by Nancy Naigle
“I met him here in Pleasant Sands. He was a surfer back then. A commercial fisherman for a living, but he surfed every chance he got. He and Virgil were best friends.”
“Virgil? Virgil is from here?”
“He was from one of the towns up the coast, but he came down here to surf. He and your dad chased waves from here to Australia one year.” She paused, and he wondered what memories were playing in her mind. “Your father died in a boating accident. We’d planned to get married, but he died before we could do that. I was already pregnant, but I didn’t want to marry him until after I had you. I didn’t want him to feel trapped, but in the end it was me that felt trapped. Trapped in the sorrow of losing him.”
“I knew it made you sad whenever I asked about him. It didn’t matter anyway. All I needed was you. You were more parent by yourself than most of my friends had with two.”
“Thank you. I tried.”
“Do I really need to know all this now?”
She reached for his hand. “Listen to me,” she said. “If anything should happen to me, I want you to bury me here in Pleasant Sands. His family bought us adjoining plots. The records are in my lockbox. The envelope has a different name on it, but it’s called Pleasant Sands Memorial Gardens now.”
“Do you know how weird this would’ve been if you hadn’t told me and I was supposed to bury you next to a man I’d never heard about?”
“I’m sorry. There was no money to even put a nice headstone on his grave until after we opened our fourth store. I knew I’d be buried there too. Some day. It’s in my will. There’s a copy in my lockbox, the combination is your birthday, and of course John has a copy.”
John was their lawyer. Geoff wondered how many more people knew about his mother’s broken heart besides Virgil and John.
“I should’ve told you this a long time ago.”
“You really did love him. You weren’t hurt. You were sad.” It was hard to push away the anger he’d carried around for the man he’d never known. All along he hadn’t been present because he couldn’t be.
Her smile was gentle. “I want to be sure you understand. He would have loved you. You have his drive. His sense of humor.”
“Mom, I don’t want to talk about this. All I’m worried about right now is you. I’m a grown man. I don’t need a father.”
“This discussion isn’t over, but I’ll let it go for now. I’m sure it’s a lot for you to take in. So tell me about the letters. Any special ones?”
“You’ve been in here less than forty-eight hours. I haven’t had a chance to even check the Dear Santa log.”
“Geoff, it’s the only thing I asked you to do.”
“It can wait a day or two, Mom. You’ll be out of here and anxious to have something to do.”
“It’s important to me. I need you to answer them,” she said. “Promise me.”
“Fine. I’ll make sure they’re answered.”
“No. I don’t want someone else answering them. I want you to address those Dear Santa letters yourself.” She held his gaze, and this was her I’m-not-kidding-around face. “Promise me, Geoff.” The monitor sped up like a radio station switching from a ballad to a dancing song.
They both looked at the machine.
“Fine.”
“Please answer the letters, and don’t just rush through them.” She paused, and finally the heart monitor slowed back down to where it was. “The Dear Santa letters are special. You’ll become part of these children’s memories through those letters. Promise me you’ll take them seriously. If you do, I guarantee you’ll understand why they are so important to me. Wait and see. You’re going to want to solve every problem. You can’t, but you’ll want to.”
“I said that I’d take care of it. I will. I promise.”
“Thank you.” She let out an audible sigh. “You’re going to be surprised how fulfilling it is.”
He seriously doubted that. “Of course I’ll handle it for you.” He sure hoped there weren’t too many to deal with.
“Tonight.” She clasped her hands. The IV in her left hand flopped around like a wild spaghetti noodle trailing to the machine next to the bed. “I need you to answer them tonight.”
“All of them?”
“I could be in here another day, or a week. We don’t know, but what I do know is that those kids deserve a response. I also know if I get behind I’ll never get caught up. So, the short answer is yes. All of them. Tonight.” She paused. “Is that really too much to ask?”
“No. I guess it’s really not.”
“Good.” She leaned back against the pillows. “Now maybe I’ll be able to relax.”
“Can I bring you anything tomorrow?”
“No.” She stretched her arms toward him.
He leaned in and hugged her. “I love you, Mom.”
“I know you do. I love you too. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Call me if the doctor has any updates.”
“Of course I will.”
But he knew he’d more than likely hear the update from Virgil if he got an update at all.
He walked out of her hospital room wondering how suddenly her following doctor’s orders had fallen into his lap, because apparently she’d only relax if he answered the letters like she asked. He really wasn’t looking forward to the task, but he’d promised, and he’d never broken a promise to his mother. He had no intention of starting now.
* * *
That evening after work Geoff drove home without incident, which was a miracle because he was in such a daze that he’d almost missed the turn to his condo.
He wondered about his parents’ courtship. Clearly it was much more special than he ever could have realized.
Knowing that his father had once lived right here in this town had so many questions popping into his mind, and he hated that. That was in the past and he’d wrestled with it then. He didn’t like to look back.
But it did make him wonder.
How many people knew that his mother had spent time here before? Did any of the locals know that she’d had a child with a man from here? Were any of the ladies on the committees Mom had suddenly taken a strong interest in from back in those days?
He pulled under the building of his condo and shut down the car.
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t wished for the day he could make the changes to Christmas Galore that he wanted. Mom hated change, and he’d spent plenty of time trying to convince her to let him integrate more high-tech solutions into the company. That was one of those things they just weren’t going to agree on. It made him crazy, but he’d figured she’d eventually get tired of the day-to-day business and decide to take a yearlong cruise with girlfriends or just chill somewhere playing bridge with others her age. He never wanted something like this to happen. What if she never came back to Christmas Galore? His heart ached with guilt. Had he somehow wished this on her?
Ridiculous. No. He wouldn’t allow himself to think like that.
He ached so much that he felt like an old man as he entered the building. Funny how anxiety and worry could drag you down into a heap so quickly. He pulled himself up straight and forced himself to take the stairs to his eighth-floor penthouse suite.
He punched the code to the front door of his condo, and tossed his keys on the side table as he entered. The place was sparsely decorated, the way he liked it. He didn’t have use for anything that caused clutter. He grabbed a beer and went out on the balcony. The waves crashed against the beach below. Clouds had rolled in, eliminating the moon from the equation entirely, making the night inky black. The darkness and low-hanging clouds seemed eerie, or maybe it was just his mood. He stood there staring out at the ocean. The only things visible were a few whitecaps, and the crashing waves.
Finishing off his beer, he went back inside to his desk and turned on the computer. The Christmas Galore logo lit up the screen. With a few clicks he was into the executive portal. He went through his normal routine checking the sales acr
oss all of their stores, and comparing actual figures to forecast profits for the quarter. Things were tracking well.
He moved back to the main screen and clicked on the Dear Santa icon. A bright blue starry sky with “Dear Santa” in pretty script filled the page. His mother had worked tirelessly on the Dear Santa project. The app was popular; she’s received so much mail that there was no way even a team of little elves could answer them all. Last year he’d finally had one small win. He’d gotten his mom to agree to hire a programmer who could build an algorithm that would create a personalized autoresponse to the majority of the letters. She had full control over a list of keywords that would push some letters to her queue. She read each and every one of those, and they received the personal touch only his mother could provide. The rest still got an autogenerated response, albeit one pretty fancy program that made uniquely worded letters.
Plus, letting Mom have her way with the letters had given him the chance to bargain with her to let him add more electronic products to their inventory: televisions, computers, wireless headphones and e-readers. Those items were like shark bait. Put a flat-screen TV or the latest electronic gizmo on sale at a rock-bottom price and customers started circling like it was feeding time. Not to mention that they’d fill their baskets with other items on impulse while they were perusing the sales.
Reluctantly he opened the Dear Santa dashboard. Tens of thousands of letters had already come in, and it was just after Thanksgiving!
Thank goodness only forty-three were in his mother’s queue.
He had to read them. He’d promised. There was no getting around it. If nothing else, he was a man of his word.
Geoff got up and got another beer, swigging down half of it before he got back to his desk. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it over the arm of the couch nearby, then sat down.
The last Dear Santa letter his mother had responded to had been on Thanksgiving morning.
How hard could this be?
The first letter was from a little girl in Tennessee. He liked that they’d added the location and IP address of each letter.
Dear Santa,
I’m living with my grandma. She’s old. Dad got mad and made Mom so scared she left. I miss her. If my grandma dies can I come live with you? I could make toys. I get good grades and I’m not like my dad.
You can pick me up on Christmas while you’re here. I don’t think grandma would miss me very much. I would like a warm blanket for Christmas. Grandma needs some warm clothes. She is always cold.
Love,
Cassie
What am I supposed to say to that?
“I’ll come back to you, Cassie.” He moved that one to a folder labeled HOLD, then read the next letter.
Dear Santa,
I can’t come see you at the mall because my friends will tease me so much I would die. They don’t think you exist, but I do. I was pretty good except when I caught the ditch on fire playing with matches.
Here’s my list.
Fire truck
B.B. gun
Remote control racecar
…
Geoff kept scrolling through the long list of toys. Kid was a maniac. He scanned the letter again, certain there was something in the letter noteworthy enough to pop it into his mother’s personal queue. “Tease.” “Die.” “Fire.” Probably all keywords in his mother’s filter.
He clicked on reroute and let this one go back through the auto-generated letter process. No way Mom could fault him for kicking this one back.
* * *
He’d only read two letters. He glanced at his watch. This was going to take forever.
With a click of a button the next letter populated the screen. It was from right here in North Carolina.
Dear Santa,
There’s a bully in town threatening the Heart of Christmas, and he’s using your good reputation to do it.
I’ve been a very, very good girl, but he’s ruining everything, and Christmas may never be the same. I don’t know what to do. How can I fight back? I love Christmas and Chrissy says you can fix anything. I sure hope she’s right. If not, I’m going to need a year’s supply of tissues to get through all the changes to come. A pony might make me feel better too.
Merry Christmas to you, Mrs. Claus, the elves and all of the reindeer.
Yours truly,
Anita C. Miracle
He pulled his hands together and cracked his knuckles. This one he could answer.
Dear Anita,
I’m sorry to hear you are being bullied. I hope you know that there’s never a good reason for someone to bully another. Don’t worry about the heart of Christmas. It will remain strong, because it’s an important part of each of us.
Don’t stoop to the level of that bully. Just keep doing the right thing. Stay true to yourself, and be the good example. Trust that everything will work out the way it is supposed to. Know I’m there with you, in your heart, making sure you find a happy ending to this situation. Believe anything is possible.
Be brave. A new approach may make a surprising difference.
I had you on my nice list even before you wrote me.
Ponies are so hard to fit in the sleigh. Would a bike make you feel better?
Merry Christmas. I’ll see you soon.
Ho. Ho. Ho.
Santa
Feeling good about his response to that letter, he continued through them.
Only one out of the next fourteen he read needed to be rerouted to the autoresponder. The letters were thoughtful, some heartbreaking. The last letter he opened wasn’t a request at all.
Dear Santa,
Thanks for making people smile. I think your naughty and nice list helps make this world a nicer place.
My daddy is going to help me make cookies for you this year. Mom was talking on the phone while we made them and they burned last year. Sorry about that. It was super nice of you to eat them anyway. I didn’t like them.
Love,
Jenna
This letter could’ve been rerouted, but the note was so cute he didn’t mind taking the time to send her a personal response.
Pressing Send, he realized he was smiling.
To end on a high note, he closed his laptop.
He’d get up and go into the office extra early in the morning and do a few more so he’d have a positive report for Mom when he saw her.
Chapter Sixteen
DID YOU KNOW?
Pleasant Sands has an average elevation of just 7 feet above sea level.
Angela sat in a chair by the fire pit. Not because it was cold, it was a pretty nice night, but she loved relaxing near the flickering flames, letting herself be mesmerized by the combination of the fire and the sound of crashing waves.
Growing up here there hadn’t been an ordinance against building a fire on the beach. As a kid, they’d done that nearly every weekend the weather permitted.
She opened her laptop to catch up on email while she waited for Marie and Chrissy.
It seemed like there was more junk mail than important emails in her inbox these days. Click, click, click, she deleted the obvious junk and spam, and filed the important stuff so she could deal with that later.
The subject line of the next email made her pause.
Re: Dear Santa ~ Ho! Ho! Ho!
Santa?
She clicked on the email, fully expecting a generic response.
Wait a minute. This did not seem like an autogenerated email.
Was someone actually answering these letters?
Thank goodness Marie hadn’t let her send the first draft she’d written.
“Hey, sis! We’re here.”
“Aunt Angela?”
Angela laid her laptop on the table next to her and ran inside. “Hey, you two. I was outside by the fire.”
Chrissy bounced into the room wearing a red jumpsuit with a candy cane design on it, then came to a stop. “You started having fun without us?”
“No way! You’r
e the most fun part of the night,” Angela said. “Now we can get started, and I bought treats!” She grabbed Chrissy’s tiny hand and led her into the kitchen.
Chrissy’s eyes danced with delight when she spotted the decorations on the island. She ran over to the edge, tippy-toeing to get a better look at the decadent baked goods under the glass dome.
“Wow,” she said breathily. “Auntie Angela. Can we really eat those?”
“We can.”
“Mom! Come look!”
Marie walked over and shook her head. “I’m going to have to hit the gym an extra time this week.”
Angela lifted the dome. “Which one do you want, Chrissy? You get first pick.”
Chrissy took her time examining the six goodies.
A cookie decorated like a Christmas ornament. Two cookies stacked with shiny red jelly in the middle, a snowflake intricately cut from the top layer. A chocolate-dipped cake pop that looked like a reindeer with pretzels for antlers. A miniature cake with silver dragées. A red-and-green petit four. A chocolate-layered pastry that was taller than it was wide, with a real-looking red fondant ribbon and bow on top.
Chrissy glanced over toward her mom, looking for approval.
“It’s okay,” Marie said.
“Can I have the pretty one that looks like a wrapped present?”
“You can. That is the prettiest one. Perfect for my pretty niece.” Angela slid the parchment cup off of the tray and onto a small plate. “How about you, Marie. What’s your pleasure?”
“They all look delicious. I’ll take the petit four.”
“Deal,” Angela said.
Angela chose the cookie in the shape of an ornament.
“Let’s sit out back.” They all headed to the deck. Angela held Chrissy’s plate so she could climb into the large Adirondack chair.
Marie sat down and picked up the laptop. “What is this?”
Angela handed Chrissy her plate, then turned and took the laptop from Marie’s hands. “That is not for you, nosey.”
“Well, it was sitting right there.”
Marie had always been too nosey for her own good. Probably why she was such a good lawyer.
“What are you hiding from me?” Marie asked.
She was about to burst, which made it really hard to not smile. “I got a letter.”
