by Janet Dailey
“Could I see the turtle pendant in the window?” he asked.
Not we, but I. Brandon was quite the man all of a sudden. Even his voice sounded more grown-up. Paula was proud of him.
“Of course,” the sales associate said, going for the keys to the back of the display. “That’s a contemporary Native American piece. Beautifully carved, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I like it a lot. And I think my grandmother would love it,” Brandon said.
“Ah. I was wondering. But you”—she glanced at Paula with discreet curiosity—“are too young to be his mother.”
“I’m a family friend.”
She went to the window and unlocked the sliding glass, reaching carefully around other pieces to lift the turtle in its box. She brought it back to the counter and removed the turtle, showing it to Brandon with the full length of the chain draped over her hand.
“An old story says that the turtle is a symbol of longevity and patience,” she said. Paula was amused by the woman’s soft sell, which worked like a charm with men of all ages.
Brandon smiled. “That’s my grandma all over.” He let the woman place the turtle in his palm and looked it over, front and back. “This is real turquoise,” he said. “It has different colors in it.”
“We don’t carry the chemically altered kind,” the sales associate said. “And the chain and the setting are solid sterling silver.”
Paula knew without a doubt that the sale had been made. Now came the hard part.
“How much is it?” Brandon asked.
The blond woman turned the box over. “One hundred and fifty dollars with the chain.”
“I’ll take it.”
Paula felt obliged to at least look at the pendant herself. “Before it’s wrapped, can I hold it?” she asked Brandon. He handed her the pendant.
It really was a beautiful piece of jewelry and certainly something Edith would cherish. Paula gave it back to the woman, who busied herself with returning it to the box.
“Can you afford to spend that much?” Paula whispered to Brandon. She knew the sales associate could hear her, but she had to ask.
“Yeah.” He pulled neatly folded twenties out of the front pocket of his jeans.
Paula hesitated. Okay. That looked like a fair amount of cash. He could have been saving for a while or earned it recently somehow. She controlled her curiosity. The money was his and the gift was for his grandmother.
He turned to the woman behind the counter. “What kind of gift wrap do you have?”
She brought out a small sample book. Brandon selected a turquoise paper that was the same color as the turtle. With swift sureness, the woman wrapped the gift and tucked a tiny card and stick-on bow to match in the shopping bag she handed to Brandon.
“I’m sure your grandmother will love it,” she said. “Thanks for coming in.”
They exited. Brandon looked happy, until a couple of teenage boys coming their way caught sight of the little bag and snickered as they went past.
He flushed. “The hell with them,” he told Paula.
“I could fit the bag in my purse,” she offered. “Just until we get to the car. Don’t worry. I won’t forget to give it to you.”
He seemed relieved as he handed it over. “Okay. Thanks.”
Paula looked up at the huge clock above the second-level promenade. “When are you meeting Grace?” she asked. “And where?”
“Shoot. I almost forgot. Can you drop me off at the corner?” He named the intersection.
“No problem.”
“And, Paula—maybe you’d better hang on to the turtle until Christmas Eve. You know how grandmas are. They get into everything.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” she laughed.
Chapter 10
The standoff didn’t seem worth it. Zach hadn’t called her. She hadn’t called him. Paula had stopped by the Christmas House late in the day on Sunday and he hadn’t showed.
Monday and Tuesday came and went. Same deal. Paula knew she was making herself crazy checking her cell phone so often. Just in case . . . but nobody called. She bit the bullet and turned it off Wednesday morning.
Edith had asked her to lend a hand today. If his Royal Cowboyness showed up to do the same thing, Paula would be polite to him.
She picked out a sweater that just happened to be a deep, rich wine color. Other than that, the baggy fit and scrunched turtleneck wouldn’t remind him of what he was missing.
She peered into the mirror. Her face looked pale and her eyes not there. Paula looked for the beaded bag that she’d taken to the ball. Her makeup was still in it.
For morale, she told herself as she applied a touch or two. Not for him.
She grabbed her coat and out she went.
The Christmas House was a hive of activity as she came through the front doors.
“Norville! You’re back,” she said happily as she hung up her things.
“Yep.”
The older man didn’t look her way. He was busy counting bills and sorting them by denomination.
“Did you miss us?”
“Nope.”
“Well, I’m happy to see you. We’re making money.”
“Looks like.” He finally glanced up at her, keeping a hand on the stack of bundled twenties. “But we may come up a bit short this week. Me and Chuck are counting the torn tickets and comparing them to the cash and credit card receipts.” He didn’t seem overly concerned as he added, “Tally’s off. Not by much.”
She was more interested in his other offhand comment. “Chuck stayed on? That’s great. An experienced volunteer is worth his weight in gold by this point.”
Norville nodded. “Didn’t have to train him.”
“I want to thank him. Where is he?”
“Right here. Hi, Paula.”
She could barely see the retired cop behind the large plastic reindeer he was carrying, legs out. It looked like a lawn ornament, the kind that didn’t light up. Paula dodged the hooves.
Chuck set the reindeer down and straightened an antler. “We were keeping the tickets in Rudolf here.” He lifted the saddle for her to look inside. A heap of colored tickets filled the belly.
“You have to count all those? Gosh, that’s a lot of work.”
He looked at her hopefully.
“Can’t,” she said with no regret whatsoever. “Edith has a million things for me to do upstairs.”
“Like what?” Chuck wanted to know.
“Ah . . . the toy drive committee has a meeting scheduled. She wants to use the folding tables and put a centerpiece on each.”
“Edith and her dang centerpieces,” Norville muttered. “She used to do them for all our church suppers. She just can’t stand a bare-naked table.”
It was true. Paula laughed but Chuck Barbera didn’t.
“She’s going to show me all the tricks of the trade,” Paula continued. “It will take awhile and then I have to—”
“The girl’s no fool,” Norville interrupted. “Now sit back down, Chuck, and let’s do this again.”
Paula took the chance to make a rapid exit, heading for the stairs and knocking into a placard on a small easel.
Memories That Matter! Your Child’s Photo with Santa! Today Only!
She straightened the placard. That ought to be interesting. There was no line yet but there would be.
She stopped at the storage room and dragged out the folding table inside, snapping the legs into the corners to lug it upstairs.
“Need help with that?” Chuck called.
Paula felt a little guilty at the question. But he had meant it sincerely.
“No. Thanks, though.” Paula lifted it easily. “It’s not that heavy. Just a little awkward.”
She got it up to the second-floor landing and looked around, not remembering which room would be used for the toy drive committee. Then she heard Edith’s voice.
“Candy canes, fake holly, snowflake place mats, battery-operated candles—check, check, chec
k. Got everything.”
Paula waited for someone to reply. When no one did, she realized Edith was reading from a list, to herself.
She went toward the half-open door and used the edge of the table to push it open. Just as she’d thought, Edith was alone in the Elf Room, standing amid several bags crammed with holiday goods. The other folding tables hadn’t been set up and were leaning against a wall.
“Hi.”
“There you are.” Edith waved the list in her hand at the shopping bags. “Look at all these decorations. I cleaned out the dollar store,” she said proudly.
“I see that,” Paula replied. “Want me to start unfolding tables?”
“If you would. Just give me one so I can unload.”
Paula brought over the table she’d carried up and unfolded it. She hoisted the bags up onto it and went to unfold the others.
“Where do you want the tables?” she asked Edith.
“Oh, not too close together,” the older woman said absently. “There are folding chairs behind the door.”
She had the first centerpiece completed by the time Paula was done. Edith carried it over and plunked it down. “What do you think?”
“Very cheerful. I like it.”
The thing was definitely fun to look at. When the battery-operated candle was switched on, it would brighten up the plain table.
Edith went around it, shoving in the unfolded chairs with a hip and slapping down snowflake place mats. She stepped back to admire her handiwork.
“There. Winter enchantment.”
Booted feet were coming up the stairs, providing a low drumbeat to high-pitched conversation. “Just in time,” Paula said. “Here comes the committee.”
“I’m ready,” Edith replied. “Are you staying for this, honey?”
“No. I think I’ll take a peek at the Santa photo session. The little kids usually show up now.”
Edith found her purse before the committee members reached the door. “Take my camera and grab a few snaps,” she said, holding it out.
“Thanks.”
“We have a preschool group scheduled first. No mommies and daddies, just a teacher and whoever helps her. The families should start coming in after that.”
“Who’s our Santa?” Paula asked.
“Hello, Louise!” Edith didn’t answer, distracted by the arrival of one of her best friends. “And here’s Darla too! Come in, come in!”
Paula murmured words of welcome and edged out through the door.
“You can sling your coats on the back of the chairs,” she heard Edith say. “There’s just not much room around here anymore.”
“That’s how it should be,” Louise replied. “Busy is best.”
Paula went to the stair rail and looked down. She could see the parquet of the first floor and bright hats and hoods belonging to the preschoolers in puffy jackets.
“Are we ready?” a teacher asked the kids.
There were mumbled yeses, a few noes, and some coughs and sneezes. Santa would be lucky to escape without catching the sniffles himself.
“Then let’s go.”
Paula positioned herself in a discreet spot to record the event. She turned the flash off first. Santa was a big deal to these little ones. She didn’t want to startle them on their way in.
Lumbering footsteps in the hall behind her made her turn. Santa was entering his domain from the small room set aside for dressing. He was older, by her guess—he walked slowly and stiffly, maybe because he was a huge guy and very heavy. That couldn’t be all pillows around his middle. The snowy beard he wore almost covered his face.
Built for comfort. It was a job requirement.
The young teacher who’d organized the preschoolers was almost at the second floor, with a young child on either side of her.
“Hands on the banisters,” she said without turning her head.
A couple of aides relayed her words and made sure the children complied. Another aide brought up the rear of the colorful parade.
Paula leaned over the railing and took a few shots from above. Quickly, she checked the screen of the digital camera. Couldn’t be cuter.
She welcomed the group and pointed the way to the room. No doubt the hired Santa had an assistant or two of his own—Edith always saw to things like that. And she had to have hired a photographer who was good with children to record the great moment for each one.
Paula wondered whether the Santa was a volunteer or a pro. Either way, everything should go smoothly enough.
She went down the stairs past the line of wide-eyed children, smiling. A few smiled back, but most were serious, thinking about what they would tell the old man with the big white beard when they got there.
The kitchen was emitting the wonderful fragrance of fresh-baked butter cookies. Paula decided to make herself useful by wrapping them up for sale and helping to eat a few of the broken ones.
It was another hour before she went upstairs again to see how Santa was faring.
The line was inside the room by now. Some small, satisfied customers were already outside sitting on their puffy jackets, supervised by the teacher and an aide.
Paula waved at them and peeked into the room. The back of Santa’s thronelike chair was to her, but she could see the white pom-pom on his red fur hat move when he nodded. He rumbled a few words she couldn’t quite hear and a ho-ho-ho as the child on his knee slid off and scrambled to join the others.
The photographer, a young man with an expensive SLR digital camera, crouched to get in position for the next shot.
There were only a few children left in line. Santa did his thing for each one, and the session concluded.
Arms folded over her chest, Paula watched the last preschooler scurry by, followed by the two other aides. She kept quiet. The photographer and Santa were conferring about something. The huge man stretched out one leg and then the other, rotating his heavy boots in circles and groaning under his breath.
“More work than you thought, right? You should get up and stretch,” the photographer advised. “I’m going to go out and get some coffee before the next session. Want anything?”
The wearer of the red fur hat slumped down in the thronelike chair. The white pom-pom swung from side to side as Santa shook his weary head.
“Take a nap, then.” The photographer put the camera next to his other gear and reached for his down jacket. “Back in a flash. Get it? A flash.”
Santa groaned again, loudly. Paula felt sorry for him.
The photographer went past her in a hurry, giving her an instant once-over and a practiced smile that said he liked what he saw. “Hey there, beautiful.”
She wasn’t in the mood for dumb jokes or a lame come-on like that. Paula only nodded in reply, hoping he wouldn’t try to ask her out later. He left, clattering down the stairs.
Santa sat forward, rubbing his temples as if he had a headache. Paula moved forward to ask. She could find him some aspirin if he did.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “I could get you some water or a soda.”
He put a huge, gloved hand on his beard and tugged it off. Then he turned to her, brushing bits of white fluffy stuff from his handsome face.
“Zach?”
He pushed himself up to a standing position using the arms of the chair, wobbling in the heavy boots.
“Yeah. Nice to see you. I assume you don’t want to sit on my lap.”
“Very funny.” She looked him up and down. “What on earth happened to you?”
“Got wrecked. And no, I wasn’t drunk. The other driver was. He spun out in front of a semi and forced my truck into a guardrail. Not a scratch on him.”
“When did that happen?”
“About a day ago, I guess. His car was totaled and so was my pickup. I’m okay, more or less. Just banged up.”
Paula took in that information. “So that’s why you were walking like that.”
He looked down at the clumsy boots. “I borrowed these from a buddy of Jake’s. I
needed some extra big ones to go over the flexible casts. My ankles swelled up. Jammed, not broken.”
“Zach, for heaven’s sake—” She stopped, wanting to put her arms around him. But not if it would hurt.
“If you really want to know, I was thinking about you when it happened. I missed you. Then, boom. Hardly knew what had happened until a highway patrolman was asking me a bunch of questions. I was in shock, I guess. Then all I could think was that I wanted to see you even more.”
He was rambling, but his recollections were sort of flattering. She hoped some of what he’d just said was true. And thank God no one had been seriously hurt.
“Did Jake bring you here?”
“Yeah. Late this morning. I slept upstairs for a while.”
“You didn’t have to come in.”
He shrugged. A few of the pillows under his red fur coat slipped out. Zach didn’t bother to pick them up. “I figured I’d be sitting and besides, I’d promised. Edith had the suit and that was that. I didn’t tell her about the wreck and she didn’t see me come in. So here I am.”
“Yes, well . . .” Paula didn’t know what to say or do. She looked around the room while Zach ventured a cautious stretch. “Do you have an assistant?”
“No.”
“I’m volunteering.”
He started to smile as he straightened. Then he winced. “Okay. I need one.”
Paula slid her arm under Zach’s and helped him back into his chair.
“This is crazy,” she said, standing in front of him. He bent his knees carefully and got as comfortable as he could.
“I’ll manage.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“They kept me in the hospital for observation. My phone died.”
“Did you at least call your parents?”
“I did,” he said. “My mother drove down from the ranch to take a look at me for herself. She agreed with the doctors that I was okay and drove back. I had a habit of falling out of trees when I was a kid.”
“Which obviously did something to your brain. You could have asked Jake to contact me.”