Secret Santa

by Fern Michaels

  “Carlo is eight and Roberto is five. My brother has boys near their age, so they’re looking forward to seeing their cousins.”

  “I guess you’ll have to make Christmas for them here.”

  “We were waiting to get presents until we got to Durango.” Elena hugged her arms more tightly across her chest. “If they were older, we’d explain that they needed to wait, but Roberto still believes in Santa Claus. He’ll expect something in his stocking, and Carlo pretends to believe, for Roberto’s sake.”

  “Mae told me she had two sons. Maybe she has some things left from when they were little . . .” Barb’s voice trailed away. The older woman might not be so willing to part with her belongings. “I wish I could think of something to give them.” She doubted they’d appreciate any of her jewelry or clothes. Having money meant she didn’t have to be creative. When she needed something, she went out and bought it. But money—and all those years getting by on her looks—weren’t doing her any good now.

  “They’ll have plenty,” Elena said. “Ernesto is carving little wooden animals and I’m knitting new hats and gloves. I started in the car on the trip over, so they won’t be a surprise, but . . .” She shrugged. “It will be all right.” She turned back toward her cabin.

  “Thank you for the stew last night,” Barb said. “That was very thoughtful of you.”

  The younger woman shrugged. “We’ve got a bunch of cans in the cabinet here. Someone must have liked that brand of stew a lot. If you want more, let me know. I have to go in now. It’s cold.”

  “I’ll talk to you later, then.” Barb moved on, past where the boys were building some kind of fort, digging up snow and piling it into walls. She struggled against a sharp, fierce longing for Michael. Not as he was now—tall, lanky, uncommunicative young adult—but Michael as a cheerful, chubby toddler. They’d been inseparable then. She’d stayed home to look after him, and as he grew she’d been den mother and homeroom mother and band boosters mom. She’d been a good parent, even if the last few years had been a struggle.

  Maybe she should have pressed harder for him to come with them to Eureka. It would have been a time for them to bond as a family . . .

  She shook her head. Michael would have hated being stuck with his parents for a week, with none of his friends. And she’d have been just as miserable. As much as she loved her son, she had to admit she didn’t always like him these days. If only they could stay little longer.

  Though the snow had stopped, the temperature was still freezing. She shivered, and hurried toward Mae’s house. Pearl barked before Barb even had a chance to knock, and Mae called from the other side of the door. “Who is it?”

  “Barb Stanowski. I brought back the things you loaned me.”

  She waited, and after a few seconds, Mae opened the door and reached for the bucket and clothes. Barb had a feeling the woman intended to snatch the items away and retreat behind the door once more; the idea annoyed her. Why shouldn’t the woman want to talk to her? “Can I come in a minute and warm up?” she asked.

  Mae hesitated. The old woman clearly wanted to be left alone, but when people pushed her away, Barb’s natural tendency was to push back. Trying to win Mae over would at least help her pass the time waiting for the road to open.

  Mae opened the door a little wider and motioned her in. “I guess the cabin’s looking better now,” she said.

  “Yes. Thank you.” Not that it would ever be a showplace.

  Silence stretched between them. “Everything all right last night?” Mae asked after a long moment.

  “I was a little cold,” Barb said. “Do you have any more blankets?”

  The lines on Mae’s forehead deepened. “I’d have to dig around in the storage closets.”

  “I don’t mind looking, if you show me where they are.”

  Mae sighed. “Maybe you could borrow some of my quilts. They’d brighten up the place, and keep you warmer at night.”

  “That would be wonderful.” The lump in her throat surprised Barb as much as Mae’s offer. These quilts probably meant a lot to the older woman.

  “I used to try harder to decorate the cabins and make them look nice.” Mae moved to the recliner in front of the woodstove and motioned Barb to a worn chintz armchair opposite. “But the fishermen and hunters who stay here don’t appreciate nice things. They want a cheap room they can drink and smoke and clean fish in, so I stopped bothering.”

  Had that been a hard concession for her to make—or an easy one, a relief even, that she didn’t have to try so hard?

  “You said one of your sons lives in Denver. Where is the other one?”

  “Troy is an electrician in Denver and Gary manages a chain of restaurants in Green Bay.”

  “My son, Michael, is nineteen and he doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life. He just quit school and moved back home.”

  “My boys were like me,” Mae said. “They couldn’t wait to leave. They loved it here when they were little. They ran wild, fishing and throwing rocks and exploring the woods. But when they got to be teenagers, we were so far from the things they wanted—movies and malls and other kids their age. Girls.”

  “You left,” Barb said. “You told me you went to Chicago.”

  “Yes. But I got sucked back in. I couldn’t escape.”

  She tried to imagine what it would have been like if she’d had to move back to Beaumont, to a life of cheap rental houses and bars filled with oil workers and waiting tables at Denny’s, and shuddered. She’d been lucky to have Jimmy and her safe, easy life. “It seems so lonely here,” she said.

  “Sometimes it is. But I like my own company.”

  “Did you come back here to help your father?” She steeled herself for another outburst from Mae.

  But the older woman’s voice was mild. “Nosy, aren’t you?”

  Barb smiled. “Yes. But I like to hear people’s stories. And I’m curious, since it seems you and I may have a little in common. How did you get from wearing a mink coat in Chicago to living alone out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  “My husband was very successful.” Mae leaned forward, her sapphire eyes pinning Barb in her chair. “A little too successful. He embezzled money from some of his clients. He went to jail for a few years and everything we had went to pay his victims. So I came back here.”

  “I . . . I’m sorry.” Jimmy might have rashly quit his job, but at least he wasn’t going to jail.

  Mae shrugged. “We do what we have to do.”

  “I guess so.” It was a lame answer, but the best she could come up with.

  “At least the boys made something of themselves. Neither of them are married, but Gary has a steady girl I think he might marry one day. When he’s ready.”

  “I sometimes think grandchildren would be nice, but I don’t know if I’m ready for that just yet,” Barb said. Being a grandmother sounded too old for her—it didn’t fit with her picture of herself as still young, though every year it became harder and harder, and more expensive to keep up the illusion of youth.

  “Those two little boys in cabin two are cute as bugs,” Mae said. “They remind me of Troy and Gary at that age.”

  “Their mother told me they don’t have any presents for them for Christmas,” Barb said. “Their father is carving little wooden animals and their mother is knitting caps and gloves. But I wondered if you had anything from your boys . . .”

  Mae frowned. “There might be a busted bicycle or something in the sheds. You’re free to look around. But there’s nothing in the house.”

  “Maybe I will look around,” Barb said. “My husband is pretty handy at making things.”

  “What does your husband do for a living?”

  “He was an accountant. Well, that’s how he started out. For the last ten years he’s been the chief financial officer of an oil company in Houston.” She sighed. “But apparently he quit that job last week and has decided he’s going into business with our son, recycling golf balls.” Saying the word
s out loud made his plan sound even more ridiculous.

  “My husband got tired of his job, too. He was a high flyer, selling luxury properties inside the loop, pulling in mid six figures every year. But that wasn’t enough. He wanted more, so he cooked up a scheme to siphon off money from his employer. Idiot got caught after only a few months.”

  “I can’t even imagine how awful that was for you.”

  “I didn’t mind leaving town. I couldn’t face all the friends I’d made there. At least out here nobody cared if I’d once had a mink coat and a townhouse overlooking Lake Michigan.” She shrugged. “When you have kids, you do what you have to do.”

  “But to lose everything like that, including your husband.”

  Mae’s laughter was a harsh bark. “Oh, I didn’t lose him. When he got out of jail after a couple of years, he came here, too.” Again the shrug. “I still loved him, though I didn’t respect him anymore. And the boys needed him. By then my dad was gone and I needed the extra help. He was good with the customers, still charming and friendly.”

  “And he’s gone now?”

  “Died of a heart attack three years ago. That’s when I took up quilting. I’ve got enough fabric here that I ordered off the Internet that I could open my own quilting store.” She sat up straighter, hands on her knees. “I bet I’ve even got something I could sew into a couple of shirts for those boys. I’ve got patterns stashed somewhere from when Gary and Troy were little.” She stood. “Let’s go look.”

  Curious, Barb followed her toward the back of the house, into a room lined with plastic storage tubs, the kind people used to store Christmas decorations. Mae began pulling out tubs and popping off the lids, revealing stacks and stacks of cotton prints in every color and design imaginable. “Here’s what I’m looking for,” she said, and yanked out a sheaf of fabric printed with horseshoes and six-guns and cowboy hats. “Little western shirts, with pearl snaps. I’ve got a contraption here for putting on the snaps.” She handed the fabric to Barb and turned to another stack of tubs along the back wall. “My patterns are in here somewhere. Do you sew?”

  “Not a stitch. I don’t know how to do much of anything practical or useful.” She laughed, making a joke of her purely ornamental existence. She was a good friend and wife and mother, but sometimes she wished the things she did really mattered. The last real contribution she’d made to the world was Michael and so far he hadn’t exactly made a big splash.

  “Here are the patterns.” Mae held up a browning paper envelope that showed two sixties-era boys in cowboy hats with toy pistols, wearing colorful western shirts. “I don’t suppose kids’ fashions change that much with time.”

  “I’m sure the boys will love them.” She was still the cheerleader, smiling big and never letting them see her sweat. “I guess I’ll leave you to your work.”

  “Don’t forget the quilts. I put a stack by the door for you. And you could take some to the boys’ mother.”

  “Elena. She and her husband were on their way to her brother’s in Durango.”

  “Take her a few of the quilts.”

  Barb found the stack of quilts on a chest by the door. The fabric was cool against her fingers and smelled of lavender. The real herb, she’d guess, not a purchased sachet. She managed to open the door and staggered out under the weight of the coverings, struggling to see over them.

  “Let me take some of those.” Reuben stepped up and relieved her of half her burden. The truck driver was an imposing man, over six-feet tall, broad shouldered and muscular, with close cropped hair, golden brown eyes and skin the color of fudge. He had the solemn demeanor of an undertaker, very grave and formal.

  “Thank you,” Barb said as she surrendered half her burden. “Mae is lending us these.” She peeled off the top quilt—a maze of tiny, colored squares like a cloth mosaic in muted greens, blues and browns. “Take this one.” Mae hadn’t said anything about Reuben, but he probably needed a quilt for his bed, too.

  “Thanks.” He tucked the quilt under one arm, still balancing the stack of others in one hand.

  Barb glanced at the three covers in her hand. Reuben had four more beside his own. “I’ll take these and you can give those to Elena,” she said.

  “I told Ernesto I’d go with him to cut a tree for their cabin. He’s sharpening the hatchet we found.” They started walking toward cabin number two.

  “That’s good of you. Do you have family who’ll be missing you over the holidays?” Barb asked, hoping she wasn’t opening up any painful wounds. Maybe he’d just tell her to get lost.

  “When I’m home, I have dinner with my mothers and sisters, but they know I’m working so they won’t miss me.”

  “That must be hard, working on the holidays.”

  “Christmas is just another day to me. I’m Buddhist, so it’s not my holiday.”

  “But you’re helping with the Christmas tree.”

  “Just because I don’t celebrate doesn’t mean I’m against kids having fun.”

  “Sure. That makes sense.” She cleared her throat. Why did she feel so awkward with this man? She prided herself on being able to talk to anyone about anything. “What’s in the truck you’re driving?”

  “Groceries. It’s a King’s Grocery truck. You didn’t notice the big logo on the back end?”

  “I wasn’t paying attention. Speaking of groceries, what are we going to eat while we’re here?” A couple of power bars, almonds and tea bags weren’t going to take them very far.

  “There’s some canned goods in the cabins. Didn’t you look? ”

  “No.” Clearly, he thought she was the original dumb blonde.

  “Mae said the fishermen and hunters are always leaving stuff behind, so she just lets it accumulate.”

  Barb wrinkled her nose. “So no telling how old the stuff is.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “Right. Well, thanks for helping with the quilts. I’d better make sure my husband hasn’t cut off his thumb or something.”

  Not that that was likely. Like everyone else around here, Jimmy was ridiculously competent. Only Miss Jefferson County, 1985 lacked any significant talent. She’d always suspected the only reason she hadn’t been crowned Miss Texas that year was because the contest judges were less than impressed with her ability to do the splits and turn cartwheels while cheering. And even those dubious accomplishments had deserted her long ago.

  Chapter Five

  Back at their cabin, Barb found Jimmy sitting at the table with his book. “Go out for some fresh air?” he asked, not looking up.

  She dumped the coverlets on the bed. “I visited with Mae and she lent us some of her quilts. I woke up in the middle of the night freezing.”

  “Really? I was comfortable.”

  She told herself he wasn’t being contrary on purpose, but she had to resist the urge to whack him on the head. She didn’t want his opinion; she wanted sympathy and commiseration. Instead, he remained so stolidly positive.

  So enough with the pity party, she told herself. It wasn’t as if they weren’t all in the same situation, and considering, she and Jimmy had it pretty good. “I talked to Elena, too,” she said. “She and Ernesto don’t have presents for the boys. Well, not many, anyway.”

  Finally, he closed the book. “That’s not good. They’ll be expecting Santa Claus.”

  “Exactly. I told Mae about it and she’s going to make shirts for the boys. I was hoping she had some toys left from her children, but she didn’t. She said we could look in the shed—wherever that is—but she didn’t think there was anything useful in there.”

  “I know where it is. I saw it this morning when Reuben and I were exploring. Let’s take a look anyway.” He stood. “Maybe I can make something.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  She waited while he put on his coat, hat and gloves, then she followed him around to the back of the row of cabins, where a wooden garden shed, painted the same faded green as their lodgings, stood half
-buried in the snow. An open padlock hung from the hasp, and the door creaked in loud protest after Jimmy had kicked snow from around it and tugged it open.

  She shrank back from the interior of the shed, half-expecting some scary form of wildlife to scuttle out of the jumble of discarded items heaped on the dirt floor. Paint cans, nuts and bolts and odd bits of metal filled shelves along two walls. A pair of old, narrow skis leaned against the door jamb, and the hulk of a rusting riding lawnmower crouched in the corner. A thick layer of grease and dirt overlay everything.

  “There’s bound to be something useful in all this.” Jimmy rubbed his hands together in anticipation, then waded into the mess and began teasing items from the tangle on the floor.

  “It’s just a bunch of junk,” she said. She picked up a dented paint can. It was so old the label was gone.

  “There might be some things I can use.” He crouched and pulled a skateboard from the tangle of junk on the floor. The decking was warped and split.

  “You’d have to be a miracle worker to fix that,” Barb said.

  He grabbed one of the skis by the door, then dragged out a broken push mower. “I can cut the ski to make a new deck, attach the wheels, add the handle from the mower, polish everything up and it’ll be a scooter.”

  Handed the same assortment of junk, she’d have been just as likely to turn it into a really ugly paperweight. “Really?”

  “Really. The boys will love it. Come on. Help me carry this stuff back to our place.”

  She helped him lug the various parts to their cabin, along with a tool box and some steel wool he found on one of the shelves. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked as she watched him arrange everything on the table.

  “Nope.” He surveyed his haul, a mad scientist ready for another session in the lab. “This is going to be fun.”

  She picked up her book and tried to focus on the story, but she had a hard time sitting still. Back in Houston, she’d be decorating the house, getting ready for parties, delivering gifts, shopping, picking out clothes and tending to dozens of last-minute errands in preparation for the holidays. In Eureka she’d be helping Maggie with her holiday preparations and catching up with her friends in town, shopping and decorating and partying and generally celebrating.