.

  Fletcher groaned. “Only for you, Sylvie,” he said.

  Soon after, Sylvie and Chase got ready to leave. Nadia loaded Sylvie’s arms with leftovers, including half the cake, and Fletcher walked them to the front door. “I can’t believe you played the do-it-for-Mom card, Chase.”

  “Anything to see you in tights, bro.”

  “Listen, I’m showing your investors that Chandler property tomorrow
. If they bite, I’ll owe you big-time.”

  “Pay me back by being the best elf ever.”

  “You first.” He looked at Sylvie, his expression going earnest. “Think about what we talked about, Sylvie.”

  “I will.” He wanted her to move on. That made her uneasy. Chase had told her she shouldn’t feel trapped at Starlight Desert, too. Were they both trying to tell her something?

  That made no sense. Starlight Desert needed her more than ever.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “IT’S GETTING COLDER. Shall I put the top up?” Chase asked her when they stood at the car.

  “It’s such a nice night. Can I borrow your jacket?”

  He reached past her for the leather coat, brushing her body, then held it while she slipped her arms into the cool silk lining. “Looks good on you,” he said, patting her shoulders. “Kind of Biker Chick goes Gidget.”

  “That sounds pretty sad.”

  “Oh, no. Trust me, it’s very sexy.”

  The jacket smelled of his cologne, a playful spice that suited him, and it felt as though he’d wrapped her in his arms.

  Sylvie placed the leftovers at her feet and they drove off.

  “What did Fletcher want you to think about?” Chase asked as they reached the street.

  “He thinks we’re both stuck in a rut.”

  “Is he right? Are you?”

  “Not at all. I like my life and I love my job.”

  “Even though your life is your job?”

  “I’m dedicated, but that’s what’s required. When you love something, spending time on it is no sacrifice and it’s certainly not a rut.”

  “But what about marriage and kids? And a dog? You want those things, right?”

  “You mean with boring Thor and his 401K? When the time’s right, sure. When I’ve built the proper foundation with my finances and career, I’ll be ready to bring on a partner.”

  “Jesus, Sylvie, you sound like Fletcher starting a construction project. The idea is to fall in love and share your lives, not lay out footings and pour concrete.”

  “And you’re an expert now?”

  “Nah. I’m just hassling you. I’m not even in the neighborhood, let alone hammering up two-by-fours.” Sadness flashed across his face like a streetlight reflection in the dark.