He opened the door leading to the roof, stuck his head out, and decided to go all the way. He was already sick—what did the cold matter? He spotted his coworker.
“Miguel, is Ramon up here?”
“Yeah, he’s over there on the snowblower.”
“Mr. Skyer wants him to change the banner on the sign.”
“Why don’t you do it, Charlie? I need Ramon up here. And it’s almost quitting time. Never mind. Forget it,” Miguel said, eyeing Charlie. “You look awful. You’d never make it up the ladder.”
Miguel waved to the short, slender man riding the chugging snowblower. Ramon shut off the machine and walked gingerly over the rooftop to his boss.
“Old man Skyer wants the banner changed.”
“All right, I do it now. I work the day shift tomorrow, remember?”
“Sí. Hey, Charlie,” Miguel called, “did you steal one of my propane tanks?”
Charlie shook his head, his stomach churning.
“Man, don’t look so scared. I’m only kidding. Some son of a bitch stole my tank. I report and nothing happens. Nobody do anything. Who pay for the tank when the time comes to take it back? Not me.”
“They can’t blame you, Miguel,” Charlie croaked. “It’s probably just some mix-up. Nobody in this place knows what anyone else is doing. It doesn’t pay to complain. When you complain you lose your job.” That should give him something to think about.
“Yeah. You right, Charlie. Let the bosses do what they want. I come, I do my work, and I go home. No more I tell them anything. They pay for the propane tank.”
“Forget it,” Charlie muttered. “Nobody will even remember. See you later.”
“Sí, Charlie. Later. You take whiskey for that cold.”
“Sure, sure,” Charlie agreed, going down the stairs. Good enough. He’d done his recon. Just checking. The plan was going forward.
Maria Andretti sat propped up in her bed, fluffy pillows behind her thin, wasted body. She still couldn’t see across the highway. She didn’t feel so feverish anymore, but she still didn’t feel good. It was such an effort to move.
“Mommy, look across at the roof. Do you see anything?”
“There are some men working, that’s all. Why?”
“Are you sure there isn’t someone else?”
“No, honey, just some men.”
“They’re getting the roof ready,” Maria said weakly.
“Getting it ready for what?”
“For Santa. It’s my miracle.”
“Maria, what are you talking about?” Carol Andretti asked nervously.
“I was going to surprise you when we went to the mall and Santa recognized me. He waved to me from the roof. He’s getting ready. Don’t you see? That’s why I have to go to the shopping center. He’s waiting for me. I saw him three times! Mommy, are you sure he isn’t on the roof? When I wish very hard, he comes. Please, Mommy, see if he’s there.”
Carol Andretti swallowed hard and looked across the highway at the Timberwoods roof. Holy cow. There he was. Her eyes widened. “He is there, honey, I see him! Look,” she said, lifting the frail child. “Can you see him?”
“No, I can’t see that far. Yesterday, I could see the roof, but my eyes are too tired today.”
“Shhh. He knows you can’t see him. But he knows that I’m here and that I’ll tell you he waved.”
“Mommy, when will I be better?”
She found it difficult to swallow and her eyes burned, but Carol forced herself to answer. “Soon, baby, soon.”
“Mommy, can we go tomorrow? You promised. I want to go tomorrow.”
Carol held her daughter close. “Yes, honey, tomorrow. I promise. But now I have something to tell you. Do you think you can be very brave?”
“Uh-huh.”
“After . . . after we take you to the mall, we have to take you back to the hospital. You may have to stay here over Christmas.”
“Okay, Mommy.” Little Maria’s voice was tremulous. “As long as you take me to see Santa first. You won’t break your promise, will you?”
“No, baby, I won’t break my promise. We’ll go late in the afternoon and then go to the hospital. I’m going to get you some more juice, and I want you to drink it all and then have a nice nap. You have to be strong to go out, even in a wheelchair.”
“Okay, Mommy. Oh, thank you, thank you. Mommy, you really did see him, didn’t you?”
“Oh, honey, I wouldn’t lie to you. Yes, I saw him.”
By the time Carol got back with the juice, Maria was asleep, her dark lashes casting shadows on her pale cheeks. How much time did her little girl have left—one, two, three days? Could she make it? Maria had to make it! There wasn’t any other way. You had to go on. Somehow you managed to survive, to endure. Please, God, help us, Carol cried silently.
Amy Summers laid the puppy back in its box and was about to scoop out the other when the phone rang.
“Mrs. Summers?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Bill Simmons from Simmons Leather Shop at Timberwoods Mall. The briefcase you ordered came in this morning. I sent it over to be engraved, and you can pick it up tomorrow any time after five o’clock.”
“That’s fine. You couldn’t have it ready sooner, could you?”
“I tried, Mrs. Summers, but they have so much work, I’m lucky I got it squeezed in at all.”
“There’s no problem; I can manage. But I might not be there until after six. Thanks for calling.”
Eric would be so surprised. It was a beautiful attaché case. If she could just get out of the doctor’s office in time to pick it up.
When the phone rang, Dolph Richards picked it up and spoke quietly. “Richards here. Yes, put her through.” He gave an audible sigh as he listened, pencil in hand. “Yes, Mrs. Andretti, how can I help you?”
“Mr. Richards, I don’t know how to say this, but . . . What I mean is, I want to thank someone at your shopping center for something. I live across the highway from Timberwoods, and I have a little girl who might be—she has leukemia,” she made herself say. “She can see the outside of the mall from her room, and she was absolutely thrilled when she saw the Santa Claus on your roof waving to her. It seems he has done it for the past three days. I know it isn’t important to you, but it was to Maria. I want to thank you. I also want to ask you when it would be okay to bring Maria to the mall tomorrow. What time do you think it will be least crowded?”
“Ah, let me check on that with the mall manager and get back to you.”
“I have to bring her in a wheelchair. She’s being readmitted to the hospital immediately after the visit. If it isn’t too much trouble, do you think you could have Santa chat with her personally? I can’t tell you how much I’d appreciate it.”
Dolph Richards frowned. What was she talking about? What Santa on the roof? She must be saying it for her daughter’s benefit, he decided. “Between six and seven would be best, Mrs. Andretti. I’ll see to it that one of our best Santas is available to you.”
It didn’t matter which one, he thought, just so long as she thought she was getting the best. That was an ironclad rule of retailing. He listened impatiently to another minute of prattle from her.
“Come in the employees’ entrance and go straight to the Toyland display. I’ll take care of the rest. You did say your little girl’s name is Maria?”
“Yes. Thank you, Mr. Richards, thank you,” Carol Andretti said humbly.
“No need to thank me, Mrs. Andretti. This is why I’m here,” Richards said magnanimously.
Chapter 14
Charlie Roman, his body one massive ache, parted the curtains and looked outside—the last time he would look out of this dirty window at the world. Today was the end of everything, for him and for everyone at the shopping center. His life would cease—all the hurt, the anger, the loneliness.
It was going to snow again. The sky was swollen and gray, the air cold and damp. He could feel it seeping in between the window
frame and the sill. Shivering, he put on his robe and slippers and staggered downstairs.
His brain was fuzzy; he couldn’t get it together this morning. “Damn it,” he muttered, “I have to be sharp today or I could ruin everything.”
It took several applications of nasal spray before he could breathe through his nose. His chest felt as though a great weight was leaning on it and his back ached, too. His vision seemed to be blurred. He felt his forehead, shocked at how hot and dry it was. It really didn’t matter whether he was sick or not, he persuaded himself. The only thing that mattered was getting up to the roof during his lunch hour and testing that contraption. That was the only thing that mattered. And then . . .
Charlie prayed for heavy snow while he measured instant coffee into his cup. If it snowed, then Miguel and his men wouldn’t be out working on the roof.
He thought of Angela and her percolator coffee as he added boiling water. In spite of hating her for running out on him, for making a fool out of him, he missed her. The few days they’d had together had been the happiest days of his life. His hands trembled so violently he had to grasp the heavy mug with both hands. He gulped the fiery liquid and swallowed, oblivious to the pain as it scorched his swollen throat.
Even after he’d finished his coffee he didn’t feel much better. Should he have another cup? No, it wouldn’t make any difference. “Ho . . . ho . . . ho,” he croaked. His eyes began to tear and he sneezed four times in rapid succession. He would have to keep quiet when he got to the mall, stop himself from sneezing. If anyone heard him they might send him home. And he couldn’t afford for that to happen. It had to be today. Everything was set for today.
Felex Lassiter held the door open for Charlie Roman. “How goes it, Roman?” he asked, not really caring about the answer. “What’s with the Santa suit?”
Charlie shrugged, not wanting to open his mouth. Close up, he got recognized by people who knew him. In a crowd, not.
“Guess you got the holiday spirit, huh? Looks like one of our costumes, am I right?”
Still no answer.
“What’s the matter, elf got your tongue?”
Charlie didn’t laugh.
Felex eyed his stolid face. “Okay, maybe it wasn’t funny. But we could use another roving Santa. I think there are more kids in this mall than ever before. What do you think, Charlie?”
Charlie shrugged again. Christ, wasn’t the man ever going to shut up? If Lassiter kept it up, he’d have to respond sooner or later and that could trigger a fit of coughing.
Lex looked at Charlie suspiciously. “You’ll get overtime, if that’s what’s bugging you. And keep in mind that other mall employees are looking for extra work during the holidays. So if you want to be a Santa, the number one rule is be courteous. Got it? When someone speaks to you, you answer nicely every time. I’d better not get any negative feedback from the moms, Roman.”
Make an excuse, Charlie thought. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that I have this cold,” he said hoarsely, “and I’ve been saving my voice.”
Lex turned and looked into the man’s face. “Christ, you do look sick as hell. What are you doing here? Report to the clinic before you go on duty. If you have a fever, then go home. Never mind what I said. Max can do the honors for you.”
Charlie groaned inwardly. “I’m all right,” he managed to say. “I sound a lot worse than I feel.”
“Maybe so, but all I need is one complaint that a mall Santa is spreading germs and that’s it. I don’t have to tell you what overprotective parents are like. You go to the clinic right now, and I’ll check in later to see how you are.”
Double damn, now what was he going to do? He couldn’t go home, he just couldn’t. He had to get up on the roof—how could he do that if he was sent home? He would report to the nurse, get a couple of aspirin, and tell her a lie that would get him off the hook. Old Jessie was a sucker for a good sob story. She’d cover for him, Charlie was sure of it. He’d stay out of Lassiter’s way at least until after lunch. And if worse came to worse and he was sent home, he could always come back as a shopper. They couldn’t throw him out for shopping.
Just hang in there till after lunch, he told himself, and it will be okay. Just two and a half hours.
He paused when he saw a familiar figure walking by. Holy Christ, what was he doing here?
“Hey, Malinowski,” Charlie croaked hoarsely, “where are you going?”
Dan Malinowski turned around at the sound of his name. “Oh, it’s you, Roman. I’m here to see the big man. I don’t want to hear any of that crap about not delivering four propane tanks. I delivered them and I got a signed receipt. What’s Miguel think he’s pulling? Richards runs a tight ship—he’ll ream out Miguel but good.”
“Wait a minute,” Charlie said hoarsely. “If you do that, Richards is likely to fire Miguel on the spot. C’mon, Dan—you know what a bastard the big boss can be. Miguel has a big family to support. Can’t you wait till after Christmas? Miguel’s an honest guy.” Charlie pressed home his point. “Don’t be mean, Dan. Give him a break. The damn tank is probably on the other side of the roof, covered with snow. I’ll check it out for you myself and call you this afternoon. Don’t get Miguel into trouble.”
“Ah, that Santa suit must’ve gone to your head,” Dan Malinowski said with a grin. “Okay, but if you don’t find that tank, you let me know. And if I were you, I’d go home and go to bed. You sound like you’ve got pneumonia.”
Charlie forced a smile. “I sound a whole lot worse than I feel, believe me. Actually I’m much better today. Can’t disappoint the kids—you know how it is. One Santa is never enough.”
“Yeah,” Dan laughed. “Plus you get overtime and free cookies, right? You better call me by three o’clock or I’m gonna get mighty upset. In the end it’s me that’s got to account for that tank. Okay, Charlie?”
“You’ve got my word,” Charlie muttered. “Look, I’ve got to check in at the clinic and get some aspirin. Just cut Miguel some slack, okay?”
“I said I would. I’m no Scrooge.” As soon as Dan had walked away, Charlie leaned against the cold terrazzo wall. He felt faint, his head was reeling, and it was all he could do to get his breath. That had been so close.
Now, go to the clinic, he told himself. In the suit. Jessie would be more receptive to the Santa suit.
A light snow was falling as Heather drove her car into her reserved parking space. In spite of the cold, she felt all warm and fuzzy inside. She and Lex had spent a second night together—a wonderful night. Funny, she thought, that it had taken a bomb scare to bring them together.
She wondered what Dolph Richards would say if he knew that two of his employees were sleeping together. Actually she knew what he would say, and it wouldn’t be congratulations.
She and Lex had talked long into the night about Timberwoods and their jobs there. Neither one of them was overly happy with their positions. If Richards decided to make them an example of what would happen to employees who became involved in an office romance, they would simply quit. In fact, they might quit, anyway, once this crisis was over.
She cut the engine and sat in her car for a few minutes, staring at the massive complex. Her mind went back to the day she and Lex had gone to Angela’s home and questioned her. She could still hear the girl’s voice in her head.
Fire . . . buildings collapsing, first one and then another . . . thick, black smoke . . . flying glass . . . people screaming . . . rivers of blood . . .
Heather shut her eyes and leaned her forehead against the steering wheel. God, what she would give to just be able to start up the car and pull out of the parking lot. But she couldn’t. That would be cowardly, and she wasn’t a coward.
Reaching Harold’s office, she removed her coat, threw it down on a spare chair, and poured herself a cup of coffee. The warm fuzzies had given way to feelings of fear and wariness. She looked at her boss and sipped the scalding brew. “Sorry I’m late, but there was so much
traffic I could only inch my way here. It’s snowing again.”
“Not again!” Harold exclaimed.
She approached his desk. “Chief,” she said in a low voice, “do you feel it?”
Harold nodded, his expression grave. “As soon as I got into this damn building, I felt it. I actually stood there like a statue for a few minutes and just looked around. Everything is the same and yet . . .”
“I know. I have the same feeling,” Heather said, going back to the wet bar to add more coffee to her cup. When she turned around, she saw Angela Steinhart and her father standing in the doorway. Her heart fluttered at the look on the girl’s face. “What is it, Angela?”
Angela licked dry lips and took a deep breath. “I don’t know how I know . . . but today is the day.”
There was a long pause.
Heather and Harold exchanged I-told-you-so glances.
Tears blurring her eyes, Angela continued. “Don’t ask me to try to explain it; I can’t. When I got up this morning, I saw all that red, all that blood again. It stayed with me till I screamed for my father. I felt all tingly, and there’s something wrong with my hair. It feels like it’s full of electricity.” She looked at Heather. “It’s going to happen today. You have to believe me.”
With shaking hands Heather poured Murray Steinhart a cup of coffee and made a soothing herb tea for his daughter. “Drink this. Sit down and we’ll talk.”
Angela took the closest chair. “There isn’t anything to say. I just said all I know.” She started fidgeting. “You see, I can’t sit still. Something is forcing me to move and . . . I don’t know. It’s like I’m supposed to do something, but I don’t know what it is!”
“Drink that tea, Angela,” Heather said firmly. “Try to be calm.” Over her shoulder she said to Harold, “Call for Eric. Now!”
Harold needed no second urging. He pressed the button on the intercom. “Margaret, page Eric Summers. Tell him to come here to my office. Immediately!”
Christmas At Timberwoods Page 20
