Christmastime 1940: A Love Story
Page 17
Santa sniffed and tried to laugh away his emotion. “I must go. I’ll be through in fifteen minutes. Will ye wait for me?”
Mrs. Murphy’s cheeks were flushed a warm pink. She squeezed his arm. “Yes, of course! Go, go! You mustn’t disappoint the children.”
He returned to the North Pole, where the frazzled elf was trying his hardest to re-establish order in the curious children.
Santa climbed the stairs and settled into his cushiony seat, his cheeks redder, his twinkly blue eyes brighter, looking more than ever like a picture-book Santa. He listened to the rest of the children, glancing out again and again, delighted to find Mrs. Murphy chuckling at his playful performance.
He got through the remaining children rather quickly, promising them everything they asked for, to the consternation of a few mothers. But Santa was in his element now. He had the world to give, and wished the best for all these hopeful young children, for everyone!
Mrs. Murphy stood transfixed, suffused with a sensation of life stirring, memories unfurling. There was Brendan. There was his merriment, his barrel chest, the tossing back of his head in laughter. There he was, just as he used to be. A pain deep inside her began to creep over her happiness, shooting its tingling tendrils all through her. Her smile disappeared in tiny increments.
Santa was just agreeing to the wish lists from the last of the children, two bouncing sisters. With bells jangling, he finished with a hearty flourish of “Ho, ho, ho!!” He raised his head to once more fill his eyes with Mrs. Murphy – but she was not there.
He shifted in his chair, and scanned the area around him. The last of the mothers led their happy children away; the green-clad elf rested an elbow on the North Pole mailbox while he chatted with a pretty sales clerk, tapping his pointed shoe back and forth to the cheery Christmas music.
Brendan leaned forward, hands on his knees, staring at the empty place where Mrs. Murphy had stood. For a brief moment, he wondered if he had imagined the whole thing, was once again conjuring up images as he used to do.
He climbed down the steps and moved to the spot where he had seen her. “Mary Margaret?” he called out. “Mary!” He looked around. Perhaps she went to the powder room. Perhaps she made a quick purchase somewhere. He waited a bit, and then walked up and down the aisle.
Then around the entire floor.
Then up and down the escalator, peering out over the store.
For the next half hour, Santa wandered through the store, talking to himself. “You daft man. Why did you think she would wait? Did you not learn your lesson well enough once?”
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