The Santa Suit (Holiday Homecoming #4)

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  Dear Reader

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Copyright

  “What kind of man…

  Interests you?”

  “The kind who remembers—” Kate snapped her lips shut before the rest of that sentence could see daylight.

  Gabe moved even closer. “The kind of man who remembers…what?”

  “Nothing.” She pretended preoccupation with counting the people in line in front of them.

  “There’s no need to get so upset just because I can’t remember kissing you.”

  Kate opened her mouth to refute that, but nothing came out, and she ended up staring at him for a minute. “That has nothing to do with this,” she finally said.

  “I think it does. I think that’s what all of this is about.”

  “Well, it isn’t,” she snapped. “I’m sorry I ever even told you about that. Forget it.”

  Gabe put his lips so close to her ear, he almost singed them on her furious blush. “Kissing you is all I can think about.”

  Dear Reader,

  Each year, I tell my family and friends that this Christmas is the best one ever. And each year, it really is! I love everything about Christmas—the busyness of the season, the colors, the lights, the smells, the music, the food, the gifts, the giving and the movies. It wouldn’t be December if I couldn’t warm my feet and backside in front of the fireplace and warm my heart and soul with the magic of Miracle On 34th Street. Of all the wonderful old movies, this classic story of love, hope and faith triumphing over cynicism is my all-time favorite. In the film, a very young Natalie Wood plays the role of Sharon, and her mother, Doris, is played by the beautiful Maureen O’Hara. Their lives are touched by a man named Kris Kringle and they each learn that believing in Santa Claus requires a commitment of the heart. The story has a happily-ever-after ending which, in my opinion, is the only kind of ending any story should have. Is it any wonder, then, that I would one day write a Christmas romance with the same theme as my favorite movie? My family would say the wonder is that I didn’t write it sooner!

  One of the Christmas traditions at our house is movie night. We reserve one evening before the official holiday to have dinner as a family and watch whatever movies I choose. (I’m the mother; that’s why I get to choose the movies. And you guessed it, Miracle On 34th Street always makes the cut, along with A Christmas Story and whatever other movies appeal to me when I’m at the video store.) Attendance is required, and although they’d never admit it, I believe the kids love the tradition and the movies as much as I do. After all, it wouldn’t be the best Christmas ever without a dusting of hope, faith, romance—and Santa Claus!

  Happy Holidays!

  The Santa Suit

  Karen Toller

  Whittenburg

  For Santa and the elves—

  because I believe

  Prologue

  “Is too!”

  “Is not!”

  From the sidelines, seven-year-old Andy Harmon watched the debate between his twin sister, Abby, and an upperclassman…a second-grader named Isabelle. It was clear this was an argument Abby couldn’t win, no matter how loud she got, and he wished she hadn’t started it.

  “There’s no such thing as Santa Claus.” Abby flicked one of her copper-colored braids behind her shoulder. “My mother told me and she never lies. Does she, Andy?”

  He didn’t want to answer. Not with Tyler, his best friend, standing right next to him. How could he say there wasn’t a Santa, when he knew Tyler believed’ there was? But if he called Mom a liar, Abby would get him in trouble, for sure. He glared at his sister, who glared right back. “It’s almost time for the bell,” he said, stalling. “And I’m not wasting any more of my recess. Let’s go play, Tyler.”

  “You believe in Santa, don’t you, Andy?” Isabelle’s soft question stopped him in his tracks, and her smile kept him there. She had long blond curls and pretty blue eyes and she could outrun every boy in second grade, plus a bunch of the third-graders. And right now, more than anything, Andy wished there was a Santa, just so that he could tell Isabelle he believed. But there wasn’t. Mom had said.

  “No,” he said sadly. “I don’t.”

  Abby beamed. “I told you so.”

  Isabelle looked startled and terribly concerned. “But you have to believe in Santa,” she said. “Or you won’t get any presents.”

  Abby put her hands on her hips. “We get lots of presents, don’t we, Andy? But not from Santa Claus, because he’s just a made-up person!”

  “He is not made-up.” Isabelle smugly put her hands on her hips. “I get presents from him every year.”

  “No, you don’t,” Abby insisted. “Your mom buys all the stuff and just pretends it’s from Santa Claus.”

  Isabelle rolled her eyes. “Oh, she does not!”

  “She does, too,” Abby insisted. “Ask her.”

  “I’ll ask my daddy. He knows everything about Santa Claus and how come the reindeer can fly and the names of all the elves in the toy shop, too.” Isabelle reclaimed her upperclassman superiority with a shrug. “But you don’t have a daddy to ask, so how could you know?”

  “Shut up, Issy!” Andy stepped closer to Abby, bringing them shoulder to shoulder. “We don’t want a dumb old daddy, who thinks elves make toys and reindeer can fly. That’s just more lies!”

  “Yeah,” Abby added her support “Who wants a big, fat liar for a daddy?”

  “Well, your mom’s a big, fat, stupid liar!”

  “She is not!” Abby’s hands balled into fists. “Take that back, Issy!”

  Isabelle shook her head. “She’s a liar and she must be really stupid not to believe in Santa Claus.”

  Tyler elbowed his way between the girls. “My granddad told me you have to believe in Santa when you’re a little kid or you can’t when you’re a grownup. Maybe their mom just didn’t know about Santa until it was too late.”

  The truth hung there in the crisp morning air, and Andy felt it all over, like a big hug. What if Santa was real and Mom just didn’t know it?

  “That’s so dumb.” Issy wrinkled her nose in disdain and pushed Tyler out of the way. “You can believe any time you want to,” she said to Abby. “Your mom was stupid when she was a little kid and she’s still stupid. If she wasn’t, she’d know Santa’s a real person.”

  “She’s not stupid!” Abby yelled in frustration.

  “Yes, she is,” Issy said smugly.

  “She is not!”

  “Yes, she is, yes, she is, yes, she is, yes, she is.” Isabelle ran the words together in a mocking singsong, until Abby’s eyes glistened with angry tears, until she made one last, tear-choked protest. “She is not.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a crybaby.” With a toss of her long, gold curls, Isabelle started to walk away, the winner.

  So Andy tripped her.

  LATELY, Katherine had been spending a good deal of time reflecting on her decision to become a single mom. It had seemed like such a great idea. All the joys of parenthood, none of the hassles of a relationship. But now, sitting in the office of a stem-faced Sister Mary Cornelia, Katherine had to wonder what in hell she’d been thinking. For all the trouble a man would c
reate in her life, there were moments…this one being a prime example…when she wished there was someone who was obligated to sit beside her.

  “If this was the first time an incident such as this had occurred,” Sister Mary Cornelia was saying, “I’d be more understanding. But your children are quite precocious, Mrs. Harmon, and they…”

  “Miss Harmon,” Katherine corrected politely.

  Sister acknowledged the interruption with a tart smile. “Your children do speak their minds.”

  “I encourage them to have opinions,” Katherine said proudly.

  “Oh, yes. Everyone here at Saint Julian’s is well aware of Abigail’s and Andrew’s opinions on a variety of topics. And while we do promote independent thinking and encourage discussion, slugging it out in the play yard cannot be considered a fair exchange of ideas.”

  Katherine sighed. “What was it this time? The stork versus the sperm bank again?”

  Sister Mary Cornelia shuddered, sending a faint ripple through the folds of her black habit. “Thankfully, that subject hasn’t been mentioned again. This latest fracas seems to have been caused by a disagreement over Saint Nicholas.”

  That was bad news. “Abby and Andy were fighting over a saint?”

  “Saint Nick,” Sister explained patiently. “Santa Claus.”

  “Oh, that Saint Nick.” Katherine relaxed, feeling suddenly more hopeful that her children weren’t about to be expelled from Saint Julian’s hallowed halls. “Well, at least they didn’t pick a fight over a really important saint. Saint Peter, for instance. Or the Blessed Virgin.”

  Sister’s pinched lips puckered anew. “There are always reasons to count our blessings, Mrs. Harmon.” Pressing her palms together as if she were about to pray, she observed Katherine for a moment. “At this season of the year, we do our best to emphasize the true meaning of Christmas. But the children are young and imaginative, and it’s unrealistic to think we can forbid any mention of Santa Claus.”

  “You should forbid it, anyway,” Katherine stated flatly. “Santa Claus is your basic flat-out whopper. Andy and Abby can’t be faulted for refusing to believe it.”

  Sister Mary Cornelia folded her hands on the desktop and leaned forward. “Life at Saint Julian’s would be much less eventful if you didn’t insist on such strict standards of truth for Abigail and Andrew.”

  “I believe in giving my children straightforward, honest answers,” Katherine said firmly. “And I won’t apologize for it.”

  “I’m not suggesting you should. However, when they’re at school, I insist they demonstrate compassion and tolerance for the truth as others perceive it.”

  Katherine was roused to the defense of the twins’ First Amendment rights. “Are you saying Abby and Andy have no right to state their opinion in a public place? Regardless of who does or doesn’t agree with them?”

  Sister Mary Cornelia didn’t even blink. “This is a private school, Mrs. Harmon, and I’m personally responsible for supervising the behavior of several hundred students. I don’t necessarily share the opinions of every parent who sits where you’re sitting now, although in this instance, I do happen to agree with you. However, I would rather bungee-jump off the Empire State Building than face a classroom full of parents whose children have been disabused of their belief in Santa Claus because of your twins’ inalienable right to speak their minds.”

  Katherine couldn’t believe her ears. “You expect me to tell my children it’s okay to lie, as long as they’re only talking about a big fat guy in red velvet?”

  “I expect them…and you…to keep an open mind on the subject”

  Indignant words tumbled into one another on her tongue, but Katherine battled them back. Saint Julian’s was the best preparatory school in New York, the booster rocket to an education of unlimited prestige and opportunity. She wasn’t going to ruin her children’s lives over something as silly as Santa Claus. After all, she’d had to caution them about discussing sex in a first-grade open forum. Was this really all that different? “I’m not sure I can keep an open mind about Santa Claus, but I assure you the twins won’t be involved in any more fights on the subject.”

  “You’re always most cooperative, Mrs. Harmon.” Sister Mary Cornelia stood, leaving Katherine to wonder how anyone with such ruler-straight posture could sit in the first place. “As a peacekeeping measure, however, I’m giving your twins a little extra holiday time. You may take them home with you when you leave.”

  Katherine froze with her coat sleeves halfway up her arms. “You’re suspending them from school for not believing in Santa Claus?”

  “No, indeed.” Sister Mary Cornelia walked to the door and opened it. “I certainly don’t want my name on Santa’s naughty list this close to Christmas.”

  “Very funny.” Katherine shrugged on her coat and slung the strap of her handbag across her shoulder. “It isn’t nice to kid around about suspending children from school, you know.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t kidding, Mrs. Harmon. There are only three more days of school before semester break, anyway, and I’m sure the time spent with you will be much more beneficial to Andrew and Abigail than any busywork the teacher might contrive for them between now and Friday.”

  “But I have to work,” Katherine protested, her mind racing through the next seventy-two hours, making lists of all the things she had to do, counting up all the obstacles in her path, even before she factored in the demands of two seven-year-olds. “The day care can’t take them until next week, and Mrs. Cassidy, our housekeeper, left last night to spend the holidays with her family in Oregon and…” Panic simmered inside her and came out in a plea. “You can’t suspend them now.”

  Sister Mary Cornelia patted Katherine’s shoulder. “Think of it as three extra days to enjoy long, truthful discussions with your children on a variety of subjects.”

  Katherine buttoned her coat, wishing she hadn’t worked so hard to get the twins admitted to Saint Julian’s in the first place. “And all this time, Sister, I thought you lacked a sense of humor.”

  “Just because I dress solemnly, doesn’t mean I make solemnity a habit, Mrs. Harmon.”

  “Miss,” Katherine corrected, losing all patience with wisecracking nuns. “Miss Harmon, not Mrs.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I do keep trying to assign the twins a father, don’t I?” Sister Mary Cornelia smiled easily. “I suppose it stems from my belief that children need both a mother and a father.”

  “My children need a father about as much as they need three extra days out of school.” Pulling on her gloves, Katherine snapped the leather against her wrist as she stepped through the doorway into the outer office. “And for the record, Abby and Andy do have a father. I just don’t know exactly who he is.”

  Sister Mary Cornelia closed the door in a distinctly humorless and peremptory manner, leaving Katherine pleased to have gotten the last word on at least one subject. Then, with a resigned, but frustrated sigh, she prepared to retrieve her mouthy children.

  “WE DON’T HAVE to go to school anymore?” Abby asked for the hundredth time, clearly delighted by the prospect. “Are we gratuated?”

  “Don’t be dumb,” Andy told her.

  “I’m smarter’n you,” she replied.

  “You’re not neither.”

  “Either,” Katherine corrected automatically as she directed the twins into the ancient elevator in the Fitzpatrick Building and pushed the button for the twelfth-floor offices of Contemporary Woman magazine. “You’ll both go back to school after the holidays. Now, remember what I told you, I expect exemplary behavior this afternoon. I have a very important deadline, and I don’t want to hear so much as a peep out of either one of you. Understand?”

  “Yes, Mom,” they answered, more or less in unison, before Andy nudged his sister with an elbow and Abby reciprocated with a halfhearted punch.

  “No more fighting,” Katherine said sternly. “You’ve already lost television privileges for a month. Let’s not make it two.”


  “Okay, Mom.” Another unison of sorts, accompanied by a slightly more subtle poke and return punch.

  Katherine tapped her toe impatiently, weary even before she could reach the stack of work on her desk. Glancing at the slowly ascending numbers on the door panel, she wondered if a bribe would help ensure the twins’ cooperation. “Tell you what…if you’re extra good this afternoon, we’ll do something fun tomorrow.”

  Andy looked interested. “Will you take us to the Jekyll and Hyde restaurant?”

  “No, Andy!” Abby answered first in a good, if higher-pitched, imitation of Katherine’s voice. “Mom, we can’t go there. You have to cross a bridge that moves and monsters jump out and everybody screams. Emily went there with her brother and she was scared silly. She told me.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Andy sneered. “Well, Tyler went and he said it was way cool! Besides, I wouldn’t be scared. I’d leap over the bridge and into the restaurant and melt the monsters with my laser gun.” He jumped and landed in a fighting stance, legs braced, elbows jutting, eyes narrowed to slits of suspicion. “Zeeeep! Zeeeep, zeeeep! Zeeeep!” The imaginary laser gun fired repeatedly, until Katherine reached down and turned it back into a normal little-boy hand. Andy looked up at her, pleading. “I’ll protect you and Abby. Please, can we go there? Please?”

  “You may go there when you’re thirty-five,” Katherine told him. “Not a moment before.”

  “But, Mom…” Andy’s protest had barely begun when Abby cut him off. “I told you so.”

  Andy would have elbowed her again, but Katherine separated them. “We’ll visit the library,” she said. “Or one of the museums.”

  “Whee…” Andy muttered under his breath, but Katherine ignored him and Abby’s sullen expression. Okay, so she was better at editing magazines than at creating fun learning experiences for her kids. But she was a damn good mother, and these two adorable hoodlums should be thanking their lucky stars they had her.