Dear Santa

by Nancy Naigle

  “Mom.”

  She raised a finger. “Promise me.”

  “Stop.”

  The beeping machine next to her did a giddy-up. She glanced toward it. “Don’t upset me.”

  “You’re going to ride this for all you can, aren’t you?”

  She grinned, and if her hair had been long like it had been when he was a kid, that smug little nod she just gave him would’ve been followed by a toss of that silvering hair. “Like a prizewinning pony. Now, promise me.”

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Promise me.”

  “Fine. I promise.”

  “Thank you. Now get to work. The stores need your undivided attention. And so do the Dear Santa letters.”

  “They’ll hold a day until you’re back. If you’re really as fine as you’re trying to let on.”

  “Don’t sass me, but don’t worry either. I’ll be fine. I always am. How do the sales numbers look?”

  Virgil stepped back into the room. “Didn’t they tell you to relax?”

  “I’m just listening. No effort at all.”

  “Better than ever,” Geoff said. “The new store surpassed all of our forecasts. You were right.”

  “I had a feeling about this location.”

  “Virgil told me you have history in this town. Mom, I feel like I don’t know you at all.”

  “You know me better than anyone. Now, stop that.” She patted his hand. “I’m proud of you, Geoff. You know that, right?”

  “You just like our big sales numbers,” he teased, trying desperately to lighten the mood.

  “It is our best time of year.” She squeezed his hand tight. “I love you, Geoff. Get to work.”

  “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” She didn’t even look like herself. Her color was wrong, and she looked so tired.

  Her pause felt heavy on his chest.

  “Virgil will be here with me.”

  That hurt Geoff’s feelings, but insisting would only make her dig her heels in.

  A short nurse scurried into the room and started pressing buttons then took his mother’s wrist in her hand. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. We’re ready to move her to ICU.”

  “I’ll wait with you until they get you settled in.”

  “No, son. You go on and get to work. You can’t do anything here. I’m in good hands.”

  He shoved his right hand deep into his pocket. There was a lot to do, but this was the first time he’d ever seen his mother look fragile. How had she hidden her health problems from him? Sure, there were plenty of weeks that they didn’t even see each other face-to-face with all there was to do. She did like to take off and check on other stores at the drop of a hat. Had she been lying to him? He’d always thought of himself as observant. How had he missed this?

  “I can check back on you later tonight,” he said.

  “Please don’t. I’m going to be fine. I’ll probably sleep all day. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. How about that?”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive. I’ll tell you what you can do for me. Bring me a nightgown from my top dresser drawer tomorrow. This thing is not comfortable or very fashionable.”

  “You’ve got a deal.” He leaned over and gave her a hug. “Please do what the doctor says. And rest.”

  “Get out of here,” she said with a wink.

  He stepped out of the room, but waited in the hall, unwilling to leave until he saw her safely wheeled out of the emergency room toward her ICU room. It was a small hospital, it was quite possible all heart patients did go to ICU here like she said, but that really didn’t make him feel any better.

  She didn’t see him when they wheeled her out of the emergency room and through the set of double doors at the end of the hall. He watched until they turned the corner, then he made his way through the maze of corridors to the exit.

  He walked through the parking lot trying to understand why his mother would have kept something like a heart condition from him. She had to know that he’d eventually find out.

  By the time he unlocked his car, Virgil was taking long strides toward him.

  “You okay?” Virgil asked.

  Geoff threw the words at him like stones. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “She asked me not to.”

  “But—”

  Virgil clasped his hand on Geoff’s right shoulder. “You’d have done the same thing.”

  “You’re probably right, but I have a right to know.”

  “I’ve been telling her that. Especially since she’s had some concerns recently. It’s part of the reason why she was so insistent you open the store here in Pleasant Sands.”

  “Why? Because she’s sick? Seems like she could’ve picked a place with better hospitals.”

  “She surely could have done that, but she picked Pleasant Sands for a whole other reason. This town is special to her. She’s at peace here.”

  “This town is just another map dot,” Geoff said.

  “Hardly. She had her reasons for opening the Pleasant Sands store.”

  “What are you not telling me?”

  “Not my story to tell.”

  A wave of uncertainty tickled inside him. “Is this something I want to know?” Geoff ran a finger under his collar.

  Virgil didn’t respond.

  Mom was always saying, If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it. Especially when he was pitching ideas to improve their processes. But how long had she let this heart problem go without addressing it?

  The sick feeling twisted in his gut as he bent to slide behind the wheel of his car.

  By the time that feeling of impending doom finally loosened its grip on him enough to allow him to breathe steady, he was almost home. He’d pick up things for his mother in the morning.

  * * *

  The next morning he drove over to his mother’s house.

  Unlike him, she’d bought a beach house instead of opting for a condo. One of those big, stilted jobs with tons of stairs that overlooked the water and had a cutesy name that he couldn’t even recall right now. Probably not the best place to come home and recuperate after a heart attack.

  He pulled into her driveway. He hadn’t been here since he’d done the walk-through for her when she bought the place. No need to, really. They saw each other every day at work.

  Besides, he already knew what the inside of the house would look like. Mom always put the furniture and pictures in the same place. The only thing that changed was the address. Well, and the name. Why did beach houses need more than just an address like every other dwelling?

  He glanced up at the colorful weather-blasted wooden sign that had been left behind by the previous owner, a surf shop owner. DUNE OUR THING. Which sounded better suited to a house full of surfers than an aging businesswoman.

  He went to her bedroom and opened each dresser drawer until he found the one with her nightgowns stacked neatly in it. He picked out a bright blue one. Her favorite color.

  He tucked the nightgown and a few other things into a tote bag hanging from the closet door, then tossed in the novel from her nightstand.

  As he walked back out to the living room a steady thump came from the deck. He stepped outside to see what all the racket was.

  From up here on the second level he could see clear over the dunes to the water. The seagrass swayed in the breeze, just like the old rocking chair that was hitting the wall. He pulled the chair up a few inches, then sat down.

  Why would she keep her health issues from him? Was there a chance he’d inherited a heart problem? It didn’t make sense.

  He stared out to the water, wishing for clarity.

  On the beach a barefoot woman dressed in black tights and a powder-blue jacket caught his attention. Water splashed as she ran along the surf line. She looked so carefree. As she got closer he recognized her. Her hair, the curve of her cheek. Angela Carson. Yeah, Mom would be pissed if she caught wind of that debacle. He hoped there was no television in
ICU.

  He and his mother, and a steadily increasing staff, had grown the business with a new store each year, but they had reached the point that it was almost too much for him and Mom to handle anymore. They’d been delegating more things to their key talent, but he stayed busy. Christmas Galore was way past the mom-and-pop-shop stage these days.

  The workload wouldn’t be nearly as difficult to handle with their small team of trusted employees if his mother would let him put the infrastructure in place to automate and delegate the upstart work for each new store, but she was old school and felt every single store needed their personal touch for the entire first year of its opening. With her health in question, he might need to push for those changes.

  Chapter Fourteen

  DID YOU KNOW?

  Pleasant Sands’ population swells to 40–50K in the summer months when the town is filled with beach vacationers.

  Energized after a run on the beach, Angela tossed her running gear into the dirty clothes. She showered and changed into work clothes, but since Emma was opening the store this morning, she decided to do some much-needed grocery shopping at her favorite store. The upscale grocery market was over near the new condos at the marina. The produce section alone was like a work of art, the way they purposefully stacked the fruits and blended the colors to almost kaleidoscope perfection. And the bakery … There was no way you could resist buying something with the aroma of baked goods in the air. It practically lassoed you and dragged you over.

  This section of Pleasant Sands had a resort-style feel to it now. When she was a little girl this was an area of messy necessity, filled with crab pots piled five feet high, and battered boats loosely tied to an old dock that had seen better days. The old shacks and metal boat buildings were long gone now.

  Even the parking lot was fancy, with white pergolas covering the cart repository, and hedges as neat and tidy as if they were part of the Tryon Palace gardens in New Bern.

  She grabbed a cart, a fancy one with a cupholder, and pushed it up to the entrance.

  Music filled the store and the baking, cooking and work going on around her felt like a shot of sunshine.

  As she passed the bakery she couldn’t resist stopping and looking at all the pretty confections.

  “Can I help you?” a short woman about as wide as she was tall, all dressed in white, asked from across the glass case.

  “You can. I need a loaf of that bread you just took out of the oven, and these pastries are beautiful. Could I get one of those?” She pointed to a petit four with red and green sugar ribbons. “Wait. Oh gosh, it’s so hard to pick. Maybe I should take some home too.” The bakery case was filled with an assortment of festive holiday treats. Cupcakes with shiny silver dragées and crystallized sugar. Cookies, macarons and even chocolate-dipped pretzels with pretty sprinkles.

  “Get one of each,” the woman suggested. “That’s what I’d do.”

  “You know what? You’re right. Give me twelve different ones. Surprise me. My niece is going to be absolutely delighted! I can’t wait to drop in and surprise her. The rest, I’ll take to my store.”

  “You own a store here in town?” the woman asked as she delicately plucked baked goods from the case and placed them in a pretty red box.

  “I do.” For now, she thought. “Heart of Christmas.”

  “In the lighthouse?” The woman beamed.

  “That’s the one.”

  “I’ve heard of it. I’ve been wanting to stop in. I collect Christmas bells.”

  “I have several. Some are tabletop bells, but I also have this beautiful Twelve Days of Christmas bell set too.”

  “I’ve got to see that!” The woman’s voice rose with excitement.

  “You better come soon. Sadly, I’ll be closing the doors after the holiday.” Angela’s nerves tingled. Saying it made her almost light-headed.

  “Oh no. I’m sorry,” the baker said. “I’ve been looking for a gift for my mother-in-law. She’s so hard to buy for. She collects those nesting dolls, but they aren’t easy to find.”

  “I’m your girl,” Angela said, her mood lifting. “I’ve got a couple in stock. These aren’t just the simple curvy-shaped smooth ones either. The artist I buy from actually carves the detail in the largest one. I know I have a Santa set, and I’m pretty sure the nativity set is still there unless we sold it this weekend.”

  “I’m off tomorrow. You can count on seeing me.” She closed the box and taped it. “I tucked in an extra one for you. If you ask me, the baker’s dozen should never have gone out of style.” She put the price sticker on the side of the box and handed it to Angela. The clear plastic panel made the box look like a snow globe with all the colorful edibles inside. “Thank you, that was so nice of you.” Angela walked away with a smile on her face. There was so much good in this town.

  She loaded her cart with hot chocolate and marshmallows. She could imagine the warmth of a sweater wrapped around her shoulders and a hot mug out on the deck as she watched the ocean raise a ruckus with the tide. Maybe she’d even roast a few marshmallows over the fire pit.

  An instrumental version of “The First Noel” played over the grocery store speakers.

  Angela used the automated checkout and bagged her groceries in the heavy paper bags with the handles. The look on Geoff Paisley’s face when she had informed him just how much was wrong with his plastic shopping bags popped into her head.

  Calling him an irresponsible oceanfront merchant had been mean. She felt a little bad about that. Momma Grace had raised her better.

  Whatever was happening with her store, she had to find a positive path forward. Calling names wasn’t a solution, and letting the likes of Christmas Galore get under her skin was a waste of time and energy.

  With her grocery bags in tow, she went outside. Next door a new café boasted fresh fish and farm-to-table meals. On the chalkboard sandwich board out front the lunch specials looked tasty, especially the pumpkin fritters.

  “I deserve a treat.” She put her groceries in her car then straightened her sweater set as she walked across the parking lot.

  Inside, the décor had a European feel. The rich burgundy walls gave the space a warm feeling, and the intoxicating savory scent of fresh herbs mingled in the air.

  “Just one?” A young woman dressed in black asked her.

  “Yes.”

  “This way,” she said, seating her in a booth midway down the left side of the long narrow restaurant.

  “Thank you.” Angela scooted into the booth facing the door. It was still a little early, but they already had a good crowd.

  The waitress ran down the list of specials and Angela settled on a scallop po’boy with the café’s signature remoulade and shredded lettuce on a freshly baked garlic toasted bun, and a glass of chardonnay.

  The waitress slid Angela’s plate onto the table. If she were a social media addict, she’d be posting a picture of her plate right now. She dug in, enjoying the delightful mix of herbs that made the familiar sandwich seem extra special.

  Just as she slipped the last bite into her mouth, Geoff Paisley walked into the restaurant with an older, silver-haired man.

  She slid down in the seat a little, and grabbed the wine menu tucked between the oil and vinegar cruets, almost choking on her sandwich.

  She chugged some water, then leaned out, hoping they wouldn’t be seated at the empty table next to her.

  Thankfully, the hostess seated them toward the front.

  The waitress took the next table’s order then stopped by. “How was it?”

  “Delicious.”

  “Excellent. Can I get you dessert or another chardonnay?”

  She downed the last sip. “Yes, please, and a large glass of water.” There was no way she could leave now.

  After giving Geoff a piece of her mind, this was more than just a little awkward, but maybe if she just laid low for a bit, they’d leave and then she could slip out.

  Time dragged by, and customers ate and left, bu
t she could still see the two men in the booth up front. Not a big drinker, she’d be drunk if she had another chardonnay, so she ordered dessert and coffee and pretended to be on the phone.

  After three glasses of water, wine and a coffee, she couldn’t wait any longer. She had to go to the bathroom, so she peeked out to make sure the coast was clear. Geoff and the gray-haired man were talking. She scooted out of the booth and dashed to the back of the restaurant, past the men’s room to the ladies’ room.

  She closed the door behind her and locked it. If she’d thought it out better she’d have left money on the table for her bill and taken the back door out.

  After she washed her hands she waited as long as she could, then decided she’d have to suck it up and just hope for the best.

  She pushed the button to unlock the door, then grabbed the door handle, one of those weird ones you put your forearm under to resist germs, but the door didn’t budge.

  Tugging on it again, the door gave just enough to bang against the door frame. “Really?”

  Two hands didn’t get it open either.

  She pulled a credit card out of her wallet and slid it between the frame and the door. All that did was prove the latch seemed to be unlocked, but still the door didn’t budge.

  “Can someone help me?” She shook the door again. “Hello?”

  “Hello?” A man’s voice came from the other side of the door.

  “The door won’t open.”

  “Oh?” After a brief pause, the man said, “They don’t make anything like they used to.”

  The comment whisked her back to Christmas Galore. Geoff had said that. Oh no. It couldn’t be. She practically sank to the floor.

  “Hang on,” he said. “I’ll get you out of there.”

  It was his voice. Of all the predicaments to be stuck in, this was absolutely the worst.

  “I think I can get it now. You can go away,” she said.

  There was no other way out. The frosted window on the back wall looked like it was painted shut. Desperate, she turned its lock and tried to lift the window. It only budged a few inches. She was thin, but she was not going to fit through that.