“That doesn’t seem like a very good job,” little Bay said.
“It’s the best job in the world,” Terry countered. “I’m Santa Claus. I get to bring joy to the world, even if people don’t believe in me.”
“He’s laying it on a little thick,” Landon whispered.
“No.” My heart warmed as I witnessed the memory from a new vantage point. “He’s laying it on just thick enough.”
“Maybe I do believe in you,” Young Bay hedged. “I … .”
“If you believe in me, you have to say it,” Terry prodded.
“I believe in you,” young Bay mumbled.
“I can’t hear you.”
“She said she believes in you,” Clove yelled, causing Landon to snicker.
“Thank you, Clove,” Terry said. “I know you believe. Your present will be coming as soon as Bay tells me she believes.”
It was the moment of truth. Young Bay knew it. Everyone in town knew it. Now she only had to admit it.
“Fine,” little Bay said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I believe in Santa Claus.”
“I still can’t hear you,” Terry said, staring her down. “You need to say it louder!”
“I believe in Santa Claus!” young Bay practically screamed the words and Terry broke out in a huge grin.
“That’s better,” Terry said, leaning over and rummaging in the bag at his feet. When he turned around, he held a puppy. The black cutie had a huge bow tied around its neck and it wriggled crazily.
Little Bay’s eyes widened as she took another step forward. “Is that for me?”
“That’s for you, Clove and Thistle,” Terry replied.
Young Bay took the puppy, her eyes filling with tears. “Thank you.”
“You have to take care of him,” Terry said. “You girls have to feed him and walk him and love him. Do you think you’re up to the task?”
“You bet we are,” Clove said, rushing to younger Bay’s side so she could pet the puppy. “Wow!”
“How did you know to get us a puppy?” little Bay asked.
“One of my elves told me.”
“How did the elf know?”
“Your Aunt Tillie has a huge mouth,” Terry replied, smiling at young Bay one more time before turning his attention to the rest of the children. “Who wants presents?”
The squeals were deafening as they surged in around him. Terry didn’t put up a fight as they started climbing on his lap and telling him their most fervent wishes.
I risked a glance at Landon and found him swiping at what he would later claim to be an imaginary tear. “You look a little misty.”
“I simply have something in my eye.”
I wasn’t convinced. “You should probably get it out.”
“That’s the plan.”
I slid a glance in Aunt Tillie’s direction. “This is one of my favorite Christmas memories. Thank you.”
“It’s one of mine, too.” Aunt Tillie gestured toward the spot where her alter ego talked with Mom and the other Bay. “You’re over there telling me that I have to help you name the puppy. You didn’t really let me help, though. Trust me. I wouldn’t have named him Sugar.”
“I thought this Christmas would be the worst ever, but it was really better than the previous one,” I noted. “I think that was the point of this little visit, though, right?”
“I have multiple points.” Aunt Tillie’s grin was mischievous as she focused on Landon.
“Speaking of that, Bay isn’t the only one who has something special to see.”
“What does that mean?” Landon asked, suspicious.
Aunt Tillie held her hands palms up. “Let’s find out, shall we?”
No one is watching to see if you’re naughty or nice. Santa is watching to see if you steal my stuff … and if you do, he’s authorized me to put a boot in your behind. True story.
– Aunt Tillie explaining the Christmas season to her young great-nieces
Six
I didn’t recognize the next location. Not even a little. Apparently Landon did, though, because he immediately released my hand when he caught sight of the house that materialized in front of us.
“No way!”
I watched Landon, curious, and followed him as he hopped to the front walkway. He grinned as he pointed to a trio of snowmen on the front lawn. “The middle one is mine.”
“Oh, well … fun.” I spared a glance for Aunt Tillie. “This is Landon’s house?”
“It’s his parents’ house,” Aunt Tillie said. “I guess it was his home for eighteen years. He seems excited, doesn’t he?”
One look at my boyfriend, his face flushed with color, told me he’d completely forgotten about the tears he almost shed when visiting a memory from my past. “He does. This is a nice touch.”
“Oh, it’s going to get nicer.” Aunt Tillie squared her shoulders as she walked up the sidewalk and knocked on the door.
“What are you doing?” I hissed, scurrying behind her. “Won’t talking to them mess up the past?”
“We’re not traveling through time, Bay,” Aunt Tillie said dryly. “That’s impossible.”
I wasn’t so sure. I knew our former jaunt through the decades only happened in Aunt Tillie’s mind, but she convinced me at a young age that she could accomplish almost anything. “Are you sure?”
“Oh, just … suck it up. You’re an adult. Act like one.”
The door opened, revealing Connie Michaels, Landon’s mother. She looked younger – a good twenty years younger, at least – but her smile was evergreen and her eyes sparkled when they landed on Aunt Tillie.
“You’re late!”
Late? Did that mean Connie expected us? How could that be? “What’s going on?”
Aunt Tillie ignored the question. “I smell dinner cooking.”
“Yes, I’ve been slaving for hours.” Connie’s gaze landed on me. “You brought guests.”
“I told you I would.”
“You should probably make introductions,” Connie suggested.
“Right you are.” Aunt Tillie tossed a glance over her shoulder to where Landon continued to marvel at the snowmen. “Hey, copper, get your behind over here.”
Landon reluctantly left his childhood masterpiece behind and jogged to the front door. When he caught sight of his mother, he let loose a sound I couldn’t quite identify and pulled her in for a bear hug. “I can’t believe it’s you!”
Instead of hugging Landon as if she recognized him, Connie awkwardly patted his back and exchanged an odd look with Aunt Tillie. “And I can’t believe it’s you.”
“Stop being a schmuck,” Aunt Tillie ordered, grabbing Landon by the ear and dragging him back. “She’ll think you’re a pervert or something.”
Landon was understandably affronted. “That’s gross. She’s my mother, for crying out loud.”
“Well, remember who you are,” Aunt Tillie stressed. “Also, remember when you are.”
Landon was appropriately abashed. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Connie said, waving off Landon’s concern. “You need to introduce us, Tillie. I’m going to need something to call these two or it’s going to get awkward very quickly.”
“Wait … they know each other?” Landon glanced to me for confirmation. “How does that work?”
That was a very good question. “I have no idea. Just go with it. Aunt Tillie is up to something big, and we won’t figure out what until we play the game.”
“Good girl,” Aunt Tillie said. “You’re finally thinking.” She fixed her attention on Connie. “This is Harold and Maude. They’re cousins of sorts.”
Harold and Maude? Really? “What happened to Daryl and Carol?” I asked.
Aunt Tillie shot me a “well, duh” look. “There’s already a Daryl in this house.”
Oh, well, she wasn’t wrong. One of Landon’s brothers was named Daryl. He was probably inside right now, although much younger. “Right.”
“Why Harold a
nd Maude?” Landon asked.
“It’s one of Aunt Tillie’s favorite movies,” I replied. “I’ll show it to you one day.”
“Will I like it?”
“Probably not. It seems to be a movie only women love. I can’t explain it.”
“What are you talking about?” Connie asked, her placid smile never vacating her face.
“Nothing,” Aunt Tillie replied. “We’re here to enjoy Christmas. Lead the way.”
Landon seemed nervous as his mother – who wasn’t technically his mother in this case – ushered him inside his childhood home. He glanced around, his eyes wide with wonder, and grinned when he pointed at the mistletoe hanging over the doorframe that led to the living room.
“You want to do that now?” I couldn’t help but be dubious.
“No. We used to make groaning noises whenever Mom and Dad did, though. When you have a house full of boys, stuff like that is strictly forbidden.”
“And now?”
Landon smacked a quick but noisy kiss against my mouth. “Now it’s recommended.”
“Nice.”
This was Landon’s domain, so I followed him into the living room, where a trio of excited boys watched their father stare at a set of instructions. Earl Michaels, Landon’s father, seemed oblivious to the new guests.
“Come on, Dad,” one of the younger boys whined. “You said you were going to put it together so we could play with it.”
“That’s Denny,” Landon noted, his voice low. “He was always a whiner.”
“Then that must mean he’s Daryl,” I said, pointing toward a second boy. This one looked much more disinterested in the process than Denny.
Landon nodded. “Yeah. Remember that train set I told you about?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it.”
“Oh, well, fun.”
“It will take him the entire day to put it together,” Landon said, keeping his voice low as he led me to the floral print couch at the center of the room. “The kids will lose interest – they mostly have now – but they’ll have it for a really long time and never forget how much fun they had with their father while playing with it.”
Landon sounded almost whimsical.
“I’m glad we got to see something from your past this time.” I meant it. “Why aren’t you involved? I mean … young Landon.” It was weird to consider the dark-haired boy in the corner separately from the man sitting next to me.
“I believe I’m pouting because I wanted a new video game system,” Landon replied. “Don’t worry. I get over it fairly quickly.”
The boy, little Landon, caught my eye. It was almost as if he sensed we were talking about him.
“Boys, come over here so I can make introductions,” Connie ordered, wiping her hands on her apron.
Denny and Daryl immediately did as instructed, shuffling to Connie’s side and eyeing us quizzically.
“This is Denny and Daryl.” Connie beamed at her boys. “Landon, come over here.”
My Landon jolted at the sound of his name, but he didn’t go to his mother. Instead he turned to the boy in the corner and waited.
Little Landon looked to have a lot of attitude. He heaved a dramatic sigh and moved to Connie’s side. The look he spared for Landon was one of disinterest. The one he planted on me was somehow different.
“This is Landon,” Connie said, fussing with the boy’s hair. “He’s in a bit of a mood.”
“What happened?” Aunt Tillie asked the boy. “Didn’t you get what you wanted from Santa?”
“Nope.” Little Landon crossed his arms over his chest, irritated. “I wanted the new PlayStation and instead I got … that.” He offered a vague wave to the train set Earl fixated on. “I didn’t want that.”
“Why?” I asked. “I’d think a train set is cooler than a video game system. You’ll enjoy that set for years to come.”
Young Landon rolled his eyes, mimicking an expression I often saw on his older counterpart’s face. “Then you don’t get how much cooler video games are.”
“They really are cool,” Aunt Tillie enthused. “But trains are cool, too”
Little Landon was dismissive. “Whatever.” He turned his full attention to me. “Why are you here? I’ve never heard my mom mention you.”
He had an inquisitive mind, even as a youngster. It made me smile. He was interrogating me and he didn’t even know it. I wasn’t sure why he picked me – maybe he figured my fond smile made me an easy mark – but I was glad for the attention. “We were passing through town and Aunt Tillie decided she needed to stop by,” I explained. “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.”
“But you’re not from around here?”
“No. We’re from … up north.”
“The Upper Peninsula?”
“No, more by Traverse City. Do you know where that is?”
Little Landon shook his head. His hair was much shorter, the dark locks a sharp contrast to his olive skin. The blue of his eyes was so vibrant it almost made him look like a magical fairy creature. It was a ridiculous thought, yet I couldn’t shake it.
“It’s about two hours from here,” Earl supplied, his gaze fixated on the train set instructions. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think these instructions were written in another language.”
Landon shot me a questioning look. I knew what he was asking. He wanted permission to work on the train set with his father. It would enhance the memories he already had of the train. I nodded without hesitation, grinning as I watched him move to the floor. When I finally tore my gaze from him, I found little Landon watching me with an unreadable gaze.
“What were we talking about again?”
“What you’re doing here,” the boy answered, surprising me when he settled in the spot Landon occupied moments before. “I don’t think I know you, but I feel like I do.”
“Oh, well … .” In truth, I wasn’t sure how that could be either. “Why do you think I’m familiar?”
“I don’t know.” Little Landon’s eyes focused on my hair and he lifted a hand and touched it. “I think maybe I dreamed about you.”
It should’ve been an innocent statement, something sweet and cute, but it gave me a jolt. “You’ve dreamed about me?”
“Oh, here we go,” Daryl muttered, rolling his eyes as he moved to join his father. “He’s going to start telling you about his weird dreams. They’re so boring.”
“They’re not boring,” Denny countered. “I think they mean something.” Even as a child, Denny had a calm demeanor that I found quite appealing. He would grow up to be a minister, something that made me nervous when I first met him, but he had a mild and congenial way of interacting with others.
“What kind of dreams?” I asked.
“He dreams about angels,” Denny replied.
“They’re not angels,” young Landon countered. “They’re … something else.”
I was understandably fascinated. “What?”
“I don’t … .” The boy was earnest. “I can’t really remember the dreams when I wake up. I remember little … um … bits of them. I don’t remember all of them.”
“I still think they’re angels,” Denny said.
Aunt Tillie snorted. “You would.”
I shot her a warning look. “They probably are angels. Maybe they’re just a different type of angel.”
“I didn’t know there were different kinds,” Denny admitted.
“Nobody is ever just one thing,” I said, grappling for words that he’d understand. He seemed wise beyond his years, but he was still a child. “People are many things. I think that means there can be different types of angels.”
Denny seemed fine with the explanation. “Cool.” He wandered over to Landon and Earl, dropping to his knees so he could watch them work. He appeared to be much more interested in what they were doing rather than the conversation between me and Landon’s younger self.
“How long have you been having the dreams?” I asked, holding back my i
tchy fingers because they longed to run through little Landon’s hair. Not in a creepy way, mind you, but it was so weird seeing Landon’s childhood visage sitting next to me that it took everything I had not to touch him so that I could commit things – like the feeling of his hair – to memory.
“I don’t know,” the boy replied. He didn’t seem agitated by the question, but he wasn’t exactly engaged either. “I just have them sometimes.” His eyes locked with mine. “I’m sure you were there.”
“What did I do?”
“You talked to me. You … smiled. I think there might have been bacon.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing and slid a curious look in Aunt Tillie’s direction. “Did you make him say that?”
Aunt Tillie shook her head. “He says what he wants. I only brought you here. What’s happening is real. Er, well, at least as real as it can be.”
I was surprised. “Does that mean … ?”
“What? Are you asking if he dreamed of you before he ever met you?” Aunt Tillie shrugged, her lips curving. “Anything is possible, right?”
This night was certainly proof of that.
“I KNOW IT’S A dream, but it was nice having Christmas dinner with my family.”
Landon stood with me under the mistletoe two hours later, his arm slung around my shoulders. He looked happy, well fed and utterly amused by everything happening in the next room.
I followed his gaze, grinning when I saw Denny and Daryl wrestling for the turkey wishbone. “I’m glad I got to see you as a kid for a change,” I said. “You’re so cute.”
“I think you’re only saying that because I find little Bay so adorable.”
“No, I really like little Landon,” I countered. “He told me something odd, though. Did you hear what we were talking about?”
Landon shook his head. “No. I was too busy talking to my father. It was weird to be able to hang with him that way. I kind of got distracted.”
“I wouldn’t begrudge you time with your father for anything,” I said. “I mean that.”
A Witchmas Carol Page 6
