On Christmas Eve

by Thomas Kinkade

  “Having trouble with your van?”

  She turned at the sound of a man’s voice. A vaguely familiar voice, she realized.

  It was him. The mystery man. The one who had prevented the appetizer avalanche. She stared at him and blinked, as if he had fallen out of the sky.

  Where have you been all night? she nearly asked him.

  “The engine won’t turn over,” she said instead. She turned and glanced down at the motor, taking a minute to regain her inner balance.

  “Could be anything. Let me take a look.” He walked over and peered under the hood. He stood close to her, their shoulders nearly touching.

  For a moment, she thought she had imagined him. But here he was again, real enough. And really attractive, too. She hadn’t imagined that, either.

  “There’s some corrosion on the battery terminals, see?” He pointed to the metal bolts on top of the battery. Betty nodded. She did know what that part was. “I’ll try to scrape it off. You get in the car, and I’ll tell you when to try it again.”

  “Okay.” Betty got back in the driver’s seat and waited for his direction. She saw him take out a big key ring then heard metallic sounds as he scraped the powdery material from the bolts on the battery.

  “Okay, try it,” he called out to her.

  She put the key in the ignition, but the engine didn’t catch. There was only the whining sound, and finally she gave up.

  “What now?” she asked, getting out of the van. “I can call roadside service. Maybe it needs to be towed.”

  “Let’s try to jump it first. I’ll just pull my truck up and see if we can get it started.”

  Before Betty could comment one way or the other, he had walked away, headed for a nearby pickup truck.

  He quickly pulled up beside the van. He got out a set of cables, then opened the hood of his vehicle. “Okay, stand back a bit. I’m not really sure how this goes.”

  “You’re not?” Betty stared at him.

  He glanced at her. She could tell from the laughter in his eyes that he’d been teasing.

  “Don’t worry, I remember. Nothing to it.”

  He attached the red and black clips to the terminals and then brought the other ends of the cable to his truck and did the same.

  Then he climbed into the van and tried to start it. The engine sputtered a bit but soon caught and started running smoothly.

  “Success.” He jumped down from the van. “We’d better leave it running awhile so it charges up. Do you have far to go?”

  “I’m just going home. I live in the village.”

  “I’ll follow you, just in case,” he said. “I’m headed that way myself.”

  Betty nodded. “Okay. By the way, I’m Betty. Betty Bowman. I don’t think I caught your name.”

  “Oh . . . right. Nathan Daley.” He smiled and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said politely.

  Betty took his hand a moment. His grip was strong and warm, despite the cold. She knew her own fingers must feel like ice cubes, and she quickly put her hand back in her pocket.

  “Do you live in Cape Light, Nathan?” she asked curiously. He must be new in town. I can’t see how I missed him, Betty thought.

  “Not in the village. Out near the old Warwick Estate. But I’m going into town for the tree lighting.”

  He looked at her hopefully. Was he going to ask her to join him?

  “I’m just headed home. It’s been a long day.”

  “I’m sure. You were working hard at the party,” he noted. “It was great. Your company does a terrific job.”

  Betty felt a bit confused. She thought he had left the party. She’d certainly been watching for him and hadn’t seen him all night.

  “We do our best. It was a nice group,” she added. She glanced at him curiously. “I’m a little surprised to hear you say that, though,” she admitted. “I didn’t see you there. I thought you left after everything was set up.”

  “I did leave for a while. But I came back.” He paused, and Betty thought he was working hard to hold back a smile. “You didn’t recognize me? I did change my clothes.”

  “You did?” Betty was pretty sure she would have recognized him in any outfit, from a scuba suit to a tuxedo.

  “A red suit . . . and a beard?”

  Her eyes widened. “You were Santa Claus?”

  “That’s right.” He nodded, smiling widely now. He caught her glance, and she stared into his eyes a moment. Those sky blue eyes, sparkling above the snowy beard. She remembered now.

  “I didn’t guess. Obviously.” She smiled at him, still surprised. “You were very good. Molly—my partner,” she explained, “and I, we’ve seen a lot of Santas. You were top notch. We both agreed.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.” He nodded, accepting the compliment. “Meeting Santa means a lot to children. I think most adults forget that. I do take it seriously. I work at it.”

  That much was obvious. The question was, what else did he work at? As a real job. “That’s great,” Betty said. “What an interesting hobby.” She looked up at him, wondering if he would take the bait.

  “It’s more than a hobby. I mean, it’s pretty much the way I earn my living during the Christmas season.”

  “Really? How interesting.” Betty hoped her disappointment didn’t show. Just my luck. The first man I’m genuinely attracted to in who knows how long. And he turns out to be a professional fake Santa?

  She searched around her pockets for her gloves. He really was a nice man, and it had been refreshing to meet him. In fact, it had reminded her of what a person was supposed to feel on a first date. On any kind of date.

  “You look a little cold,” he noticed. “Why don’t you get in the van and put the heat on?”

  “I’d love to,” she said honestly. He opened the door for her, and she climbed in then leaned over and turned on the heater full blast. She closed the door and rolled down the window so they could continue talking.

  “You just need to run it another minute or two. Do you feel better now?”

  “Much better, thank you.” Most men wouldn’t have noticed if I’d turned into an ice statue out there. He was considerate, too. What a waste, Betty thought with a sigh.

  “So you must get a lot of work. You’re very good at what you do,” she said after a moment.

  “I’m pretty well booked for the season.” He took out a pair of black wool gloves and pulled them on. He wore only a down vest over the gray-blue sweater but didn’t seem to be affected by the cold. “I work at the mall a few hours a week, but I prefer charity events, like this one. I’m actually double-booked tonight. I’m the Santa at the tree lighting, too.”

  “You are? I’m impressed. That’s an important job. I hope I’m not making you late?”

  “Not at all. I have plenty of time. I don’t arrive until the end, for the grand finale.”

  “Yes, I remember. On a fire truck, right?”

  “That’s right. That part is fun,” he admitted.

  “I’ll bet,” she said sincerely. She smiled back at him, feeling wistful.

  They didn’t speak for a moment. Then he said, “Your battery is probably charged enough now to get you home. But you’d better bring it to a shop tomorrow. You don’t want to get stuck again.”

  “No . . . I don’t.” Not unless you’re around to help me, she silently amended.

  For a brief moment, she had the oddest feeling he knew what she was thinking. Betty quickly turned away, suddenly fascinated by the cup holder on the dashboard.

  He disconnected the cables, slammed down the van’s hood, then got into his truck. “You go ahead, I’ll follow,” he called out the window.

  Betty nodded. She pulled out of the lot and turned onto Tinker’s Lane. She was used to being on her own, driving everywhere at any hour, doing what she had to do. If she had gotten stuck on the road on the way home, she would have pulled over and called for roadside service. But it was a good feeling to see the headlights of Nathan’
s truck following behind her in the darkness tonight. An uncommonly nice feeling.

  They soon arrived at Betty’s house. She stopped in front and waved to him. He pulled up and opened the window. “Good night, Betty. It was nice to meet you,” he called out.

  “It was work. Admit it,” she teased him. “But thanks again for rescuing me. That was twice in one day.”

  “My pleasure. Next time, I’ll give you a lift with the reindeer.”

  His reply made her laugh. She waved as he drove away and laughed again when she caught sight of the bumper sticker on his truck’s tailgate: MY OTHER CAR IS A SLEIGH.

  The bright feeling quickly faded. There would not be a next time. Unless she ran into him at another party. She wondered why he hadn’t asked for her phone number. He seemed to like her. She could tell that much by now.

  Perhaps her disappointment about his career track—or lack of one—had been obvious. Or maybe he was in a relationship—even though he hadn’t been wearing a ring. It was hard to see how an attractive guy like that could be unattached. What was the point of even thinking about it?

  Betty sat in the van a moment and stared at her house and then at the others nearby.

  Quite a few of her neighbors had been busy today, decorating outside with lights and wreaths and pine garlands. Her next-door neighbor had set candles in each of the front windows, which looked warm and inviting.

  Her house, a classic colonial that was way too big for her now, looked a bit bare and empty. Which was how she suddenly felt, deep inside. The spark of Christmas spirit she’d felt at the party had faded, and Betty walked up to the front door feeling lonely and tired. No two ways about it, it was hard to face the holidays all alone.

  CHAPTER TWO

  CAPE LIGHT’S ANNUAL CHRISTMAS TREE LIGHTING CEREMONY ON the green was a time-honored village tradition and always attracted a crowd of families. This year had been no different, Lucy Bates observed. In fact, it seemed that an even bigger crowd had turned out, happily braving the chilly breezes off the harbor to sing carols together and sigh aloud when the tree lights were turned on.

  The good folks of Cape Light seemed eager this year to celebrate the simple pleasures of the holidays, she noticed. Including the traditional visit to the Clam Box diner right after the lighting, for a cup of hot cocoa and a donut or a slice of pie and coffee.

  When she passed by the diner on her way home from work, the place was jammed. She knew her husband, Charlie, was short on waitstaff, as usual, and could use her help. Even though she was dog tired after an eight-hour nursing shift, she parked and went inside. Her guess had been correct. The only person working the floor was Trudy, Charlie’s most reliable employee. Charlie himself was running between the tables and the kitchen, not at all in the Christmas spirit.

  Lucy didn’t even bother to announce herself. She just pulled on an apron and found a pencil and an order pad.

  For all her education, certifications, and experience these past few years, it sometimes seemed to Lucy that very little in her life had changed. On the outside, maybe. She spent most of her days nursing now, not waiting tables. But in a deeper place, she often felt as if some larger part of her was still stuck back here, in the diner. But maybe that had more to do with her marriage.

  Of course there had been some changes since she became a nurse. But only the bare minimum, she had come to see. Like repairs you make on an old car—just enough to keep it running. No great investments or overhauls. Not on Charlie’s part anyway.

  Lucy twisted her apron strings into a quick knot. She was still slim as the day she had gotten married and could wind the strings around her waist twice.

  “Lucy, where did you come from?” Trudy greeted her with a look of relief.

  “Santa sent me. He got your note.” Lucy patted Trudy’s shoulder as she raced by, a burger deluxe platter in each hand. “I’ll cover the front, you take the back.”

  Lucy swept the room with an experienced glance, quickly determining which customers were waiting for food, which were still studying the menu, and which were about to call for the check. She headed to a booth near the window, a family with four fidgety children who were squirming out of jackets and gloves. She grabbed some menus, and a bucket of crayons and “Smiling Clam” place mats, printed with riddles and word games, then sallied forth on autopilot.

  The demands of the busy diner quickly pulled Lucy away from her troubled thoughts. She and Trudy raced from the kitchen to the tables, serving and clearing away as fast as they could. Charlie had no reason to complain, though, of course, he managed to find something.

  “Who’s got the pie a la mode? It’s starting to look like apple soup,” he groused.

  Trudy ran up to the serving station and whisked away the offending dessert. Lucy followed. “Cool down, Charlie. The rush is over. They’ve all gone home or asked for the check.”

  He stared at her, about to argue, then looked out at the dining area. It was true; only one or two families lingered, finishing up their treats. There was also a teenage girl, Lucy’s customer. She sat alone near the window, paging through a magazine. She would occasionally look up and stare out the window at Main Street and the snow that had just begun to fall. She had eaten the middle of a grilled-cheese sandwich and drunk several cups of tea using the same bag.

  Charlie leaned over the counter and pointed with a spoon at the girl. “What about that one? Did you drop a check?”

  “Not yet. She didn’t ask,” Lucy said.

  The girl didn’t seem in any hurry. Maybe she thought the Clam Box stayed open past midnight, like one of those coffee places with jazz playing in the background and free Wi-Fi. Lucy grinned at the thought. That would be the day.

  “She must think we stay open late,” Lucy said.

  “Well, we don’t. Better tell her we close at ten.” He turned and wiped down the counter with a damp cloth that smelled of chlorine, the “closing time” smell, which was usually strong enough to drive customers out without any further reminder. The girl didn’t even seem to notice.

  As Lucy headed toward the table, Trudy met her halfway. “Lucy, could I head out a little early? I’ve got to pick up my son at the movies. His ride fell through and I don’t want him walking home in the cold. It just started snowing, too.”

  “Yeah, I noticed. I hope it doesn’t get too messy out there. You go on, Trudy. I’ll help Charlie close up.”

  “Thanks, Lucy. I just have the one table in the back left, and they have their check.” She pulled on her coat, grabbed her handbag from under the counter, then cast a grateful smile in Lucy’s direction as she headed out the door.

  Trudy’s remaining customers were leaving. Lucy took the check and made change at the register. Charlie was still in the kitchen, and she could hear the familiar sounds as he performed his usual cleaning routine. He would soon come clanking through the swinging doors, pushing the rolling mop bucket. Lucy knew it was time to find the broom and sweep up what she could.

  When she passed by the girl, she stopped at the table, waiting for her to look up from her magazine. Lucy had the distinct feeling she wasn’t reading. Just staring at the page, willing Lucy to go away. The girl turned the page, revealing a blue tattoo around her wrist that looked like a bracelet of twisted vines. Then she broke out into a harsh cough, covering her mouth with her hand.

  It didn’t sound good, Lucy thought. She knew a lot about coughs by now and could practically diagnose the cause by the sound. This girl’s cough came from deep in her lungs, and she seemed to be shivering.

  She was wearing a khaki army-style jacket, which couldn’t be very warm. Her jeans were tight with a few, fashionable tears. Her hair was long and dark, but pushed up into some sort of disheveled twist, with strands falling down in all directions. A few streaks of iridescent blue and red glistened against natural, lustrous brown. A long row of piercings decorated one ear, and there was a small gold ring in one nostril. Her skin was very pale, especially in contrast to her heavy black eye makeup.<
br />
  She looked about the same age as Lucy’s oldest son, C.J.—and just the type of girl she hoped her son would avoid. Definitely not a cheerleader on a study break.

  “We close in a few minutes,” Lucy said. “Would you like anything else?”

  The girl looked up briefly, then shook her head. “I’m good. Thanks.”

  “Okay. I’ll leave the check. You can pay at the register when you’re ready.”

  The girl stared down at the magazine and nodded.

  Lucy had already totaled the bill. She set the slip facedown on the table, then headed for the utility closet near the restrooms to find the broom and dustpan.

  Lucy had just opened the closet when she heard Charlie shouting in the dining room. She spun around just in time to see him spring out from behind the counter and grab at the girl’s pack as she headed for the door.

  “Not so fast! Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Hey, jerk . . . let me go!” the girl shouted back at him, yanking hard on the strap to shake off his grip. “Who do you think you are?”

  “I own this place, and I just caught you skipping out on your bill. That’s who.”

  The girl gave Charlie an angry, indignant stare. As if he were a particularly repulsive bug. “Just chill, would you? It’s not exactly the end of the world.” She rolled her eyes. “As if you’re going to go bankrupt or something.”

  Charlie let go of the strap, but took a stand between the girl and the door. He crossed his sinewy arms over his chest. “You’re not leaving without paying, young lady. This isn’t a soup kitchen.”

  The girl took a step back, her eyes scanning the diner. Would she try to dodge around him—or break down in tears?

  Lucy stepped toward them quickly. “What’s going on here, Charlie?” she asked, though she already knew.

  “This one was trying to sneak out on her check,” Charlie said. “I was crouched under the counter, putting away the ketchup bottles. She must have thought I was still in the kitchen.”

  The look on the girl’s face told Lucy his account was true. But she managed to sound outraged. “What is the big deal? I just forgot, that’s all.”