by D. D. Scott
“What are you thinking about, My Princess?” Roman said, putting his arms around me and pulling me close to his bundled up side.
Realizing I’d never seen my prince wear so many clothes and layers as he was here along the whimsical winter shores of Lake Michigan, I laughed all to myself.
“I’m thinking how much I’ve missed my parent’s crazy world. Sometimes, I just don’t think they’re all that crazy.”
“I think you’re right. They’re not crazy at all. It’s never crazy to live your passions. And it’s so right to live your truth with the ones you love most,” he said, the corners of his eyes filling with moisture.
Must be from the bitter cold, I thought.
“Let’s get this show on the road…or, in the sky. Shall we?”
My dad interrupted to the somewhat awkward, somewhat fabulous moment Roman and I were sharing.
Dad’s audience went wild. Whooping and cheering for our very own Santa Claus to let the show begin.
“So how does he pull off this part?” Roman whispered in my ear.
“You’ll see,” I said, squeezing his gloved hand in mine. “It’s all in how much you truly believe.”
My Dad began his reindeer call-out, just like Santa does in our favorite childhood storybook.
“On Comet. On Cupid…”
As he called out to each reindeer, they stammered and snorted, pawing at the ground with their polished hooves.
And before anyone’s doubts could be flamed any further, my dad and his team took to the skies behind our Witherspoon Whoville.
Like the storybook of all storybooks, however, there suddenly arose a major clatter, but not from our lawn, rather it sounded like it was coming from my parent’s rooftop.
When we all turned around to see what was the matter, what to our wondering eyes did appear, but Father Time and his what?!
Eight mechanical reindeer?!
Who the hell ever heard of robotic reindeer?!
Too bad Father Time, the goofball, forgot about metal not adhering well to ice.
Evidently, he’d tried to land on my parent’s roof, and his technobot team had lost their footing.
Now…there he lay, practically comatose, in a pile of steaming parts and wild springs, surrounded by pissed off elves.
Father Time’s own time might just be up…
CHAPTER TWELVE
The following evening, as I entered my parent’s large dining room with Roman at my side, I still couldn’t believe all that had transpired in the last twenty-four hours.
Father Time, following an emergency room trip and a heavy talkin’ to from Grams, was now seated at our holiday table. One quick peek at his sullen face and battle scars, there was no denying what had occurred.
We’d busted him for phone hacking and witnessed his disastrous attempt at outdoing my dad’s invention with one of his own. The way I figured it, he thought, thanks to his high-tech eavesdropping, that the only way to beat my dad’s reindeer diet formula was to create reindeer that didn’t need a diet period.
Too bad for him, Dad’s invention appeared to be rather ingenious, while his never got off the ground. Although I guess, to be accurate, his technodunce deer did get off the ground, but obviously had major issues staying on the roof-tops.
What Father Time had done reminded me way too much of what the Murtledochs had done to Roman and his brother. Following getting busted for their phone hacking schemes, The Murtledochs ran full-page “We are sorry” ads in all of the London newspapers. But what if the London pundits responding to the Murtledochs ads were right? What if the Murtledochs, and Father Time too, weren’t sorry, but just sorry their apologies didn’t fool anyone?
I still wasn’t sure if the jackass regretted what he’d done, or was just sorry he got caught.
One thing was for sure, though, and it did comfort me. With Grams vowing to set Father Time on the straight and narrow, he’d better be sorry. And if he wasn’t now, he soon would be.
I took my seat at the table next to Grams. Roman sweetly scooted my chair into place before taking his seat to my left.
“Are you sure you can handle him, Grams?” I asked, pointing to Father Time.
“I’m the only one old enough to even attempt it,” she said. And that little sarcastic smile of hers was pretty damn convincing.
“But what about all the elves the bastard paid off to help him?” She asked. “I don’t have time to kick their asses too.”
I cleared my throat, hoping Roman hadn’t heard that. I then put my pointer finger to my lips, trying to get her to take the hint and hush up.
My mom and I had our own plan on how to deal with those scoundrels. No one else knew, as we did, why Father Time had such an easy time manipulating them to his side.
It wasn’t just Father T’s bullshit we had to deal with. There was much more. And whether or not all of the evidence still existed so we could act on our hunches, there was indeed a band of very bad elves that made Father Time and his cohorts look like novices.
Mom and I just hoped we could get through the holidays before the bastards upped the ante once again.
“This looks terrific,” Roman said, rubbing his hands together, either in anticipation of the huge feast on the table before us or in an effort to keep the friction heating up his skin.
I don’t think the poor guy had actually been cozy warm since he arrived in our Winter Wonderland. By now, his Mediterranean genes had to be in a complete deep freeze.
“It does look delicious,” I said, hardly able to wait till Dad carved the turkey and Mom and Wanda Lu started passing all the sides.
We had it all. Turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, yams and marshmallows, green bean casserole, cranberry molds, homemade rolls, pumpkin pie and more.
And ‘had it all’ didn’t just mean the food.
As I passed the rolls, I couldn’t help but survey our family and friends as they joined us at our night before Christmas Eve table.
For Witherspoon Whoville, this was always kind of the last supper, so-to-speak, before everyone dived into final preparations for tomorrow night’s big ride.
Beginning tomorrow morning, it would be nothing but Santa’s Coming and Reindeer Rule in our house.
“I can’t wait for y’all to open up your gifts,” my mom said, pushing back her plate, which I noticed she’d barely pecked at.
I didn’t like the looks of that one bit. When she was nervous, she didn’t eat. I knew this elf situation was really taking a toll on her, but I didn’t realize just how much till that moment.
“How ‘bout we don’t wait? I’m dying to see too,” Aunt Tulip said.
My Dad laughed his turkey-stuffed and forever jolly ho-ho-ho.
“What do you think, Mrs. C?”
I loved how his eyes still twinkled whenever he looked at my mom.
That’s one of the reasons I knew I cared much more for Roman than I’d so far let on. When he looked at me, his espresso eyes had that same twinkle. I could feel my connection to him being drawn straight from my soul.
It’s that unspoken understanding two people share that makes for one helluva life partnership. In my world, Mr. and Mrs. Claus were proof of that.
“I think it’s the perfect time for gifts,” Mom said, taking her napkin and wiping a stray piece of turkey from dad’s beard.
I watched with a warm heart as each person around our table picked up the gorgeous packages my mom had wrapped just for them.
Her packages were always so beautiful. Sometimes I didn’t want to open them. But if you knew you had a Mrs. Claus original ornament waiting for you inside those little boxes, you couldn’t resist.
Each member of our family took turns holding up their ornaments to the oohs and ahhhs of everyone else.
For Aunt Tulip, my mom had created a mouth-blown and hand-painted glass spear of asparagus.
“OMG! I’m going to have to start an Aphrodisiac Produce themed-tree! This is wonderful, Suzie. Really quite extraordinary,” Aunt T
ulip said, getting up from her chair to wrap her gypsy-bejeweled sleeves around my mother.
“I’m glad you like it.”
As each ornament was revealed, the crowd went wild.
For Grams, there was a lunch box with the name of her diner in my mom’s beautiful print. For Kat, it was a neon-colored cowboy with the name of her saloon on his hat. Lily received a miniature hand-sewn satin bra on a hanger, with the name of her family’s water bra company - Fluid Fulfillment - hanging on a tiny price tag my mom had added. Roxy, of course, got a cowboy boot and stiletto hooked together as if they were about to dance across the pine needles. Jules got one bedazzled and sparkling cupcake. For Audrey, there were light blue baby booties with the names of her twin sons. And not to be left out, each man at the table got a reindeer to serve as a keepsake from their first Christmas in Witherspoon Whoville. Roman’s reindeer even had a tiny crown resting in its rack.
“You’ve outdone yourself this year,” my dad said, leaning across his end of the table to place a kiss on mom’s sweet, pink-blushed cheek.
“This is a special year. Our family has grown, and I wanted to celebrate that.”
She lifted up her wine glass and toasted us all.
Following a round of good cheers, the doorbell chimed.
Who could that be?
I looked at my mom. It didn’t take but a second or two at most to see fear and panic take over her previous, nothing-but-sweet, season-of-giving expression.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Wanda Lu returned to the dining room with a medium-sized box. It was wrapped to-the-nines, although still not as terrifically presented as one of my mom’s gifts.
I studied the lime green metallic paper, covered in what looked to be diamond-encrusted white stars that reflected every bit of light from my parent’s chandelier.
My mother took the box, and I swear I saw her hands shaking as she looked at the tag hanging over one side of the mysterious package.
“It’s for you, Zoey,” she said, so softly that her voice was almost a whisper.
My hand had been resting on Roman’s knee, and at the mention of my name as the recipient, I felt his body jerk. He was smart. He’d more than likely caught onto my mom’s change in mood.
“Were you expecting this package?” He asked, in a tone that usually indicated the activation of his Dark Knight protective mode.
“I was not,” I said, looking at my mom, who was begging me with her eyes to be careful with this box.
“In that case, R, I’d like you to check it out first,” Roman said.
“I’m way ahead of you, My Prince,” R said, already having taken the package from my mother’s hands.
“I’m not sure what this is about, but I don’t like it one bit,” my dad spoke-up.
“Suzie? Zoey? I know something’s up with you two. I’ve known for quite awhile, but I figured you’d say something when you wanted to. However, I’m thinking now would be a good time,” Dad said, setting his napkin on the table and scooting back his chair.
His large ruby and yellow gold ring caught the light. Noting the familiar cut of the large gem and its unique setting, my stomach flipped circles, and the knots that had been there for months tightened.
I looked at my mom, who seemed to not know quite where to begin.
“I agree with your dad, Zoey,” Roman said, raising his eyebrows and looking at me with a stare that left no other options but to spill it.
In the mean time, R took a small handheld device out of his pocket. The guy always had the exact right gadget at the exact right moment. He then waved the wand-like thing-a-ma-jigger over the sides of the package.
No warning bells and beeps sounded, so he passed the box to me.
My hands shook as I looked to Roman and R, who both nodded for me to open the box.
I lifted the lid slowly, holding my breath the entire time then carefully moved aside the reams of tissue paper.
As my fingers ran across the shredded bark-like shell of the object inside the packaging, I gasped.
Could it be?
OMG! It was.
A coconut.
I pulled the coconut out of the box and looked at my mother, whose face was now as pale white as my father’s beard.
I knew what I had to do. By carefully pulling the cracked seam of the coconut, I opened the shell.
I didn’t even have to look up to judge my family’s reaction. Their collective gasp filled our otherwise silent dining room.
“What is our Witherspoon Blue Moon Diamond doing in that coconut? And who just gave it back to us? Better yet…how did said person or people get it to begin with?”
My dad asked the questions very quietly, which meant he was on the verge of erupting at Mt. Vesuvius levels.
“I can explain,” I said, and I thought I could, at least in part.
“That would be prudent,” Roman said, his Dark Knight look now one hundred percent in place.
“My father isn’t just Santa Claus and an inventor. He’s made his fortune in the gem world. He’s one of the top gemologists in the world. Well…topped only…perhaps…by my mother, who’s the world’s top curator and a damn fine lapidarist of the rarest jewels.”
Roman and R exchanged looks. Then Roman nodded to R, who suddenly took leave of our table and spoke into his watch for their security team to listen up.
“A few months ago,” my mother took over from there, “Zoey had a problem with one of our security team members. Basically, the asshole was stalking her.”
As he wrapped his hands around his dinner fork, Roman’s knuckles turned white. His jaw did that dead serious twitch thing, and he then cracked his neck, which I often noted he did before he was more than willing to snap in two someone else’s neck.
“One of the elves was after our precious Zoey? And you didn’t tell me?” My dad looked at my mom, the hurt clearly overtaking his anger.
“You haven’t been feeling well lately, and we didn’t want to worry you, Nick,” Mom said, squeezing his hand for what I’m sure was reassurance.
“It doesn’t matter how I’m feeling. You two are my world.”
“And mine now too, Sir,” Roman cut–in. “You have nothing to worry about. R and I will take care of this.”
To me, he added, “Tell me everything I need to know, Zoey. Now.”
And just like that, we went from Christmas Eve-eve to nothin’ but carats and coconuts.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Twenty-four hours later, while Roman and I stood in my parent’s backyard waiting for my dad and his team to begin their big ride, I huddled into the protective warmth of Roman’s side.
When a perfect mineral crystal has been cut and polished into a form of amazing beauty by some skilled artisan like my mother, it’s called a gem.
And I’d indeed found a gem in Roman.
I also had a gem of a family, and one Roman and I would do anything to protect.
Of the four thousand known minerals, only fifteen have been made into commercially available gems. There are a few hundred more, that have throughout history, been made into very rare cut stones.
There is one, however, that is rarer still. Probably more valuable per volume than all the artifacts on earth combined. Steeped in the history of kings and queens and exotic places, there is a story of untold riches.
And that story begins right here in my parent’s – Mr. and Mrs. Claus’ – Whoville.
But that’s a story for another day.
Tonight, my father takes flight to treat the kids of the world to their own favorite gems in the form of the toys he and my mother and their elves have made.
They’ve turned their wealth into a wealth of love that they spread around the globe on this one magical night.
“I just don’t get it,” Roman said, holding me even closer.
My dad and his reindeer team waved while passing us one last time on their way to their runway.
“Get what?”
“Is your father Santa Clau
s or not?”
“I suppose it depends on how much you truly believe,” I said, knowing I’d told him the truth as I knew it.
“All I know is, I believe in you and our family, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you all safe.”
And I knew he meant it.
I kissed his cheek, then turned back to the sound of my dad’s sleigh bells jingling with glee as he called out to Comet, Cupid and Company.
