On Christmas Eve

by Thomas Kinkade

  Their bank account was starting to fatten up again, like the proverbial Christmas goose, and they weren’t even halfway through the season. Maybe they could give their helpers a Christmas bonus this year, Betty thought. Everyone worked so hard, and they were a loyal crew. She heard the shop door open and thought it must be Molly coming in.

  “Hello? Anybody here?” a man’s voice called out to her.

  A customer. Whoops. She should have realized one of those might stroll in at some point during the day. Betty slipped out of the desk chair and ran out to the shop. She still had on her apron, and her blond hair was twisted in a knot at the back of her head.

  The man stood with his back to the counter as he gazed around the shop. He was wearing a worn leather jacket and had dark brown hair, flecked with gray. She felt frozen in her tracks for a moment. Her eyes were playing tricks on her. It couldn’t be . . . Santa standing right there? Could it?

  Then he turned and smiled. His blue eyes flashed with surprise. And happiness, too, she thought.

  “Hi, Betty. I almost didn’t recognize you with your hair like that.”

  “Oh . . . right.” She lifted her hands to the back of her head and undid the clip. He seemed fascinated by the movement, his eyes carefully following the gesture. “I just wear it like that when I’m cooking, to keep it out of the way.”

  “It looks very nice. Very . . . elegant.”

  She felt self-conscious from the way he was looking at her and took a breath, getting her bearings. She just never expected to see him here . . . and now, here he was.

  But you don’t have to act like a silly teenager, Betty. Get a grip, woman. You’re too old for this.

  “What brings you to Willoughby Fine Foods this morning? Are you planning a party?” she asked politely.

  Had he just come to track her down? Maybe to ask her out on a date? The idea made her heart beat a little faster.

  “I’m here to ask a favor, actually. Since I fixed your van, I figured you owe me one,” he added with a grin.

  “I guess I do,” she agreed, her curiosity growing.

  He pulled out a few pages of the village newspaper, the Cape Light Messenger, which he had folded and stuck in his jacket pocket.

  “Have you seen today’s paper?” he asked as he smoothed out the sheets.

  “There’s a copy around here somewhere. But I haven’t had a chance.” So it wasn’t about a date. She felt a bit let down.

  “The Three Village Food Pantry had a big plumbing problem this weekend. A pipe burst in the basement, and it wasn’t discovered for hours. The basement was totally flooded. Tons of stuff has been ruined.”

  He showed her the article, complete with pictures. Cartons of boxed foods—cereal, rice, crackers, and pasta—floating in water that was knee-high. There were other boxes, too, some of them gift-wrapped. Volunteers in high rubber boots stood holding buckets, trying to bail out the place.

  “Oh, dear . . . . what a mess. And right before Christmas. So many people depend on that place for their groceries. More and more each week, I hear.”

  “Exactly. The organization was planning a big party, like the one the Rotary Club did.”

  Where I met you? I remember that, Betty wanted to answer. Instead she said, “That was a nice event.”

  “It was great—and a great help to a lot of families. The food pantry does a party like that, too, and gives out lots of gifts to children. They’ve been collecting donations for months and had most of the stuff gift-wrapped and ready to go. Unfortunately, it was all stored in the basement.”

  “And now it’s been ruined by the flood,” Betty finished for him. She skimmed the news article, then glanced up at him. “Were you going to be Santa at that party, too?”

  “Every year since they started it. I’m good friends with the couple who runs the pantry, Michael and Eve Piper. They’re amazing people. They work so hard at that place. It’s been a real nightmare for them. They didn’t have good insurance. It won’t cover much.”

  “Oh, that’s awful,” Betty said. “Are you going around town, asking for donations to help them?”

  “Sort of. The Pipers need to restock the pantry, and they’d really love to give that party. They know it will practically take a miracle to make it all work out, but they won’t give up on the idea. I promised I would try to help them.”

  “They asked the right guy. If anyone could fill that tall order, it would have to be Santa, don’t you think?” She smiled at him, catching his eye.

  He smiled back in a way that made her feel as if something inside her had just lit up. “It’s going to be a tough one, even for me,” he confessed. But he didn’t look daunted in the least, Betty thought. He looked excited, energized by the challenge.

  “So, you’re here to ask for a donation. Is that it?”

  “To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure what I’m doing—or the best way to go about this.” He paused. “To tell you the complete and total truth, this is my first stop.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “I was going to try the Clam Box first but . . . Charlie Bates scares me.”

  Betty almost laughed. “He scares most people. You need to polish your act before you take on Charlie Bates.”

  Nathan didn’t say anything. He just looked at her as if he’d found some miraculous key to a door that had always been locked. She could almost tell what he was thinking: I’ve come to the right place. This woman is going to help me.

  She knew she would, too. The opportunity was absolutely irresistible.

  Something about Nathan was so sincere. He was so open with his feelings. He didn’t seem to have a million levels of defenses like most of the men she met. She felt thrown off balance a bit by his sheer honesty.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee or something?” Then she suddenly remembered the chili still cooking. “Oh, blast . . . I left something on the stove. Just a sec. I’d better check it . . .”

  She dashed to the back of the shop, and Nathan followed. She lifted the lid on the pot. It had definitely cooked down and looked a little thick. She hoped it hadn’t burned.

  “That smells great. What are you making?”

  “It’s a new chili recipe . . . or it’s supposed to be. Turkey and two kinds of beans.” Betty stirred the chili around with a long spoon. “It doesn’t look too bad, does it?”

  “Now there’s an overwhelming recommendation. I thought this place turned out gourmet food.”

  She laughed and looked up at him. “That’s Molly’s department. I’m mainly the office brains.” She spooned up a bit of chili and offered it to him. “Here, you be the judge. I’m not great at taste-testing either.”

  Nathan happily stepped forward and bent closer to sample her efforts. He closed his eyes a bit, concentrating on the flavor. She studied his looks again. His hair was in need of a trim, and his black sweater and jeans looked almost as worn as the leather jacket he wore on top. He wasn’t handsome in a conventional way, but something about him drew her.

  If I were still selling real estate and this man were a house, I would describe him as “great condition, loads of charm, just needs some TLC. A real fixer-upper for a motivated buyer.”

  Somehow it all suited him. Rough around the edges but one hundred percent real.

  Quite ironic considering his alter ego, Santa Claus, was the very definition of an unreal, fantasy figure.

  Nathan nodded in approval. “That is good. I like the two kinds of beans. Black and kidney?”

  “That was my idea,” Betty confessed. “We didn’t have enough kidney beans so I just tossed in the other kind. Is it really okay?”

  “It’s better than okay. It’s excellent. Try it,” he urged her.

  Her cooking was not typically so well received. She took a new spoon and warily tasted a mouthful. “Hmm . . . That is pretty good. Needs a little more chili powder maybe?”

  “It’s fine for me. I don’t need my mouth burning up to enjoy spicy food.”

  “Me either. Would you like
to stay for lunch? I’ve made plenty, and it will help my case with Molly if I offer her an objective, unbiased opinion.”

  “I’d love to. But I’m not so sure I’m that objective about the chef.”

  Betty glanced at him and felt a little jolt. She decided it was best to ignore the comment.

  He was just trying to be nice, she decided.

  Betty set two places at the counter and served the chili with iced tea and some cornbread that was left over from a weekend event. “So, tell me more about this food pantry party that your friends planned,” she began. “How many guests did they invite? Where was it going to be held?”

  Nathan filled her in on the details of what they had planned to do and what they needed now, as much as he knew so far.

  “Of course we need a lot of food. But we also need all the gifts for the kids and the families. That’s going to be the hard part. People have already made their donations. They probably won’t donate to the place twice.”

  Betty could see his point but didn’t believe that hurdle was impassable. “Come on, Santa. You have to be more optimistic than that. Let’s think outside the big bag a minute.” She was rewarded with another great smile. “There are a lot of places you can try. You don’t need to go back to the same supporters. Try the variety store in town, the big toy store in the mall. I know a lot of people. I can make some calls. I can help you get this together,” she offered finally.

  “That would be great. But only if you really want to and have the time. You guys must be crazy now, with the holidays. I really just came in here to ask for a donation of food for the party.” He shrugged. “Maybe you should see how this would fit into your schedule and get back to me?”

  Betty glanced at him. She could tell he really wanted her help but was trying to be considerate, allowing her a polite out just in case she had jumped in too impulsively—swept up by the moment, the newspaper article . . . and those startling blue eyes.

  He did have a point. Her business was crazy busy right now, though the quiet in the shop today belied that. She was just jumping in impulsively. But she had also been thinking of doing a good deed for Christmas, helping people less fortunate than herself. Here was the perfect chance to do that and really make a difference. Not just write out a check and stick it in an envelope.

  “We are very busy for the next few weeks. No question. It’s this season and the spring, with all the weddings and graduation parties,” she explained. “We more or less live or die by those two seasons.”

  Nathan listened with an unreadable expression, as if expecting her to back out.

  “But ever since that Rotary party, I’ve been thinking that I’d like to do something this year to help other people. I mean, something more than just writing a check for a worthy cause. I have so much to be thankful for.” Even though I’m alone and think about that too much, she added silently. “I know a lot of people have it hard this year. But I wasn’t sure what to do or even how to figure that out. So this is perfect. I think I could do a good job helping you pull this together. I really want to do it,” she said honestly.

  Nathan looked surprised and very pleased by her answer. “You don’t have to convince me. You’ve had more ideas in the last ten minutes than I was likely to come up with in a week.”

  She doubted that was so, but it was nice of him to say. He wasn’t afraid to follow a woman’s lead, was he? She liked that.

  The phone rang and Betty tilted her head to listen to the answering machine. “Excuse me a minute, I have to take this.”

  While Betty spoke to the client, Nathan got up and carried their dishes to the sink. Betty soon returned and met him in the kitchen.

  “It wasn’t important. I’ll call them back later,” she explained. “Would you like some coffee or dessert? We’re really stocked today. Brownies, carrot cake, tiramisu—”

  “That all sounds delicious. But I’d better go. I’m sure you have work to do. And if I eat any more good food, I’ll just want to go home and take a nap.”

  Betty laughed. She was starting to feel the same way.

  “Let me give you my e-mail and phone number,” he said, patting his pockets for a pen.

  Betty quickly handed him the pad and pencil that were on the stainless steel countertop. Then she found one of her cards. She wrote her home phone number and personal e-mail on the back and gave it to him. Nathan looked at it a moment then slipped it in his wallet.

  “I’ll try to visit some other stores in town today and see if they’re interested in helping. Can I call you tonight?”

  “I should be home around seven or so,” she said.

  “Okay. I’ll call with a full report,” he promised.

  He seemed about to say something else. His gaze was fixed on her, making her feel as if she had already saved the day.

  The back door to the shop flew open, and Molly bustled in. She didn’t even notice at first that Betty had a guest. “The ride down from Newburyport was torturous. I was stuck behind this dumb old truck that was going about twenty miles an hour. I wanted to scream.”

  Molly was not the calmest driver in the world, under any circumstance. When she encountered any kind of challenge on the highway, her blood pressure rose to dangerous levels.

  She had dumped her briefcase, a sample book of linen swatches, and a big photo album of party setups on the counter. She suddenly noticed Nathan and paused as she pulled off her coat.

  “Oh . . . hello. Haven’t we met somewhere? You seem familiar.” Molly glanced at Betty, then surveyed the scene in the kitchen. Betty knew she had quickly figured out Nathan had been hanging out for a while.

  “This is Nathan Daley, Molly. The man who helped me get the van started after the party?” Betty had purposely avoided introducing him as Santa.

  “Oh, right. I remember. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you out of uniform,” Molly said quickly.

  The clever comeback made him laugh. “You know how it is being a celebrity. I’m incognito today.”

  Very incognito, Betty thought.

  “I was just leaving. I’m sure you ladies need to get to work,” he said politely. “Nice to see you again, Molly.”

  “Good-bye, Nathan. Nice to see you, too.” Molly’s tone was bright but curious.

  Betty walked him to the back door. “Thanks again for lunch,” he said. “It was super. I’m glad I stopped here first.”

  “So am I,” Betty said honestly. “See you.”

  She stood by the door as he walked out, then closed it behind him. She felt a bit elated by the visit and guessed it must show. She knew Molly would be full of questions. The best strategy, Betty decided, would be to tell her just the bare minimum—then distract her with the chili.

  Molly would be sympathetic to the cause, of course. Betty had no doubt she would offer to donate food and maybe even holiday dinners for the families. But Betty didn’t want to get into a conversation about Nathan. She was more in the mood for her partner’s cooking tips right now than her advice about men.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ZOEY LOVED HER ROOM IN LUCY’S HOUSE. SHE HAD NEVER HAD her own room before, not even when her family was still together and she lived with her mother. This room was more like a little studio apartment, tucked in the attic, far from everyone. The kind of place Zoey daydreamed about having when she had a job and lived on her own. She even had a TV and a bathroom all to herself. If it was hers for real, she would hang up some posters or the collages she made. And she would paint the walls dark purple or something interesting and get a cooler-looking quilt. The pastel blue walls and flowered, lace-edged quilt made her a little crazy. She felt as if she was trapped in an air-freshener commercial. But the decor was perfect for an old lady, Zoey thought. Which made sense when you thought about it.

  Lucy had told her that the room was really for Charlie’s mother, who lived in Florida and came up to visit in the summer and sometimes on holidays. But she wasn’t coming to New England for Christmas this year. Zoey had overheard Lucy tal
king about it with Charlie one night, as they were coming upstairs. It turned out that this year Charlie’s mother was going to visit with his sister’s family, who lived out in Arizona. Charlie had sounded unhappy about that, pouting like a little boy who missed his mommy. That had definitely surprised Zoey. She couldn’t imagine Charlie getting all mushy over anyone. But she could imagine his mother. Any woman who had raised Charlie had to be a tough old bird, Zoey thought. No wonder they had made her such a nice room, one she hardly even used. She was probably really picky and complained a lot, keeping Lucy hopping.

  Zoey tried not to complain or ask Lucy for anything special. She mainly tried to just blend into the woodwork, hoping they would all forget she was even there. She would have gladly stayed up in the room forever and never set a foot downstairs, even for food. But she was feeling better, and Lucy said she had to get up and walk around the house as much as she could. Lying in bed too much was bad for her lungs, Lucy told her. She could get even sicker. Lucy had been so nice to her, Zoey tried to cooperate. At least whenever she was around.

  When Lucy was home from work during the day, she made Zoey come down and sit in the kitchen or family room with her. Zoey would watch Lucy do housework, or just sit and talk. One day she helped Lucy fold laundry. She was just bored out of her skull. Lucy made a big deal about it and kept thanking her. Zoey could see nobody helped her around here. Lucy did it all and went to work at a hospital, too. And she had that Charlie squawking at her every minute when he got home.

  Luckily, he wasn’t around much, Zoey thought. Sick or not, she wouldn’t have lasted here very long if she had to see too much of that guy. She would have figured out some way to run away. She was surprised she had been here this long. Sunday had been a week and now it was Tuesday, nine days total. Over a week and she had only checked her e-mail once.

  Her cell phone had died last Tuesday, a real bummer. The card had run out on her pay-as-you-go plan, and, being stuck here, she couldn’t get another one. She couldn’t even check her messages. She had snuck down to the second floor and used the house phone once or twice. There was an extension in Lucy’s room. She had also found a cell phone in one of the boys’ rooms—the younger one, she guessed. But it had a password and she couldn’t figure it out.