“Yeah, honey. This is Truck. He’s a friend, but has to go, and it’s time for you to head back to bed.” Vanna was clearly accustomed to dealing with Kitt and his behaviors, and she gently urged him towards the stairs. Kitt was halfway there when he spun and ran back to stand in front of Truck.
“Four, six, eight, V, inline. Automatic, standard, three speed, four speed, five speed, overdrive, four wheel.” Kitt sucked in a breath and on the outward burst of air said, “Truck.”
Truck bent his knees slightly, dipping down to look into Kitt’s face. “Head back up to bed now, Kitt. Merry Christmas, son.”
Eyes bright, Kitt whispered the words back to him, “Merry Christmas.” Dropping his gaze, he was staring somewhere in the vicinity of the second button on Truck’s shirt when he said, “Leave the ornaments. Ornaments stay on the tree until two days past when Santa comes. Santa came. Merry Christmas.”
“Right-o, will do, son.” He smiled and held still as Kitt reached out, wrapping one arm around his chest to pull close in an awkward hug. “Goodnight, Kitt.”
“Ni-night.”
Palm resting on Kitt’s back, Vanna twisted her neck to look over her shoulder at Truck, mouthing the words, “I’ll be back.” He nodded and sat down on the couch, slowly reaching out for the plate with the half-finished cookies. As he ate, without her there he was free to look around her living room, taking in the comfortable but uncluttered décor with a different eye. No sign of a man anywhere, this was a carefully neutral room not coming close to reflecting the personality of the owner, much less a spouse or significant other. No old man here, he thought.
Twisting to look at the rest of the pictures, he saw evidence that even when she was with a group, if she wasn’t with Kitt, she was alone. Friendly, the pictures attested to that, but even with friends she stood by herself for the most part. Woman alone on Christmas Eve, opening her home to a stranger, offering to break bread with him. That made him think her being alone wasn’t a decision so much as something thrust on her. Alone, and maybe lonely. She had rushed to accept his conversational openers, showing him her interest without guile. Taking it farther, trusting him with her memories and stories, and trusting him to be careful with her son. Warm and giving, Vanna was so much more than her house might make a person think.
He remembered the precise placement of things in the kitchen, making it easy for him to track where things would be. He would bet money that her entire house was arranged for Kitt. Arranged and decorated with the boy’s needs in mind.
“What a good momma,” he whispered, setting the empty plate on the table, stacking the plates together. He grinned at the memory of her panicked look when she realized her son was on his way downstairs and all evidence pointed to Santa having bypassed their house that night. A few bites of sweet cookie and a quick storytime for a boy was small repayment for the hospitality she’d offered him tonight. “Do it again, anytime.”
He stroked his beard slowly, shaking his head. Wasn’t the first time kids had mistaken him for Santa, and sometimes he even dressed the part at the club’s holiday parties. Toting around a big red bag, handing out brightly wrapped presents to the kiddos, heart hurting that none of them were his. Leaning his head back against the couch cushions, he finally pieced together all the things Kitt had said there at the end, realizing they were different kinds and types of trucks. “Truck Santa.” He laughed quietly, eyes sinking closed.
Chapter Six
Vanna
She stood in the archway between the living and dining rooms, listening to the soft skritching crackle of the record player battling the quiet breathing coming from the couch. It had taken longer than expected to calm Kitt and get him back to sleep. She had perched on the edge of a chair in his room for a long time, waiting until he settled in and finally dozed off.
Down here it looked like Truck had done the same. His boots lined up near one arm of the couch. Him on his back, body stretched along the length of the cushioned seat. Leather vest still on, he had his arms crossed tightly across his chest, and looked cold.
She grabbed a blanket from a stack on a nearby chair. Stretching her arms out she softly flipped it once, letting it float and land on top of the man sleeping on her couch. She had just leaned in to tug it higher on his shoulders when he opened his amazing blue eyes and stared up at her, blinking sleepily. With a groan, he wrapped one palm around her wrist and tugged, pulling her down on top of him. Shifting and turning, he rolled them so she was wedged between his body and the back of the couch, then snaked his arms around her, shoving one arm underneath her so he could wrap her up tightly.
“Truck,” she called softly and he grunted in response, lifting his chin to place his lips on her forehead. “Truck, you fell asleep.”
“And, I’ll stay that way, you quit talkin’, Vanna.” His words proved he knew exactly where he was, and his next ones shocked her into silence. His lips moved against her skin as he said, “He’s a good kid, woman. Means he’s got a good momma. I like good people, know ‘em when I see ‘em. I see a good person in you, Vanna. I don’t know about you, but I could use some sleep, and I could use someone to hold for a change while I do it.”
Silence fell around them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. This was an easy quiet, companionable, filled with the presence of another person, but in a way that was perfectly…right. She felt the difference when he slipped back into sleep, his arms were heavier, his breathing deeper and slower. Relaxed, comfortable, her silence and acceptance of his embrace gifting him with oblivion.
About ten minutes later, she received the same gift in return.
Chapter Seven
Truck
He stretched and rolled, pushing up to sit on the edge of the couch, twisting to look back at the woman he’d left still sleeping. Face buried in a throw pillow, Vanna sighed and shifted, hand slipping out palm-down, seeking. Strands of unruly hair had escaped her severe hairstyle and he reached out, using the tip of one finger to tuck it behind her ear. Beauty queen, he remembered his first thoughts upon seeing her last night, finding them still agreeable. But, after only a few hours he felt he knew her to be so much more than that.
Mother: sweet and patient, kind and loving.
Snuggler: stealer of covers, under-chin burrower.
Linguist: conversationalist extraordinaire, witty story spinner.
Dancer: talented, rhythmic, sexy swayer.
What if she’s what you’ve been looking for? He asked himself the question he had so often posed to his brothers over the years, when they started weighing the pros and cons of taking an old lady. Old lady? Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you, old man? You don’t even know her last name.
Kitt was stirring around upstairs; the sounds from the bathroom up there had woken Truck a few minutes ago. Rising to his feet he went to the kitchen and opened the cabinet to see three boxes of cereal, all the same kind. With a grin he found spoons and grabbed two bowls, pulling them down from an identical stack, and poured some of the healthy multi-grain into each, finding the sugar and spooning a couple of heaps into what he now considered ‘his’ bowl. Kitt wandered into the kitchen, eyes barely open until he saw Truck. Before he could shout his excitement, Truck put out a hand, palm down, patting the air in a ‘keep it quiet’ motion. “Hey, Kitt. Mornin’. Your mom’s still sleepin’. Let’s let her sleep in a bit, yeah?”
With a slow nod Kitt pressed his lips together tightly and without questioning Truck’s presence went to the bowls. He picked up one of the spoons from the counter and silently looked down, then up at Truck. “Milk, I know. I gotcha.” Topping both up with milk until the circles of cereal floated, he picked his up and stood, leaning against the countertop next to Kitt as they spooned up cereal for breakfast. “You sleep okay, Kitt?”
Head nodding loosely on his bent neck, Kitt paused eating long enough to grunt what must have been agreement. He finished his cereal and stood, cutting his eyes towards Truck’s bowl, still cradled in his hand.
Truck grinned, tipping it to his lips and drank the remaining milk down before setting it on the counter. It had no sooner come into contact with the surface before Kitt grabbed it, moving to the sink.
Lip caught between his teeth, Kitt spread a cloth on the sink divider, then squirted liquid soap on the fabric. Carefully twisting the water faucet, he dripped water onto the cloth, wetting it, then worked it to a lather. He used it to swipe the bowls and spoons. Setting the dishes down Kitt reached towards the lever controlling the water, then drew his hand back. He huffed out a breath and reached out again, a grimace twisting his features. Bumping the lever with the back of his hand, he stood and stared at the resulting water flow for a time. Seconds ticking up into a minute, then two, Kitt was frozen in place as the water ran down the sink.
“Kitt,” Truck called, shuffling closer. “Want me to finish up with that?”
Head shaking fiercely back and forth, Kitt grunted, his shoulders and chest rising and falling with the effort. As he reached out towards the sink Truck saw the boy’s hands were shaking, trembling as if he were freezing in a deep, cold snow.
“Son,” he called, concerned because Kitt seemed to be working up to something that was either painful, or scared the shit out of him. “Let me help you.”
“NO!” With his first word of the morning, Kitt exploded, slapping at the lip of the counter where it edged the sinks. “NO!” Knuckles cracking against the hard surface, he emphasized his frustration with deep rhythmic grunting.
Shit, Truck thought, this ain’t good. Without giving himself time to think he reached out and turned off the water, not surprised when Kitt immediately subsided. Holding out his hand, he offered, “Let’s do it together,” shocked and surprised when Kitt’s hand rose to grip his. “We don’t need much water to do this little bit of dishes.” Fingers to the lever, ready to turn the water off again if needed, Truck tipped it slowly, allowing only the smallest of flows out the faucet. “Don’t even need to get our hands wet if we don’t want to.” Stretching his arm out, he moved their clasped hands towards the bowls, shoving first one dish then the other underneath the water, drawing back as the bowls collected water.
Finger and thumb clasped the spoons and Truck let them fall, one at a time, clattering into one of the bowls. “We don’t even have to touch the water.”
“Water okay.” He turned to look at Kitt to see the boy had twisted away, staring out the kitchen window at the creek running alongside the trees across the field. “Water,” Kitt sighed, lifting his other hand to scrub at his forehead. “Running.” A shudder rippled through him and his gaze cut back to the slowly flowing water coming from the faucet. On a long exhale, he breathed out the word. “Bad.”
“Well, we have plenty of water now. We can turn this sucker off anytime,” Truck said, bringing their hands up to tip the faucet off and the tension in Kitt’s hand and arm immediately dissolved, leaving him loose and compliant. “You mind if I help you finish up with the dishes? Would that be okay, Kitt?”
“Yes,” Kitt said, fingers tightening around Truck’s hand again. This time the boy led the way, bringing their hands towards the water-filled bowls fearlessly, fingers dipping into the surface to retrieve the spoons. More carefully he tipped the bowls sideways, relieving them of their burdens, watching with a shiver as the water flowed away down the drain.
“Did I miss breakfast?”
Vanna’s voice came from behind them, startling a happy, “MOM!” from Kitt who turned, still holding Truck’s hand, pulling him around. “SANTA!” Kitt shouted this, then his voice dropped to a whisper as he excitedly hissed, “Secret Santa. Truck.”
Kitt’s arm shot skywards, dragging Truck’s with it as he shouted, “PRESENTS!” Dashing across the kitchen towards his mother, he pulled Truck along in his wake, their hands still clasped tightly together. As he pushed past his mother, he grabbed her hand with his other one, dragging her across the room towards the still-lighted Christmas tree. “PRESENTS!”
Dropping their hands, he grabbed up an old, tattered Santa hat from underneath the tree and turned, lifting it. Rising on his toes, Kitt placed it on top of Truck’s hair, tugging it gently down into place over his ponytail. “Santa,” Kitt whispered, his eyes meeting Truck’s for a second before he looked away. “Vanna Mom’s Santa.”
Legs collapsing under him, Kitt settled to the floor next to the tree, chin tipped up and gaze flickering back and forth between Truck and Vanna. “My Santa.”
Chapter Eight
Vanna
Jesus, she thought, how did I get to this place on Christmas morning, where my son is washing dishes with the man who chastely slept with me on the couch last night? Chin down, she was smiling at Kitt’s antics as he shifted presents around underneath the tree and hadn’t seen Truck moving closer. “He’s excited.” His voice at her ear surprised her so she twisted her neck, turning towards him, shocked when he brushed his lips across hers. “Mornin’, darlin’.”
Without another word he folded his legs, positioning himself near Kitt, the two male faces looking up at her with similar expectant expressions. Truck added a hand lifted her direction, palm out invitingly. He waited patiently until she wrapped her fingers around his, using the support as she lowered herself to the floor, too.
“Time for presents, Kitt,” Truck said with a grin. “You’ve been a good boy. The best. Waited until your momma was ready. Time for your reward, son.”
Bright-eyed, Kitt twisted and dug under the tree, focused as he began to sort the presents. Vanna knew from past Christmases he would have two piles at the end of this exercise, one for her and one for him. Truck’s hand gave hers a squeeze and she looked at him, surprised to realize he had drawn her hand to his lap, cradling it with both of his. “He’s a good boy,” he told her softly, startling a laugh from her. At the sound his expression gentled, growing tender as he looked at her. “Seems to have a real good momma.”
“Thanks,” she said. He’s all I have. “He’s my best boy. Keeps me on my toes, that’s for sure.” She knew her smile had faded when his did as well, and she tried to toss off the melancholy with a quick acknowledgement. “Thank you for your patience with him this morning. You hit just the right tone.”
“How old was he when he was diagnosed?” Truck surprised her by going straight to the heart of things, indicating his reactions to Kitt’s behavior might be grounded in a personal knowledge tied to a natural caring soul.
“Not until he was older. Nearly six.” She shook her head, twisting to look away from Truck’s too-knowing gaze, taking in Kitt’s antics instead. “I knew at three that something wasn’t right.” She shook her head. “I’m not a fan of labels, but I have a slew of them if you need one. Just not right here,” she hesitated, cutting a glance back to Truck, seeing his eyes trained steadily on her, “not right now. Let me have Christmas.”
“You got it,” Truck immediately told her, his reassuring words nearly lost as Kitt chose that same moment to hoot in delight. He had the presents placed on either side of his legs, packages lined up from smallest to largest. Her side had three boxes, his held more than a dozen.
“Ready?” She asked Kitt the beginning question, saw him starting to squirm in place in anticipation. “Set?” The second question normally settled him to stillness, waiting for the release of the final word in their present-opening traditional game. This time however, he threw up one hand in a clear ‘halt’ signal. She rocked back on her bottom, and then bent her knees so she could lean farther forward. “What, Kitt?”
His eyes were working their way along the boxes, paper and bows individual to each package, name tags held in place with curling ribbons. Hers marked with a ‘V’ or an ‘M,’ depending on the gift’s origin, and Kitt knew those were hers. His presents all had his name on them, unmistakable and easy to differentiate from hers. “What’s wrong, honey?”
Features twisted, he was thinking hard about something, and she didn’t have any clues to help determine where he was headed. He shi
fted, rocking hip-to-hip, making more room for himself, the expression on his face fiercely intense as he looked up at Truck. “Wait,” he whispered. Thrusting to his feet, he sidestepped where she and Truck sat side-by-side, calling over his shoulder as he ran out of the room, “Wait.”
“What’s he doing?” Truck asked, and she shook her head, hearing Kitt’s feet pound up the stairs. He ran to his room and stomped around and around as she listened to him muttering to himself, his voice rising and falling in frustration.
“No idea. Sometimes it’s just better to go with the flow.” She tipped her chin down, not wanting to meet his gaze. Gratitude was hard for her to express. “Look, Truck, I appreciate your help with him last night. That could have derailed his whole night. You were awesome.”
He sighed and moved away slightly, saying, “But…” drawing out the one word.
She looked up at him, seeing his face had drawn into hard lines. “But?”
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