by Kieran Scott
I smiled, feeling my eyes crinkle at the edges just like Santa’s always did in the drawings in picture books, and put my gloved hand on top of Peyton’s head.
“You’re a good kid, and your sister is lucky to have you,” I told him.
“Thanks, Santa!” Peyton said. Then he pushed himself down, his feet slapped the ground, and he was off and running. He found his mother’s hand in the crowd and they walked off together.
“Santa thinks I’m a good kid!” Peyton exclaimed.
“I know! I heard!” his mother replied, doing everything she could to keep from crying. “I happen to agree with him.”
I felt like my heart was being pulled out of my chest toward them and I realized that Peyton had it right. He knew what the spirit of Christmas was about. The giving, the love, the selflessness. That was what I had been missing. How had I gotten through the last few weeks without it?
I grinned and ho-ho-hoed as the next little girl approached me. And as I picked her up to put her on my lap, I promised myself I’d never let anything get in the way of Christmas again. Not ever.
A few hours later my thigh was tingling from all the little bottoms that had jumped onto it and my throat was sore and dry from all the chuckling and talking, but I couldn’t have been happier. The mall was about to close and things were winding down when I saw my mother smiling at me from the exact same spot where I’d stood earlier, watching Scooby. It seemed like eons ago.
“Merry Christmas!” I called out one last time, standing and waving after my last lap crawler as he scurried off. Eve strung the red rope across the entrance and walked over to me.
“Nice job, Paul,” she said, sliding her green cap from her head. “You really saved me here today.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t do it for you,” I said.
“Thanks,” she replied sarcastically, but with a smile.
“No! I mean . . .” I looked out at the empty space where the line used to be and Eve followed my gaze. I was too exhausted to put what I was thinking into words.
“I know,” she said finally. “You did it for them.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Exactly.”
“Well, I hope I see you around,” Eve said, starting into the Santa Shack. “I mean, I hope you don’t end up locked up in a prison cell with some overgrown beauty queen named Bubba.”
I laughed. “Thanks,” I said. “Right back at ya.”
I loped down the red carpet to my mother, who pushed herself away from her pillar. She was still smiling, but up close I could see that the smile wasn’t just about me potentially getting my Santa job back. She had good news. I could taste it.
“What’s up?” I asked, unbuttoning the Santa coat and letting in some air.
“Well, thanks to you, I hear, That Awful Woman confessed to skimming money from the registers!” my mother announced, her face all aglow. She looked about fifteen years younger than she had last night at the police station.
“You’re kidding!” I exclaimed, realization washing over me. “No wonder she didn’t think it was you!”
“Yep! Because she knew it was her!” my mother said with a laugh. “Anyway, Mr. Steiger called me and apologized and asked me to come in, so I did and—”
“He rehired you?” I asked, grasping her elbows. She grasped mine right back.
“Not only that, he made me assistant manager!” my mother exclaimed, practically shrieking.
“No way!” I said, my mind reeling. No more lame reindeer outfit! No more handing out spicy sausages and cheese! My mother grabbed me up in a hug and even though there were still people milling around the mall, I hugged her back, right there in public.
“But wait, it gets even better,” my mother told me as I put my arm around her shoulders and we headed back up the red carpet to get my clothes from the Santa Shack.
“What else?” I asked.
“Your father’s coming home tomorrow night,” she told me, happy tears shining in her eyes. “They say he’s made a lot of progress and he can’t wait to get home!”
I paused in front of the Santa Shack and looked down at my shiny black boots. I immediately remembered the real Santa’s shoes and how scuffed and worn they were. I felt that old, familiar heaviness of guilt start to weigh down on me. I didn’t deserve a visit from Santa. Not after the way I’d treated everyone around me.
“Paul? What’s wrong? I know a lot has gone on the past few days, but I thought you’d be happy,” my mother said, searching my face.
“I know. And I am,” I replied. “It’s just . . . I don’t want Dad to hate me.”
“Oh, Paul, your father could never hate you. He loves you,” my mother replied, reaching up to touch my face and grabbing my synthetic beard. “We both do.”
My heart constricted. After everything I’d done . . . I had no idea what to say.
“I just wish there was something I could do to—”
And then it hit me. The one thing I could do to make my father happy, to prove that nothing had changed, to show everyone that I was back in the spirit of the season. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? Santa Claus had already shown me the way.
“Mom?” I said, lifting one corner of my mouth. “Can I stay home from school tomorrow?”
“Why?” she asked slowly, suspiciously narrowing her eyes.
“I have a really, really good reason,” I promised her.
“And that is?” she prompted.
“You’ll see,” I said with a grin. “Everyone will see.”
I paced across the living room, then back over to the window, looked out, then paced across the living room again and back. I sat down. I stood up. I paced. I picked up a glass ball that had fallen from the tree, tried to fasten it to a branch, and found I couldn’t get my fingers to work. Then I sat down again. Stood up again. Looked out the window.
There was nothing on the street. Not a car, not a bike, not a sound. And then something hit the windowpane in front of me. A small, minuscule dot of water. Then another. Then another. There was a low, pleasant hissing as a Honda Civic slipped by and I looked up at one of the streetlights to better see, holding my breath with hope.
And there it was. Snow. Tentative and swirly at first, but then coming faster and thickening. I stood there, mesmerized, watching as the bushes in old Mrs. Gillus’s yard were coated in white, as the grass on the front lawn iced over and grew crunchy, as the windshield of my dad’s car disappeared. I have no idea how long I watched, but by the time the headlights of my mother’s car flashed through the window, I was no longer nervous.
“Dad,” I whispered.
I hooked the glass ball onto the nearest tree branch and ran for the door. My father was slowly emerging from the car with my mother’s help. She slammed the door and I flicked on the light switch that controlled the outside lights. The whole world seemed to illuminate and I watched from the foyer window as my father’s face lit up with joy. My heart overflowed and I knew. I had done the right thing.
I opened the door and walked out, my hands in the pockets of my dark green cords. My boots made wet footprints in the new sheen of snow on the front walk as I joined my parents and turned to look up at our house. And at the Santa in Space light display in all its cheesy, over-the-top Christmas glory.
“How did you do it?” my father asked, gazing at Santa’s spaceship, dumbfounded.
“Worked all day,” I told him over the lump in my throat. “Plus I had some pretty good blueprints to follow.”
I glanced at my mother, who smiled proudly at me, then looked at my father. He couldn’t have been more emotional if I’d told him he was going to the Lumberjacking Finals in Minnesota next year.
“Welcome home, Dad,” I said, wrapping him up in a hug and patting his back a couple of times.
When I pulled back, my father clasped my shoulders as hard as he could with his weakened hands. “Thanks, son,” he said tearfully. “It’s going to be a magical Christmas after all.”
I’LL BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS
>
“PAUL NICHOLAS! YOU ARE A WONDER!”
Ms. Reginald, the director of Hope House, hadn’t stopped singing my praises all night. Well, actually, shouting them over the high volume of the stereo that was currently blaring “Jingle Bell Rock.” Not that I could blame her, though. My parents and I, along with a couple dozen employees from the mall, had done a seriously killer job on the annual Hope House Christmas Eve bash.
After Ms. Reginald gave me the hundredth wet, sticky cheek kiss of the evening, I leaned back against the wall of the Hope House rec room and took it all in. Matt and my mom in the center of the ragged carpet, teaching about ten little kids in footsie pajamas how to do the twist. Mall volunteers pouring sodas and fruit punch in the far corner. Marcus handing out cookies and candy. My father sitting at a table with a Hope House volunteer, writing a check for this month’s Hope House electric bill. (My dad had strung the lights with his usual disregard for thrift, and when Ms. Reginald expressed her concern about the whirring electric meter in the basement, he offered to foot the bill.)
Turk, Randy, Sarah, and the rest of the choir from school, along with Mr. McDaniel, were gathered around a huge Christmas tree set up in one corner. I’d roped them into singing carols for the kids and McD had jumped at the chance to practice for a live audience. We had already put on our miniconcert and now they were checking out the wrapped presents that local firefighters and police had collected for the kids. The tree was decorated with ornaments made by the children and the walls were papered with their own crayon drawings of Santa and Rudolph and one rather large Christmas jack-o’-lantern that had Christmas lights drawn all over it. I think that artist was a little confused about the holidays, but still, I kinda liked it.
“Whoo! Those kids have no shortage of energy!” my mother said, fanning her face as she walked off the makeshift dance floor.
“I think everyone’s having fun,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “Do you think they’re having fun?”
“I do,” my mother said, her eyes shining. “And I think that volunteering your time here was a great idea, Paul.”
“Thanks,” I replied. “I just wish those cops would quit eyeing me like I’m gonna torch the place.”
My mother followed my gaze to Officer Pie and his partner, Officer Neville, who were munching on cookies across the room. Officially they had come to represent their precinct, but I couldn’t help feeling that they were also here to make sure nothing went awry with the Nicholas kid.
“Well, at least you invited some nice friends and not those hoodlums,” my mother said. “It’s good for them to see that you don’t actually associate with those people.”
I bit my lip and looked at her out of the corner of my eye. “Well . . .”
My mother blanched as, always one for perfect timing, Dirk threw open the doors, walked in followed by Ralph, Rudy, and Flora, took one look around, and said:
“Aw, man! You tricked us!” Head twitch.
My mother gave me a look that meant business. “What are they doing here?”
“I’m out of here!” Flora said, raising her hands.
“Wait!” I called out, rushing over to them and blocking their exit. Ralph stared me down and Rudy did everything he could to keep from looking at me. His foot tapped like crazy and I knew I had about five seconds before they steamrolled me and made a run for it. Not that I could blame them. I’d promised a night of horror movies and prank phone calls and they’d just walked into their version of hell.
“Don’t go, you guys,” I said, my heart pounding. “Look, I know this isn’t your idea of a good time—”
“Not our idea of a good time?” Dirk blurted out. “Paulie! They’re playing Bing Crosby!”
“He was the devil,” Flora put in, sucking her cheeks. “I mean, have you ever seen that Little Drummer Boy video with David Bowie? If that doesn’t have subliminal kill-kill-kill messages, I don’t know what does.”
“You guys, give me a chance, okay?” I said. “I’ve thought about what you said in jail that night and you were right. If I hadn’t been so obsessed with Scooby, we probably wouldn’t have gotten caught.”
“Exactly,” Rudy said.
“But do you realize that if we hadn’t gotten caught, you would have burned down the mall?” I said this last part under my breath with a wary glance at the officers by the wall. They were watching us intently.
Flora, Dirk, and Rudy exchanged looks. Ralph, of course, continued to stare me down. I felt a glimmer of hope when I saw Dirk’s eyes waver.
“Sooner or later someone would have pegged you for the crime and you’d all be facing some serious jail time right now if it wasn’t for me. As it is, we’re probably just going to get community service and counseling,” I said. Then I took a deep breath. “Look, I got a record for you guys,” I said. “The least you can do is make it up to me by sticking around and having a piece of cake.”
“Cake?” Ralph said, his eyebrows rising.
We all laughed and the tension was broken. Dirk and I gazed at each other. For the first time I felt like we had a mutual understanding and respect.
“Okay, okay!” Dirk said after a long pause. “You’re right, Nicholas. You didn’t sign on for prison time when you came to us. And we did keep our plans a secret from you.”
“Yeah, and we should have thought more about the whole burning down the mall thing,” Rudy put in. “I mean, I would have been out of a job!”
I wanted to ask him what he was talking about, but I bit my tongue. I couldn’t believe that Radio Shack hadn’t fired him after his arrest. But then, there was no telling with those AV guys. Maybe they thought he was even cooler now.
“So where’s the cake?” Ralph asked.
Flora rolled her eyes and hooked her arm through Ralph’s. “Come on, Doughboy,” she said. “Let’s get you sugared up.”
She tugged him toward the snack table and Rudy followed, his head bobbing as the music switched over to Christina Aguilera’s Christmas album.
“So . . . ,” I said, once Dirk and I were left alone. “Friends?”
His head twitched and then he smirked. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “Friends.”
Dirk turned around and joined the party and I felt another stone lift off my shoulders. Everything was slowly falling into place, one problem at a time. As I watched Ms. Reginald dangle mistletoe over the kids by the tree, getting them to kiss each other’s cheeks, I saw Sarah break away from the rest of the choir and start across the room toward me, carrying a red gift bag. My pulse skipped ahead with nervous curiosity. We hadn’t spoken since the morning I’d gone ballistic on her in choir. Lately I was feeling a bit embarrassed about that, even if she did deserve it.
“Hi, Paul,” she said, averting her eyes as she spoke. She was wearing the same red sweater she’d worn the morning I met her, and her hair was pulled back from her perfect face.
“Hey,” I said.
“This party is . . . it’s really great,” she said. She stood next to me and looked out at the room as well, probably to avoid making eye contact.
“Yeah. I’m glad Mr. McDaniel agreed to bring the choir,” I said.
“Look,” she blurted out suddenly, her face flushing pink as she stared down at the bag in her hands. “I wanted to tell you I broke up with Scooby. And I wanted you to know I had no idea what he was doing.” She looked up again. “He told me he made all his money off CD sales. How stupid am I?”
I smiled and didn’t refute her claim.
“Anyway, I returned all the presents he bought me,” she said, glancing in my direction. “It wasn’t right to keep them . . . you know . . . with the way they were bought.”
“You returned them?” I asked, surprised. I really looked at her for the first time and saw that her face was full of unabashed hope and honesty. Suddenly I felt warm all over.
“Yeah,” she said. “I mean . . . I thought about what you said to me that morning and—”
“I’m really sorry about that,” I
put in quickly.
“Well, even though I didn’t like the way you said it, I realized you were right,” Sarah added. She watched the kids as they gathered around the tree at Ms. Reginald’s feet. The director started to hand out gifts and as each child received a package, the room seemed to become a little bit lighter with joy. “These kids needed that money more than I needed more stuff.”
“Wow,” I said, impressed. “That’s great, Sarah.”
“Well, anyway, I wanted to give this back, too,” she said, handing me the gift bag.
Surprised, I looked inside and saw my favorite red wool sweater folded neatly between two sheets of white tissue.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” she replied. Then she looked up at me tentatively, stood on her toes, and gave me a lingering kiss on the cheek. I waited for the excited tingling sensation to rush over me as it always had when she kissed me, but I felt nothing. Nada. Zilch, zero, zip. Compared to the way kissing Holly felt in my daydreams, Sarah’s lips had no effect.
I was officially over her.
Sarah smiled at me sadly and rejoined her friends by the drink table. But I didn’t even have time to revel in the sweet irony of the moment. The second Sarah was gone, Officer Pie walked over to me, his notepad out. My heart caught in my throat. What now?
“Paul Nicholas?” he said in a serious voice of doom. My mother and father were at my sides in a flash.
“Yes, Officer?” I said, my throat completely dry.
“I just wanted to let you know that we’re dropping all charges against you,” Officer Pie said, clearly trying to hold back a smile. “A certain Dirk Evergreen—”
Wait, Evergreen?
“—has amended his statement and now claims that you had no knowledge of the arson plot,” Pie continued. “And your other friends . . . ah . . . witnesses have confirmed his statement.”
I glanced at Dirk, Ralph, Rudy, and Flora, all of whom had paused by the door on their way out, and smiled my thanks. I felt like Charlie Brown after all his friends come and decorate that pathetic little Christmas tree of his. I was so moved that I didn’t even call them on the fact that their pockets were obviously stuffed with cookies and cake. They deserved a little Christmas cheer, too.
