Table of Contents
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
Titles from R. E. Bradshaw Books
Rainey Bell Thriller Series:
Relatively Rainey (2015)
Colde & Rainey (2014)
The Rainey Season (2013) Lambda Literary Awards Finalist
Rainey’s Christmas Miracle (2011) (Short Story-ebook only)
Rainey Nights (2011) Lambda Literary Awards Finalist
Rainey Days (2010)
The Adventures of Decky and Charlie Series:
Out on the Panhandle (2012)
Out on the Sound (2010)
Molly: House on Fire (2012)
Lambda Literary Awards Finalist
Before It Stains (2011)
Waking Up Gray (2011)
Sweet Carolina Girls (2010)
The Girl Back Home (2010)
Dedication
For Dixie, the best dog ever.
I still miss you every day.
“Happiness is a warm puppy.”
―Charles M. Schulz
1
December 22, 2015
“…off the Santa Train.”
His tiny head jerked with each diaphragm spasm, as he tried to catch his breath. Snot dripped from his nose and mixed with the tears on his red-splotched cheeks. He struggled to regain his normally stoic composure, which he had completely lost on the Santa Train.
“I don’t,” gasp, “like,” gasp, “that man,” the toddler stammered.
Rainey Bell hugged her son close, comforting him, as she carried the distraught child through the woods. She had bailed off the train after the terrified triplet chose flight as the instinct he should follow. Rainey opted for the short walk back to the museum’s main entrance, rather than try to talk him into rejoining the family. It appeared the Santa Train, a much-loved staple of family Christmas celebrations throughout the Triangle area of North Carolina, was not to become an element of the Bell-Meyers household holiday traditions.
“I don’t like loud men in fake beards either, Timothy,” Rainey said, patting his back. “Catch your breath, honey. You’re okay.”
“Weather not scared,” Timothy moaned, between a gasp and another rib-shaking shudder.
Weather, the female triplet and the self-appointed CEO of the Bell-Meyers trio, had specifically requested an audience with Santa, after she figured out the big man in the red suit had some connection to gift receiving. Weather threatened a tantrum to mirror Timothy’s meltdown when he began to exhibit anti-Santa sentiments just as Father Christmas made it to the side of the train car. Afraid his panic attack would interfere with her ability to speak with Santa; Weather called her brother a “baby.”
Rainey observed that this name-calling incident appeared quite severe on the toddler verbal confrontation scale. Timothy had crumbled to the floor and howled about not being the baby he was emulating rather well. Rainey had reached down to pick up the whimpering child, who became Gumby, the wet-noodle body boy. At exactly the moment she thought she finally had a good grip on him, Santa leaned into the train car shouting, “Ho, ho, ho,” right where Timothy had chosen to take repose. Noodle boy sprang to life and shot sideways out of the stopped train car and headed for parts unknown, shrieking at the top of his lungs. Rainey jumped out after him, causing great excitement among Santa’s elves. She caught the boy and waved off the North Pole security staff.
“Let me walk him out, okay?”
Rainey tucked the panicked child under her coat, waved goodbye to rest of the family, mouthing the words “Meet you in the van” to Katie, and headed for a quiet place to soothe his pride and let him calm down.
“It’s okay to say ‘No’ or ‘I don’t want to do that.’ It’s okay to object to a stranger in your personal space, Timothy. Really, I’m right there with you on that one.” She pulled him away from her shoulder and smiled into his face. “Besides, Weather is afraid of bugs and you love bugs. So, she likes Santa Claus and you don’t. It’s no big deal, right?”
Timothy, who wanted to continue wallowing in his misery, replied, “I not a baby.”
He was exhausted and over stimulated. The triplets were on the downhill slide of a massive sugar rush, courtesy of a bag of heavily decorated gingerbread men left unattended in the front seat of the van. While their distracted parents loaded packages into the back, the clever children roamed freely in between, an unfortunate circumstance.
In an effort to refocus Timothy’s energy on something other than his current overwrought state, Rainey asked, “Hey, who is going to be four-years-old in three days?”
Timothy wiped the back of his sleeve across his face, taking a swath of snot and tears with him and hiccupped through his answer, “Me”—hic—“Mac and Weather”—hiccup.
“On Christmas day, which is also your birthday, you will be too old to be a baby.” Rainey smiled broadly and touched a finger to the tip of his little nose. “Can you show me four fingers?” Rainey asked just to keep his mind from slipping back into despair.
Timothy dutifully held up four stubby fingers. “Four,” he answered enthusiastically. Then held up three fingers. “And three days to my birthday.”
“That’s right. You are smart, Timothy, very smart.”
Rainey wanted to tell her son just how smart she thought he was. His instincts were strong and his reflexive response correct. It wasn’t just the fake beard and hair that tipped him off. Timothy saw the fraudulence of Santa and his elves hanging out in a pine forest in Durham and refused to participate any further in the farce. Gift giver or no, Rainey’s little profiler wanted no part of the chubby, red-coated man. He never had, but Katie insisted he would grow out of his fear. Rainey had no problem with her son’s assessment, but they would need to work on appropriate responses and reflex control.
“I love you, Timothy,” she said and kissed his cheek.
He recovered rather quickly, once reaching the familiar security of the van. He climbed over the other two child seats to reach his own, snapped himself in, and pulled the stuffed dog, “Puppy,” he carried everywhere into his lap. Each triplet had a safety object. Weather’s cuddle bunny, a cotton rabbit/blanket combination, waited in her seat, while Mac’s brown monkey neck-pillow stared back at Rainey with one eye stitched shut in a permanent wink.
She watched Timothy in the visor mirror. He was quiet now and contemplative, his usual demeanor. He appeared to be processing what just happened and began what had become the triplets’ favorite pastime, asking questions.
“Nee Nee, was I naughty?”
Rainey turned to make eye contact before answering, “No, you were upset about something and people were not listening to you. I am sorry, Timothy. I should have realized your distress much sooner.”
“Mommy said, ‘That is not nice.”
He wagged his little finger, imitating Katie. He looked very much like his mother and mimicked her expertly. Rainey had to repress a chuckle at his sincerity, as he continued.
“Santa Claus knows.”
“He knows what?” Rainey prodded.
“He knows naughty and nice. Timothy was not nice.”
Rainey corrected him. “Timothy was frightened and frustrated. We could work on how to process those emotions a bit better,” she smiled to ease her serious little man’s mind, “but I’m sure you’re still a nice boy.”
Timothy suddenly became very animated. He strained against the seat belts, gesturing with both hands, including the one clinging tightly to Puppy. The stuffed animal’s tail swung wildly, as the toddler revealed the s
ource of his anxiety. He began to sing, well, not really sing. It was more of a spoken word interpretation. He emphasized each threatening phrase and Rainey saw the lyrics with a whole new set of eyes.
“Better watch out! Better not cry! He make a list! Check it twice. Who is naughty or nice? And, and, and he sees you sleep. He sees you wake. He knows bad and good. For Goodness sake!”
Timothy was panting by the time he finished and Rainey was less amused than alarmed at how stalker-ish the damn song really was. Part of her wanted to tell the kids the entire Christmas thing was a pagan ritual appropriated by the Christian faith and Santa Claus was no more real than the Easter Bunny, another pagan symbol usurped by the church, but Katie said kids should believe in fairy tales and myths. The truth would come soon enough. With that in mind, Rainey set to putting the magic back in Christmas for little Timothy.
“I don’t think Santa actually saw you lose your composure, but we could call his office and check.”
Timothy’s eyebrows arched in surprise. His lips formed a perfect “O.” He brightened at the prospects even more when Rainey pulled out her cell phone. He was absolutely astonished when she pretended to pick the number from her contacts list.
“Here we go, Santa’s office number.”
She pressed her finger to the screen to start the dialing process and made sure the call would not be picked up by the van’s Bluetooth system, at least not initially. While she waited for an answer on the other end, Rainey continued to chat with the now amazed toddler.
“You do know that isn’t really Santa Claus out there in the woods. He sends out actors to play him because he can’t be everywhere at once. I’m pretty sure that was an actor out there.”
Timothy stared open-mouthed when Rainey stopped talking to listen to the voice on the other end of the call.
“Bell’s Bail and Investigations, Ernie speaking. How can I help you?”
Ernie, Rainey’s long time friend and office manager was taking the business calls at home. All she needed was a phone and a computer to dispatch the various employees to handle bail for the usual holiday clients. Alcohol and families made for busy bond writing days.
“Oh, hello. Is this Mrs. Claus?”
“Why? Have the halos tilted on the little angels? Let me guess, Weather has a complaint, or did Mac break something really expensive on the train.”
“Yes, this is Rainey Bell, but how… Oh yes, of course you have caller ID at the North Pole too.” She made sure to include Timothy with a nod. “Yes, well, we need to check on one Timothy Bell-Myers and his naughty/nice list situation. Is the big man in by chance?”
“Timothy? Now that is surprising, but then it was always my quiet one that erupted at the strangest times. I’ll take the phone to Henry.”
Henry was Ernie’s husband and the only male who could pull off the Santa voice without being recognized by the kids. He had been the community Santa for years, always answering more frequent phone calls as the big day grew nearer.
“Good, we’d like to talk to him. Timothy was a bit unnerved by the actor who replaced the real Santa and became frustrated when no one gave credence to his concerns. He felt the need to run screaming from the Santa Train. I have apologized for not recognizing his distress sooner and we’re all going to do better communicating without losing our composure in public.”
Timothy said nothing, but nodded in agreement with Rainey’s explanation of things.
“Let me fill Henry in.”
Rainey put her hand over the receiver and whispered to Timothy, “She’s going to get Santa. She said she’s pretty sure you’re still on the nice list. Do you want to hold the phone or talk on the speakers?” She pointed at the van’s roof.
Timothy whispered a barely audible, “Speakers.”
Rainey pressed the connection button on the van’s dash, just as Santa said, “Hello, Timothy.”
Timothy stared, frozen in place, Puppy clutched to his chest.
“Timothy Bell-Meyers are you there?”
“Go on, answer him,” Rainey prodded.
A shy, “Hey,” was all he could muster.
Henry played the scene perfectly. “Hello there, Timothy. I heard about the misunderstanding on the train. I’m sorry you were scared. No harm though, you’re still on the nice list, young man.”
Timothy answered with a hushed, “Okay.”
“Is there anything else I can help you with—anything you want to add to your wish list?”
Rainey almost groaned. The list changed daily and was multiplied by three active imaginations. The triplets had listed dragons, ponies, flying balloons, ice castles, and many other wishes with no chance of fulfillment.
Timothy said nothing.
“Well, I guess that’s all, Santa,” Rainey said. “Thanks for talking with us. We’ll leave some cookies and milk out for you. Have a safe trip.”
“Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas tiny Tim.” Henry chuckled, and added, “I’ve always wanted to say that.”
Rainey laughed and was about to return the Merry Christmas when Timothy shouted from the back seat, “A real puppy. I want a real puppy.”
This was not a new request and had been discussed ad nauseam. Santa, thank goodness, was informed.
“Timothy, your parents think you should be older before you take on the responsibility of a puppy.”
Undaunted, Timothy excitedly pled his case. “Not for Christmas, for my birthday. Three days. I am four years in three days. Babies can’t have puppies. Nee Nee said I not a baby.”
Rainey had stopped counting the times the triplets’ literal interpretation of something she said came back to bite her in the ass, but now she understood Timothy’s reaction to being called a baby. She now gave credence to the backseat conversation she overheard earlier, on the way to ride the Santa Train. Using the passenger side visor mirror, Rainey watched the triplets discuss Timothy’s quest for a puppy.
Weather, who had a better handle on the spoken word than her siblings— including adapting a superfluous conjunction tactic which prevented the need to yield the floor—explained to her brothers, “Timothy can’t have a puppy, ‘cause, ‘cause puppies are babies and, and, and we are babies and, and babies can’t take care of puppies. Only mommies can.”
“Nee Nee can be the puppy mommy,” Mac said.
Weather shook her head from side to side. “No. Nee Nee has a cat. She can’t have puppies.”
Mac followed with another suggestion. “Mommy can take care of Timothy’s puppy.”
“No!” Weather exclaimed, “Mommy has babies. If she has a puppy, she will have to give away a baby, but, but, but Santa can say so and she has to.”
Rainey chuckled quietly at how her children’s growing mental powers worked, creating fantasy reasoning and magical answers for the most mundane things. She had no clue where Weather came up with the baby trade off for a puppy scheme or that cat owners were excluded from puppy mommy positions. Despite the vivid imaginations and convoluted logic of their children, the Bell-Meyers household wasn’t getting a puppy simply because neither Katie nor Rainey had the energy to deal with one more living responsibility.
After a moment of contemplation, Mac said, “Mommy has too many babies.”
Mac was a jolly little guy. He was big for his age and exceptionally large for a triplet. He flew headlong into adventure, as long as he wasn’t scared. Being without his mother was his biggest fear. The thought of Katie being unavailable took Mac out of play in his advocacy for Timothy’s procurement of a puppy.
With a consolatory pat to his brother’s knee, he shrugged at the inevitable conclusion he then voiced, “I’m sorry, Timothy. Babies can’t have puppies.”
Weather leaned up as far as the safety belts would let her, so she could see Timothy better and offer more counsel. “Ask Santa Claus. He will say so and Mommy and Nee Nee have to do what he says.”
Santa’s voice snapped Rainey back to the present. “Well, Timothy, I think you’ll have to talk to Mommy and Nee
Nee about the birthday present. I have to get back to the toyshop. Busy time. Bye, bye, now.”
Santa’s abrupt and, as Rainey saw it, cowardly exit put her squarely in the crosshairs of a nearly-four-year-old in possession of a logical argument. Babies could not have puppies, but she told Timothy he wasn’t a baby anymore. Therefore, he could have a puppy. It seemed reasonable and Rainey was going to have a hell of a time convincing him otherwise.
“Nee Nee—”
She cut him off before he had a chance to get started. “Buddy, I have to talk to Mommy about the puppy thing.”
“Nee Nee, I—”
Rainey had been united with Katie on the puppy issue. However, she had not counted on Timothy sticking to this one wish above all others. He was usually so easy to please and compliant, taking things in stride better than the others. Since fixating on a real puppy, he simply ignored arguments against it and stood fast in his faith that a puppy would soon be his. His faith was wearing Rainey down.
She began to cave. “It isn’t something we just rush into. We’ll have to find a puppy first.”
“Nee Nee—”
“I didn’t say yes—”
“Nee Nee, I have to potty.”
And that quickly the focus went from puppies to locating a public restroom. Such was life with her children—meltdowns, potty breaks, toddler logic, and an occasional leap off a Santa Train. Rainey wouldn’t change a thing.
2
Christmas Eve
“I finded the puppy.”
“Look at that face.”
The text message accompanied the image of a wrinkle-faced, hound dog, muddy up to its big red ears. With his tiny arms around the large dog’s neck, an only slightly less muddy Timothy beamed a toddler-toothed grin toward the camera.
Rainey smiled at the phone for two reasons. One, because the kid was adorable and two, she was not going to be involved in the clean up. Mac and Weather were not in the picture. Rainey had no doubt they were mud-covered as well. It was rare for one to be involved in mischief without at least one other sibling along to magnify the damage.
CarⓍl of the Bells: A Rainey Bell Holiday Short Story Page 1
