The Santa Society

by Kristine McCord

  The flame begins to die again. I glance at the small pile of spent matches. Why let them go to waste? I scoop them up and shove them one by one into every space I can find between the wood and paper. It looks a little a creepy, like I am building a sinister pyre or an effigy of something.

  The flame flutters and grows smaller until nothing but a tiny strip of smoking ash remains along the edges of the paper.

  There’s a sudden thud on the front porch. Klaus jumps to his feet and goes to the door for a sniff. He gives a loud huff and starts wagging. I hear another thump and then a soft knock.

  I climb down from the hearth and dust off my knees. With my recent luck, I imagine more bad news waits on the other side of the door. The last thing I expect to see is Reason, holding an armload of firewood across his arms. It’s really him, though, and he has exactly what I need: wood. And probably skill.

  He grins at me, and I want to throw myself in his arms. He looks like a great big beautiful ray of sunshine gleaming though the clouds of disaster, my hope—my friend—my firewood angel. The cold has turned his cheeks and lips rosy, and he bites the bottom one between his teeth with an expectant look. I don’t even stop to wonder how he knew I needed it. I just want it burning as soon as possible.

  “Need some help?”

  “Definitely.” I’m still stunned, but I get out of the way.

  He steps through the door and carries the bundle to the hearth. A few minutes later, I have a large warm fire blazing in it. He didn’t even laugh at my matchsticks.

  I sit crisscross on the floor, relishing every bit of warmth I can absorb into my outstretched hands. He sits on the floor across from me with his back against my mother’s chair. Klaus’ head rests in his lap.

  Now that I’m warm, curiosity takes over. “How did you know I needed help?”

  “I got a call from Nick at Double-S. He told me you didn’t have any heat.”

  It still doesn’t make any sense. “How would he know to call you?”

  “Good question.” He rubs his head. “See, his company is a sister company to mine. We both fall under the same umbrella—the Santa Society.”

  “In Florida.”

  “Right. Florida.”

  “And so all these sister companies are networked together?” Double-S must stand for Santa Society. Reason works for S & S Realty. I see the pattern. Still, it’s unusual.

  “Sort of. He knew you listed your house with me, and he knew your mother. He thought you might need some help, so he called me.” He points at himself.

  “Don’t you want to ask why my front yard is missing?” I watch his reaction, wondering if he already knows the answer.

  He looks surprised and glances over his shoulder as though my living room wall is see through. When he looks back at me, I see he’s trying not to smile.

  So he does know something. “What is this Santa Society, anyway? Code for CIA?”

  He laughs. “No, Moon Lawless mentioned it to me. He saw the sign...and so did I, just now.”

  “I’m glad I didn’t hear that conversation.”

  “Yeah,” he agrees. Then his tone turns more serious. “I have bad news.”

  “Why am I not surprised to hear that?” I brace myself. Maybe he’s going to tell me the house is not sellable due to a large Indian burial ground underneath, right smack below the middle of this room.

  “The Lawless’ didn’t want to counter. They withdrew their offer.”

  I sigh, welcoming the relief of his words and lower my gaze to his flannel shirt, jeans, and dirty work boots. I haven’t seen him dressed this way before. Why do I find it so appealing?

  Finally, I remember to respond. “Good.”

  “Good?” He looks at me quizzically.

  I hesitate. The guy’s doing a job, right? Sure, he acts like a friend, but it doesn’t mean he’d stick around if I decide not to sell, or I keep sabotaging offers. I guess I’m about to find out if he’s really a friend or just a salesman. My heart beats faster.

  I look up to find him watching me with a serious expression. I shift my eyes away and fix them safely on the fire. “What if I change my mind and don’t want to sell?”

  He starts to answer, but I cut him off. “I mean, you’ve been a really nice guy...and I know this is your job, and I’ve taken up a lot of your time this week. So, I guess I’m just wondering if I said that—”

  He holds up a hand to get me to stop.

  I snap my mouth closed.

  He doesn’t hesitate. “I’d say, ‘Good. I prayed you’d say that.’”

  “You did?”

  “Definitely.” He looks sure.

  “Why?”

  “I just don’t think you should give up on home—or Christmas—without giving things here a chance. So, I’ve been hoping you’d find a reason for both.”

  There’s that word again: reason.

  “Oh.” I feel a strange sensation in my stomach. It moves like feathery flutters. Maybe it’s hope, the beginning of a small glimmer of hope building within me.

  I study Reason—this question of a man, who’s shown me simple kindness. That’s all. And yet it’s everything—all—I have right now.

  The thought unnerves, makes me feel pathetic. He’s my realtor. I need to get a grip.

  Reason slides out from under Klaus’ head and moves closer to the fire. I study his profile more closely as he adjusts the logs with a poker. Tiny embers fly upward and disappear. The living room is lit mostly by firelight alone, except for a dim glow that spills in from the kitchen. The shadows on his face make him seem harder, more intense.

  He sits back on his heels. “Are you hungry?”

  I nod.

  He stands and closes the screen around the fireplace, then dusts off his hands. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

  Moments later we’re seated in the cab of his red extended cab Dodge truck. When he starts up the engine, music spills through the speakers: Elvis Presley singing “Blue Christmas.”

  He puts it in drive and leans over the seat, just enough so I can hear him say, “By the way, your haircut looks very pretty.” He grins with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. It stretches slightly and my chest gets warm.

  “Thanks.” I smile, partly because I forgot about my hair, and partly because this is beginning to look a lot like a date.

  He lets off the brake, and we ease away from the curb.

  Chapter 11

  WE SIT AT A TABLE near the back, in a private corner of the North Star Inn’s upscale restaurant. I would have been quite content with a barbecue sandwich or an all-you-can-eat buffet, but I’m in heaven as I take my last bite of elk filet dipped in béarnaise sauce.

  I chew with abandon, wondering why I’m not taking delicate bites and worrying about how I look while I’m eating. My disastrous dating history tells me I shouldn’t neglect this particular female tradition, but my frame of mind takes his relaxed, easy manner to heart. I’m not in New York sitting across from Don the stockbroker guy, or Thomas the international trade expert, or even Trevor the plastic surgeon. He’s not telling me about his last bad date, his first failed marriage, or how wealthy he’ll be in seven years with his diversified investments and eye for opportunity.

  He lifts his wine glass with enormous fingers and takes a sip like he’s plucked a tiny flower. He still wears his red and black plaid flannel jacket, reminding me of a giant lumberjack with a child’s tea set. No, this is not New York, and he’s not like anyone I’ve dined with before—thank the Lord.

  “The wine is excellent.” He closes his eyes and swirls the liquid beneath his nose. It’s not pretentious, just appreciative.

  “Would you like another glass, sir?” The waitress tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and lowers her lashes as she offers him a demur smile.

  “No, thank you.” He returns a polite half-glance in her direction.

  Rick the hairdresser probably would’ve offered her a coupon to be his for an hour. Not Reason. He doesn’t care that she
keeps flirting with him.

  Instead, he looks at me with a grin that twists on one side in a way that makes me flush. “Are you sure you don’t want a glass?”

  “Sure. I’ll try it.” Or maybe I’m just showing off in front of the waitress, who hasn’t looked at me once.

  “Please bring the lady a glass.” He looks in my eyes with a steady gaze.

  “Of course, right away.” Disappointment flattens her voice.

  He’s definitely a handsome man. Not just when you first meet him. With each encounter, he grows even more magnetic. She’s probably visited this table, all together, as many times as I’ve seen him since I first met him. I wonder if the effect is similar for her. He doesn’t seem to notice this about himself at all, which is probably the essence of his magic.

  Minutes later, I take my first sip of wine—the first in years. At least since Benjamin the banker thought two glasses of it would allow him to maul me in the theatre. Since then I’ve abstained altogether.

  He’s right. The wine is excellent.

  “So, I was thinking, would you like to be in the Christmas parade with me on Saturday?”

  I almost choke.

  “The Christmas parade?”

  “Yes.” His eyes twinkle.

  “What will you be doing in the parade?” I imagine his truck decorated with S & S Realty banners hanging from the sides, with the two of us inside waving.

  “I’ll be Santa.” He leans forward and watches my reaction.

  “I didn’t expect that.” I totally didn’t. I try to imagine him in a Santa Suit.

  “No?”

  “No, I wouldn’t have pegged you for Santa.” In my mind, I’m trying to make the image of a big belly, Santa hair, and the whole white beard thing come together with the man I see across the table.

  “Not jolly enough? Or maybe it’s the hair?” He scrubs his palm over the stubble on his head then rubs his knuckles across his smooth jaw. He casts a sideways glance at me while his face is tilted to the side, as though I am a mirror.

  “Well, it could be that, but I don’t know.” I can’t help but laugh, he looks so endearing. “What part will I play? My mother kept a lot Christmas stuff, but I don’t think I remember her having any elf suits. I just can’t really see myself riding through downtown wearing a tunic and green tights.”

  He chuckles. “Elves always complain about that.”

  “You have a lot of elf friends?”

  “Don’t you?”

  I take another sip of wine and warmth spreads through my veins, relaxing me all over. “No, just Klaus. He probably wouldn’t mind being an elf. But if you need a reindeer, he’s your guy. I’m telling you that’s one strange dog. Somehow he fits himself through a poodle sized dog door, if you can believe that. I never catch him in action, but I’d love to see it. Maybe he flies too.”

  Reason laughs—a little too loudly. It bursts from his throat and startles the elderly man at the next table. “The dog door, huh? What a clever guy.” He lowers his eyes and leans forward on his elbows.

  Just as I wonder if it’s something I’ve said, he lifts his eyes and resumes his steady gaze. I chalk it up to nothing. For all I know, the server winked at him over my shoulder.

  “Actually, I don’t have a Mrs. Claus.” He has a sheepish look about him now, complete with reddened cheeks. His face intrigues me. The expressiveness in it reminds me of the colors of sunset spreading across the sky.

  “No Mrs. Claus? Well, that’s good news. You’d be in a lot of trouble right now, Mister.” I use my hand to gesture at the interaction between him and me.

  His laughter rumbles like low thunder.

  It lulls me forward and I rest my chin on the heels of my palm, propped on my elbow. In fact, we are sitting in exactly the same position. Out of the corner of my eye, I see our reflections in the window. In profile, we form the shape of a lopsided heart.

  I forget I haven’t answered him, until he says, “I think you’ll be much more comfortable in the Mrs. Claus suit. It’s much warmer, and far less revealing. ”

  “Okay.” How can I turn down being married to Santa, especially this Santa, for a day? “But I have to forewarn you, I’m very shy in front of crowds.”

  “That’s okay. I am too. We’ll be in this together.” He’s like a force of nature—elemental and powerful. He watches me take another few sips of wine. As I set the glass back on the table, our server returns to clear our plates.

  When she’s gone, he leans toward me like he wants to tell me a secret. Instead, he asks, “Do you ice skate?”

  “No, I don’t. Sorry.” I wince as I remember the last time I tried.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I promise I won’t let you fall.” He still leans forward.

  I look deep in his eyes...and I believe him.

  I stand at the edge of the rink, but I might as well be standing in tubs of concrete. An onslaught of memories flashes through my mind—an image of all my friends’ faces hovering over me. I lay flat on my sixteen year old back with my leg twisted in an unnatural position—just two feet away from where I’m now standing.

  Here I am again. Only this time I’m holding onto the strongest arm I’ve ever touched. There’s no one else here but the attendant: a teenage boy who stamped our hands and collected our money. A new song has just begun—“All I Want for Christmas is You.”

  Reason guides me to the ice and faces me. I feel like a graceless fool, but I know he won’t let me fall. He holds my forearms as he moves backwards, letting me follow along in front.

  “Like this.” His voice sounds soft and intimate.

  I inch forward like I’m walking on skis. But soon, cool air washes over my face. At first I don’t look at anything. I let everything pass me in a blur. But when I finally glance up, I see he’s been studying me. My eyes, my mouth, my cheek, my hair—everything. Then he holds me with a penetrating gaze. I can’t look away. I wonder if I’ve always known he would come—always waited for right now, or maybe it’s just that now never felt so real.

  The combination of wine and Reason’s beautiful warmth makes me forget about the mechanics of what I’m doing. We glide along together until we reach the point where we must turn. I’m still holding his gaze like a life raft on a sinking ship. He draws me closer and slips his arm around my waist.

  As we turn, I lean with him…just enough. I’d never know to do that in real life. But this is real life, and somehow I’ve done it. I’m skating even though I can't skate. I never could.

  Freedom spirals over me, untying all the sadness—the weight of the past. It all falls away, and right now, we soar like we’re weightless and flying.

  And we’re closer too. I don’t know if I’ve leaned into him or it’s the other way around, but my face is only inches from his heart. I close my eyes and let my cheek rest against his chest. I can’t help but smile as we complete another turn. The fabric of his flannel coat feels soft against my cheek, and his arms are so warm on my back. They fit around me perfectly, like puzzle pieces.

  An intoxicating scent encircles me. So this is what he smells like. It’s woodsy like pine, smoky like pipe tobacco, and warm like cinnamon. I breathe it in. I never would’ve imagined something like this.

  He whispers by my ear. “I’d never be mad at you for staying.”

  I can’t speak. I just breathe.

  A cool, soft tickle brushes my cheek. I open my eyes. Large fluffy snowflakes descend weightlessly around us. The ethereal silence of snow suddenly feels…miraculous.

  We drive home in silence. I can’t think of any time in my life when I felt so comforted by silence. I haven’t wanted to break the magic of skating in Reason’s arms or forget the way he smells.

  Halfway home, he closes his hand over mine. I’m content to sit like this forever, and I’m awestruck by how beautiful the snow looks on the trees, how the flakes drift and fly in front of the windshield—the warmth that covers my hand on this wintery night.


  Tinsel candles and mistletoe adorn the street lights in the merchant district. We pass a carriage drawn by black horses with elegant reins. Two dark silhouettes huddle together inside it. My eyes drift from colorful lights to Victorian era accents. Christmasville seems different tonight. It looks like a dream or a giant Christmas village nestled away from the passage of time—separate from the rest of America. I suddenly feel pretty fortunate to grow up here…and to be back again.

  We pass the park, where my father taught me to ride a bike and the grocery store where I helped my mother break her budget with all the extras I begged for along the way. There’s the hair salon where she looked so pretty walking out the door each time my dad and I picked her up. There in Town Square, Santa came every year, and I tugged his beard to make sure he was legit. The last time I went, my father took me. I never believed in Santa Claus after that. The magic left along with my father.

  Tonight, the town looks like it did to me then—like a wonderland. It makes me remember how it felt to believe in magic and miracles.

  We turn on my street and I really see the Christmas lights people have put so much effort into. They do it for something more than tradition. They do it for family, perhaps, or for love. Suddenly, I wonder if they do it because they still want to believe, and maybe I do too.

  I feel almost disappointed when we park in front of my house and immediately see the orange cones surrounding the curb. I didn’t want to come back to reality, but here it is.

  Reason opens the passenger door and helps me down from the truck. When we reach the concrete stairway, he pulls down the strip of caution tape that blocks it so we don’t have to walk in the snow. Fortunately, there are no foul odors emitting from the leak—wherever it actually is.

  He holds my hand tighter as we draw closer to the front door. I know the other side of it is dark and cold. I stick the key in and turn the lock.

  “I’ll get the fire going for you again,” he says, as if he’s read my mind.