Christmas in Cactus Flats and Other Holiday Romances

by Laura Briggs

  *****

  Simon held Rae’s hand tightly in his own as they paused beneath the warm glow of a lamppost near the parking lot. Not a sign of a decorated float or costume character remained, with most of the crowd slowly drifting towards their cars or the city lights below the gym.

  “Was it everything you thought it would be?” Rae asked. “I mean, I know you dreamed of this night for years.”

  “Absolutely,” he answered, kissing the tip of her nose. “I was pretty sure that winning you over would be a worthwhile experience.”

  She smacked his shoulder playfully. “Not us, Simon. I meant the parade.” As he released her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

  “I’m just glad it gave us a chance to undo the past,” he said softly. “Otherwise, I might’ve gone through life knowing Rae Randall thought I was a career-driven scumbag.”

  “And I might’ve gone through life knowing Simon Harte thought I was jealous of his career,” she replied. “At least we don’t have that on our conscience anymore.”

  White flakes brushed against her cheek and hat as she spoke. Pulling off her glove, she extended her fingers as a fine white powder swirled around them. “It’s snowing,” she said through a breath.

  Simon grinned as he brushed a few flakes from her hair. “Right on time.” Glancing up at the lamppost above them, he gestured towards a cluster of green just above their heads, tied on with a red ribbon.

  “What do you say?” he asked. “Should we take advantage of this opportunity? Nothing so perfect ever comes along twice, you know.”

  “I know,” she whispered back. “That’s why the answer is yes.” Without any hesitation, she sealed the deal with a perfect kiss.

  Colleen Quinn never believed in Santa Claus. That is, she only pretended to believe, for the sake of her parents and her best friend Meg. A rambunctious seven year-old with blonde pigtails, who claimed she’d actually heard the tap of hooves and the soft chime of jingle bells.

  “He always leaves a special chocolate candy at my place setting,” she confided to Colleen during one of their schoolyard romps. “My favorite kind, the coconut filled.”

  “Really?” Colleen had said, wrapping her gloved fingers around the monkey bars and swinging her feet in the air. Summoning the same level of imagination she used whenever they played games with stuffed animals or paper dolls. Because, after all, it was just the sound of wind chimes in the night air, or else Meg’s older brothers playing one of their famous tricks on her.

  Maybe this lack of belief had something to do with the long list of gifts Colleen wished for and never received. Like a pair of ice skates for gliding across the frozen ponds in their rural Colorado community, instead of bribing her brother for a few minutes use of his. A worn out pair that were way too big and only got her a long scar across the left knee for all troubles.

  It was a similar experience with the Schwinn bicycle she pined for and the designer Western boots she glimpsed in fashion catalogues. And then there was the ultimate dream gift—a horse, with an ebony colored coat like the one in her favorite novel, Black Beauty. Not an outrageous wish for a girl whose parents already operated a full-fledged ranch, with hordes of livestock in carefully fenced pastures. Except these were cattle for her father’s business and not at all the loyal pet she envisioned for exploring the acres of untamed woods behind their home.

  No bearded gift-bearers or magical tooth fairies ever visited her house in the late-night hours.

  Not surprisingly, Colleen was a practical child, the kind who enjoyed PT exercises and solving word problems in math. Qualities she was teased about more often even the generous spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks. In fact, there was only one impractical thing Colleen did believe in: love at first sight.

  But this wasn’t something she dreamed up or read in a book. It was a family tradition, with three generations worth of love stories summoning images of a glance across the room or a chance meeting somewhere. There was even a lucky charm involved—one worn by her great-grandmother Truda Belfry the night she met her husband-to-be. A simple crescent moon amulet purchased from a carnival booth, it hung from a tarnished gold chain. Truda had looped it over her neck moments before she turned a corner and stumbled into the arms of a dark-haired boy with a gentle smile. Charmed, he bought her cotton candy treat, and three months later, a wedding ring.

  “He liked to say I hung the moon,” the older woman would recall with a laugh, eyes watering with the memory, as she sat in the parlor to her Colorado farmhouse. Her gray hair swept into an old-fashioned chignon, as her wrinkled hands moved knitting needles together with a soft clickety- clack. "It was my favorite piece of jewelry. That's why it passes to the eldest daughter in each generation—including you, Colleen."

  True to her word, Colleen received it on her sixteenth birthday: a time when her own young heart was already stirring with romantic aspirations, although she was determined to keep them under wraps until the right moment.

  “It’ll be love at first sight,” she insisted, as her mother hemmed the trim on her blue spread skirts for the prom. An event she was attending with an old school chum who was anything but a candidate for future spouse. “Something dramatic and really memorable,” she continued. “I mean, that’s how it worked for you and Dad.”

  “True,” said her mother. A smile crinkling the corners of her green eyes as she glanced up at her daughter. No doubt remembering the fateful day her car locked bumpers with a 1970’s Dodge pickup. She had burst into tears only to find the other driver surveying her with a friendly gaze beneath the brim of his cowboy hat.

  “And it was the same for Great-Aunt Sophie, too” Colleen's mother answered, referring to Truda’s eldest daughter. “She knew Uncle Tyler was the one the moment they met. When she was on the party barge and the clasp on this necklace broke. And it fell in the water and Uncle Tyler—”

  “—dived in to save it,” Colleen finished with a laugh. “A history of colorful first impressions. But I guess someday somebody's bound to break the pattern, huh?” With a pause, waiting for her mother to dispel such a notion.

  “Not you,” said her mother, with a laugh. Colleen’s chin tilted solemnly as she studied her reflection in the mirror. Her fingers curling protectively round the amulet.

  So, of course, she was devastated when the treasured heirloom went missing a month later, its worn clasp breaking apart somewhere on a summer horse trail expedition in the Colorado mountains. Sobbing on her cabin’s bunk bed, she had envisioned the dire consequences for the family member who dared to lose the special heirloom. A broken heart, no doubt. Or maybe no brush with romance at all, not even so much as a date or harmless flirtation.

  Silly, of course, but niggling doubts remained. Especially as the Christmas dance rolled around to find her dateless, the boy who flirted with her the entire semester before suddenly immune to her smile as they passed in the hall. Her friend Meg tried to console her with the possibility of exciting presents on Christmas morning. “We’ve both got our driver’s license now,” she pointed out, “so why not hope to find a car key dangling from one of the branches?”

  The gift Colleen really wanted couldn’t be found anywhere near the fir tree in her parent’s ranch house. Instead, it was buried somewhere in layers of dirt and leaves in the path of a Colorado horse trail, along with her belief in her chance for recognizing true love on the spot, of course.

  Christmas Eve, she slept restlessly, her dreams disturbed by a series of mysterious thumps and creaks in the other part of the house. Her parents, no doubt, sneaking a few last-minute surprises under the tree, as they did every December 24th. Stocking stuffers and items too big to hide from prying eyes with a simple sheet of wrapping paper.

  At three in the morning, she was too curious. Pushing back the covers, she crept downstairs to the family room. Her sleepy vision glanced over the piles of shiny packages wrapped in her mother’s expert style. Her gaze wandered further up the tree—where a mysterious
box was tucked among the green branches, its tag dangling like a glitter ornament. Her fingers touched it, turning it so the words faced her.

  ‘Dear Colleen,’ it read in old-fashioned sweeping cursive, ‘always remember that true love is never lost.’

  What could that mean? she wondered. As her eyes took in the signature—‘Your friend, Saint Nicholas’.

  She shook her head, resisting the shiver creeping along her spine even though she knew it was a joke. Which of her family members had thought that would be a clever touch? Eager to look inside, she slid the silver ribbon from the box and popped open the lid to reveal a layer of pale blue tissue paper. Her fingers moving aside the delicate folds only to discover a familiar moon-shaped amulet, its gold chain curled neatly round it.

  Colleen blinked, her heart standing still for a moment. It couldn’t be. Not the necklace, the same one she so carelessly lost that day on the trail. Her fingers traced the smooth surface until she found the tiny nick along the bottom edge from the time it bounced off the railing to the party barge.

  She glanced quickly round the room, as if expecting to find a figure clad in a Santa suit crouched in a corner. Ridiculous! Of course, it’s someone in your family. But who—and how?

  She sank down on the piano bench, her finger stirring the chain in the box, toying with the necklace still at dawn as groggy family members clad in pajamas trooped in to open presents.

  "Which of you found it?" she asked, holding up the necklace. "Who's Saint Nick in this group?"

  “Must’ve been Santa Claus,” her father joked, approaching to study the box's tag with a puzzled grin. "It wasn't me."

  "Not me," said her mother, who shook her head in bemused wonder.

  “What about you?” Colleen demanded, turning to her older brother, Kevin.

  “Why would I do that?” he snorted, interested only in his own presents as he balanced a gift bag on one knee and investigated a package from their cousin Maureen in Tennessee.

  No one else among the Quinn or Belfry clans would claim responsibility for returning the keepsake, not even her Uncle Henry, who’d played Santa at the local children’s hospital for nearly twenty years. Her friends weren’t involved either, though several smirked at the alias of the anonymous gift giver. Later, as a last-ditch effort, she even wrote to the campground to ask if someone there had recovered the necklace and traced its owner. All she got in response was a brief negative.

  And so the secret Santa remained just that—a secret.

  ******

  Over the years, the story grew to a legend that threatened to rival even the crescent moon amulet, as Colleen and Meg recounted its details for schoolmates and later, college friends. A group of giggling female students who formed a tight-knit circle on a dorm room floor, hands wrapped around cups of cocoa.

  “And you’re sure it wasn’t your parents?” asked Nikki, an overly-confident math major who competed with Colleen for top grades. Her brows drawing together in a skeptical frown as she scrutinized the antique charm that rested against Colleen’s flannel pajama top.

  “Positive,” said Meg. “We compared the handwriting on the gift tag with samples from all the likely suspects.” With a sly glance at Colleen, who grinned as she remembered the investigation they had launched a la Nancy Drew.

  “I think it’s cool,” piped up Rosalyn, the psychology student who shared the connecting bathroom between the girls’ suites. “I mean, I’d love to have a Secret Santa who leaves the perfect Christmas present. My family has been pretty uninspired the past few holidays.”

  Colleen laughed. “Yeah, well, it was only a one-time deal apparently. Whoever it was hasn’t come back.” A wistful note crept into her voice with this admission. Maybe they had realized they couldn’t possibly top this one spectacular surprise. Or maybe…but no. That was just too ridiculous.

  “Hey,” said Rosalyn, interrupting her thoughts, “why don’t we start our own tradition? A sort of secret Santa circle.”

  “A what?” Colleen’s brows raised in a curious glance, as if sensing a break in the humdrum college routine with its never-ending study groups.

  “Yeah, you know, like an exclusive club,” said Rosalyn. Her voice rose with excitement as she continued, counting ideas off on her fingers. “We could exchange names, so everyone is a “Santa” with their own special person to plan gifts for. And we could do it scavenger hunt style, with clues and mini challenges. With really fun surprises as the reward, of course.”

  Nikki rolled her eyes, but the other girls—including Colleen—leaped at the chance to spice up the last few weeks of the semester, a rare bright spot among the last-minute homework assignments and final’s studies. Beginning December 1st, cryptic notes were passed in classes, stuffed inside dorm mailboxes, and left on cafeteria trays. Little slips of paper that contained special instructions for the members of the so-called “Secret Santa Circle”.

  “Look for the pink flyer on the recreation center’s billboard,” one message might read, or “check your windshield wipers for a special rainy day reward .” A trail of clues that ultimately led to something like a free beauty facial or weekend movie passes—welcome treats for a college student on a tight budget.

  The circle’s members came and went with the passing semesters, until only Colleen, Meg, and Rosalyn remained from the original group. Their bond of friendship managing to endure the changes of time, including graduation, full-time jobs and, in Rosalyn’s case, marriage and motherhood.

  But now Meg was engaged to a handsome journalist; Colleen became the last “carefree” member of the group. A precarious position that put her in grave danger of receiving blind dates and romantic set-ups for the coming Christmas season. In an attempt to ward them off, she claimed a full-fledged accountant with her own business didn’t have time for matters of the heart.

  She knew, however, her friends and family suspected something else influenced this solitary attitude. A certain moon-shaped amulet, for instance, and its promise to bestow upon its owner the magical gift of love at first sight.

  *****

  The latest December 1st rolled around to find Colleen seated in a booth at The Hidden Pearl, a cozy little seafood joint that happened to be her favorite restaurant in downtown Denver. The lunchtime special—clam chowder and soft rolls—was spread across the table for its four hungry occupants. Meg in a sparkling engagement ring sat next to Rosalyn, who looked radiant in business style maternity wear.

  Next to Colleen was Dawn, her partner at the accounting firm. A perky thirtysomething with a pixie haircut and a talent for calculating tough math equations in her head. She also just happened to be the newest member of the Secret Santa Circle, sporting a silly grin as she added her name to the paper slips piled on a clean saucer.

  “No peeking, ladies,” warned Meg, her voice taking on the persuasive tone she used to defend her clients in the courtroom, as her fingers mixed the papers. “And remember,” she added, with a glance in Dawn’s direction, “you have twenty-four calendar days starting now to fulfill your duties as a Secret Santa. Which means surprising your lucky recipient with as many challenges—and presents—big or small, as you choose.”

  “Don’t worry,” Colleen assured her co-worker, “it’s not as serious as she makes it sound.” Somehow, the Christmas scavenger game seemed a little ridiculous these days, childish almost. But she didn’t have the heart to call it off, considering how much it meant to her friends. And how it started in the first place, she remembered, as her fingers brushed the old-fashioned charm that hung around her neck.

  With a sigh, she selected her slip of paper, then flipped it open to glimpse Rosalyn’s name. Her friend most in need of a little pampering right now, with twins and one more on the way and a psychology practice on the side.

  “This is fun,” said Dawn, tucking her own slip inside her purse. “It’s kind of like being a kid again, all excited and wondering what Santa will bring.”

  “In this case, nothing too magical,” answer
ed Colleen. “Especially since Santa has a full time job elsewhere and who knows how many personal obligations.” She shoved her fork around her empty plate, aware a disappointed streak was buried somewhere in her voice. Why did seasonal joy seem less exciting these days?

  “Colleen’s always been a skeptic on the subject of Santa,” her childhood friend supplied, a teasing gleam in her eyes. “She still blames him for her lack of ice skating skills—or was it the horse you wanted so badly and never got?”

  “Both,” Colleen admitted. “Although the ice skating was technically my brother’s fault. He hated lending anything to his dorky sis much less showing her how to use it.”

  The waiter appeared, interrupting the giggles that followed this bit of information. “Everybody finished?” he asked, collecting empty salad and bread plates. A gesture that made Colleen reach for her purse, her mind calculating her portion of the lunch hour tab.

  “Dessert’s on me, girls,” Meg announced, making her pause in her tracks. “My gorgeous fiancé gets back from his out-of-town assignment this weekend, so I’m in a celebrating mood.”

  Exaggerated eye rolls followed this statement—Meg drove her friends crazy these days with frequent updates on “Mr. Perfect” and their whirlwind romance. But there was no reluctance to accept the generous offer, and menus were quickly flipped open to the desert section.

  As her friends debated between rich cheesecake and fruit pie slices, Colleen ordered a small cappuccino, her mind on the stack of client files that awaited her perusal back at the office. Couples planning for their first home on one end of the spectrum, as others looked forward to retirement days. Her afternoons spent making other people’s dreams possible while her own life seemed more and more stagnant by the day.