The Santa Society

by Kristine McCord

  If they can’t buy food, they could lose their house. I feel queasy knowing Callie’s at school right now, pasting and coloring with all the other kids, and she’s got food in her tummy only because of the soup kitchen.

  Reason touches my arm. “Don’t worry, Er, she’ll be okay. I promise.”

  I turn to face him. How can he know that? No one can know such a thing. But, I take it for what it’s worth. He’s just trying to comfort me. I know there’s no guarantee of anything, no story book salvation. Bad things happen and there’s no rhyme or reason. And God, wherever he is, let’s it happen.

  I try to smile, but it’s halfhearted. I can see he knows it. He reaches his hand over to my hair and brushes it away from my face. His eyes slide along my cheek as though he’s lost in a tangle of private thoughts. He looks at my ear and touches my earlobe. I want to close my eyes, but I don’t want to miss his face. The look on it has a direct line to my stomach, where I feel the quiver of nervous wings fluttering.

  He pulls his hand from my ear and holds it up just in front of me. I look down and see a small golden key. His mouth twists into a playful smile.

  Half of me wants to lean forward and kiss those smiling lips, the other half wonders why he’s offered me a key. The question of it tugs at my curiosity with a baited hook. I bite. “A key, huh?”

  His smile broadens. Then, much to my dismay, he gently bites his lower lip—a habit, I have grown to realize. It’s also the arrow in my heel. His eyes are so warm, I can hardly think straight. Does he do this on purpose?

  I pluck the key from his hand and turn it over in my palm. It’s an old fashioned skeleton key, with a small inscription in the center. I hold it up and squint for a closer look. I think it is a “C”.

  “What’s it for?” I ask.

  “You’re Mrs. Claus, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Mrs. Claus will need clothes for the parade tomorrow.”

  I smile. “Of course.”

  He chuckles. I watch the pleasant way his shoulders shake and the scar disappears in his laugh lines. “It unlocks the costume closet. Let’s go.”

  Before I can respond, he’s out of the truck and opening my door. I jump down from the seat. The snow crunches beneath my snow boots as we pick our way through the parking lot and enter the building. Reason closes the door softly behind me as I adjust my eyes to the darkness. We stand in a seating area that looks like a lobby. A coffee carafe sits on a table in the corner with a carousel of sugar and cream, a cup of coffee stirrers, and packages of cookies arranged in a small basket.

  As my eyes adjust, I see a head of gray hair just barely visible behind the reception counter. I take a step closer and peer over the edge. Someone has fallen asleep with their head resting on top of their folded arms—school desk-style.

  Reason clears his throat.

  A woman sits up immediately, confused. Her eyes flutter and dart around the room. When they come to rest on Reason, she sits up straighter and neatens her hair.

  “Good morning, Reason.” She dabs at the corner of her mouth with a tissue. I can’t help but wonder if she’s been drooling. She must be in her nineties. I’ve never seen someone of her age sleep like that. Surely her muscles must be regretting it now.

  “Good morning, love.” He turns on the light and leans over the counter to reach for something.

  She squints as though needles have been jabbed in her eyes. Oblivious, Reason straightens and disentangles another key from a cluster of others, this one the modern kind. He holds it up to the light then tosses it in the air and catches it in his palm, dropping the rest of them into a hidden container on the other side of the counter.

  “Where’s the mister?” he asks.

  “Upstairs where he always is. I couldn’t take the snoring. This is as far away as I could get.”

  Reason glances at me and gives me a meaningful look that tells me this is a normal routine around here.

  “Hannah, this is Erin Sinclair.”

  “Hi.” I wave.

  She repeats my name softly to herself as she squints up at me. “Good morning, dear.” She grabs a pair of wire framed glasses and sets them on the bridge of her nose. Now that she sees me better, her face relaxes. Two pale blue eyes study me from behind the lenses.

  “Erin will be Mrs. Claus tomorrow. We came to get clothes.”

  “Oh!” She jumps to her feet, moving much faster than I expect of someone her age. “Oh, my.” She laughs nervously as she crosses the room and disappears in the hallway.

  Reason seems relaxed as he gives me a wink. He pulls his phone from his pocket and swipes his finger across the screen. His eyes graze back and forth as he reads something. Then another tap and swipe and the phone disappears in his pocket.

  Hannah scurries back up the hall. Her hands flutter like butterflies as she moves, grazing her hair, her glasses, the pockets of her long red robe, and the invisible wrinkles she smoothes down on the front and back of it.

  “It’s all ready for her, sir. All ready, oh my dear. What a day, what a day this will be. Mrs. Claus!” She beams at me. I am starting to feel like I’m the Pope, making an unexpected house call. I shift my weight to my other foot.

  Hannah locks eyes with Reason, and I think I see something pass between them. Then she’s on the move again. “I can make any alteration you need, my dear, and have it done by afternoon. Just let me know, and I’ll come in and pin it for you.”

  “Thank you, Hannah.” Reason slips his hand around mine. “Ready?”

  I blink at him. “Sure.”

  He leads me up the hall, past a long line of closed doors. We turn a corner, and I see a door at the far end. This must be where Hannah disappeared to earlier, because it stands slightly ajar. Light spills out, bathing the hardwood floor in a golden strip of light.

  When we reach the door, Reason reaches around me and pushes it open. His chest presses into my shoulder, and his warm breath tickles my ear as the door swings open. My breath catches in my throat.

  It looks like a dressing room for royalty. I see our reflection in the full-length mirror across the room. He’s not looking at the room but at the side of my face, watching my reaction. The recessed mirror sits across from us, on the other side of a sea of red shag carpet. It’s set into an alcove with panels on each wall, offering three simultaneous views.

  Two large doors frame the mirror on either side. The antique brass knobs have keyholes in the faceplates, just the right size for the key in my hand.

  “Take your time. I’ll be in the office with Hannah, if you need anything. There’s an intercom just above the chair.”

  I glance at the elegant leather wingback chair with its decorative brass tacks. Sure enough, I see the square of a small black speaker installed in the taupe wall. My eyes stray to the ceiling. I follow the white crown molding around the room, amazed by the carved intricate detail. It looks like a snow scene with a sleigh, reindeer, and playing children.

  I lower my eyes back to the mirror where Reason watches me, grinning, still waiting for me to answer.

  I return his smile. “Thanks.”

  “Your dress is in the closet on the right.” He closes the door gently, and I’m alone in a lavish closet that seems better suited to a king and queen than actors on a Santa float. I’ve almost forgotten the key in my hand. I cross the room and insert it in the lock. It turns easily in my hand, and I hear a soft click.

  A light automatically turns on inside as I open the door. The first thing I notice is the wooden box on the top shelf. The white wig must be in there. My gaze falls to a long velvet cloak, a trim of white fur runs continuously around it, from the hood to the lower hem and back up again. I’ve never seen anything like it. A golden “C” clasps the neck together. And it’s heavy looking, like maybe it’s real gold—not a plastic button or a silly cord with a white pompom dangling at the end of it like I would’ve expected.

  I slide it to the left and stop. I’m staring at a full length dress, made of th
e same rich velvet as the cloak. It looks like a replica of a prior century, a time when someone first thought up a story about a girl called Cinderella. I run my hand along the fitted bodice. It’s not seductive, just beautiful with a Christmas-at-the-palace flare.

  I stare at it, as though it will climb down from the hanger and dress me itself.

  I survey the ceilings, hoping I haven’t missed a security camera somewhere. Maybe I’m supposed to do this in the closet—it’s certainly big enough. There aren’t any obvious cameras, but still, I hurry.

  Minutes later, I’m in the dress and looking at myself in the mirror. The bodice fits me snugly, but not too tight, and the hem just barely grazes the floor. Long sleeves keep it consistent with winter. It has a collar with rounded corners, edged in a thin strip of white fur. It doesn’t come together in the middle. Instead, a delicate string of crystal rhinestones lays taut across my collarbone, connecting each side of the collar with a jeweler’s clasp. It reminds me of a tennis bracelet. Surely these aren’t diamonds, right? But I’m still wondering as I inspect the open space below it, where it exposes an oval of bare skin on my chest. It doesn’t plunge, though. It shows only the tiniest hint of my meager cleavage.

  I can’t believe how beautiful it is. I don’t remember ever seeing anyone dressed like this in the Christmas Parade—ever. In fact, now that I think of it, I don’t remember seeing a Mrs. Claus on the Santa float. I must not be remembering it correctly, or maybe Christmasville has begun taking this whole thing more seriously these days. I mean, obviously—I look at myself again in the mirror—very seriously.

  I struggle to zip the back but can’t quite raise it all the way. I’ll need to call Hannah.

  Feeling like a princess imposter, I press the button on the speaker.

  “Are you ready for me, dear?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  The speaker goes silent. I haven’t opened the box yet, so I pull it down from the shelf and lift the lid, expecting to see a mass of white ringlets. I’m taken aback when I find a fluff of white fur. It looks sort of like a Russian fur hat. I’m about to put it on my head when I realize it has an opening at each end.

  Maybe it’s a hand warmer to put my hands in. I hold it up and look inside. The hole runs straight through. It’s definitely for my hands.

  I hear a soft rap at the door, before it opens. Hannah steps through.

  “Oh!” Her eyes widen. “Oh, my goodness, you look beautiful dear, just beautiful. I always wanted to see someone in this dress.” She zips it the rest of the way.

  I must be the first Mrs. Claus, or at least the first one in this dress.

  She inspects me in the mirrors. “I don’t think it needs altering. It’s a perfect fit.” She bends over and adjusts the skirt, then straightens.

  “Let’s see it with shoes on.” She disappears inside the closet and emerges again with a pair of black snow boots in her hand.

  I laugh. I guess I’d forgotten about practicalities. High heels wouldn’t work well in winter snow. Of course, snow boots make sense. Instead of shiny patent leather or pleather, they are suede-like, slender, and soft. They zip on the inside, with a pretty silver buckle on the ankle. I slide them on. They come to the middle of my calves.

  These boots rock. I love it. They’d sell like hot cakes in New York.

  Hannah is already holding up the cloak for me. I straighten and lower the dress over the boots. When I turn my back to her, she drapes the cloak over my shoulders, handing me the clasp at each side. I hook them together. The “C” is in the hollow of my throat, just above the string of rhinestones, which makes it look underlined.

  “I have to call the boss, so he can see. He’ll be so pleased.” Hannah scurries to the speaker.

  I hear Reason’s voice. “Dressed?”

  “Yes, she is, sir.”

  “I’ll be there in a sec.”

  Hannah turns and eyes the back of my cloak

  “What about a wig?” I watch her in the mirror as she adjusts it.

  “Oh, that’s just for stories. The real Mrs. Claus has hair like everybody else.”

  “She does?”

  “Of course she does.” Hannah steps back.

  I look at my mousy hair. Now that it seems there is some sort of authenticity to Mrs. Claus, I feel obligated to figure out how she should wear her hair for such an occasion. Too bad I can’t ask her.

  The door opens a crack and Reason sticks his head through. Hannah sneaks out behind him, leaving us alone together. I suddenly feel like a bride, modeling a wedding dress for my future groom. The comparison feels altogether disarming, and I suddenly feel self-conscious about my excitement.

  I turn around slowly.

  He tugs at his collar, and I wonder if he’s made the same comparison. But a slow smile softens his face. It reminds me of the night he opened his eyes just after the lighting of the Christmas tree in Bethlehem Park. But this smile has something else in it, a new shade of color in the ever-changing sunset of his face.

  “Beautiful,” he whispers.

  “Thank you.” I feel awkward, awkwardly beautiful.

  I turn back to the mirror and look at my hair again.

  Without a word, he steps in close and I watch him just behind me in the mirror. Seeing him this way makes me feel like I’m watching myself in a movie...and holding my breath, wondering if the romantic hero is about to kiss his costar.

  My heart pounds in my ears.

  He lifts my hair from my shoulders, twists it carefully, and holds it up against the back of my head. A wisp of it escapes and hangs loosely at the side of my face.

  My skin warms beneath his gaze as his eyes slide from my hair to my neck. And then he closes them as he leans down. My every breath feels suspended, hanging on this moment, this question that catches me so completely off guard: Will he kiss me? I close my eyes and turn my face to him, just a little. His breath comes close to my ear. I hear a subtle inhale like he’s breathing me in, then he whispers, “It looks beautiful up, off your neck—like this.”

  Chapter 14

  I’M STILL NOT over the moment in the dressing room, and I’ve been mentally checked out ever since. I’ve tried to make normal conversation, and I’ve absorbed a few things, like the office is owned by the Santa Society—that same mysterious entity I keep finding associated with everything lately. Hannah and her husband act as the custodians and local overseers of the local office. Other than that, I can’t really focus, except on one thing: Will he drive me out my mind before he finally kisses me? Not that I want to rush things. I’ve never been one to do that. But I can’t take this agony, moment by moment, wondering if I’m the only one getting so swept away. I feel like a blind woman piecing together clues while Reason drives me home to meet Nick, the heating and air guy.

  I mull over what I know. Reason’s not known for having a robust dating life, judging from Hannah’s and Rashaun’s surprise about me. And there seems to be some honor, or at least a festive uniqueness, in him asking me to play the part of Mrs. Claus. When I ice skate with him, I can actually skate. He smells amazing—and when he looks in my eyes, I feel like I’m swooning. Before I met Reason, I didn’t really believe in swoons.

  He pulls things out of people’s ears, and—oh, he doesn’t want me to move away. And didn’t he say he prayed about it? Lastly, he likes my hair up. After this rapidly compiled list, I’m running out of further evidence to support the idea he’s falling in love with me. My throat tightens. Is that what I’m feeling too? Am I really falling in love?

  As we reach my house, where nothing changes unless it gets worse, I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. A couple of days ago, I only wanted to know if he was a friend, not just my realtor. Look how fast I have moved on to more serious expectations.

  I survey the cones and caution tape. Obviously, I have some pretty horrible luck. My choices are hit or miss, mostly miss, which means I live with a lot of regret.

  Why would I expect my in
volvement with Reason to be any different? I don’t want to go back to the way I felt before, with nothing in my life but sad memories and a dog who pities me. Right now, I have one really good thing happening to me. If that one thing leaves, would I be able to forget it and just go on like usual? My luck terrifies me, and worse, I know it’s too late to stay uninvolved. I’m way involved, and I know it.

  “Is everything okay?” Reason looks concerned as he shifts the truck in park.

  “Yes.” I lie, hoping it won’t count.

  He nods, but I don’t think he believes me.

  All the way to the door, I tell myself what an idiot I’m being for worrying so much. It’s making me act weird. I’ll have plenty of time for that later, when I’m alone. My self-talk continues until I notice a piece of white paper stuck to the door. The bottom edge flaps up and down every time the breeze blows.

  “Please don’t tell me I missed the repairman.” I say out loud, rolling my eyes upward in a desperate plea. I’m not sure I even want to read it.

  Reason goes ahead of me and plucks it from the door. He doesn’t look at it, though. He only hands it to me with his eyes cast downward respectfully.

  Sure enough, it’s labeled Double-S Heating and Air Service. A red “Sorry we missed you” has been stamped across the middle, and it’s signed “Nick” in blue ink.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I put my hands to my forehead. “I can’t believe this. It’s only two o’clock.”

  I slide my hands over my eyes.

  Reason pulls me into his arms, exactly where I have wanted to be, minus this horrible sour feeling inside me. I turn my teary eyes away so he won’t see. If I stay here long enough maybe Nick will come back with his truck and his tools and make the furnace work again.

  “It’s okay, Er. We’ll get it figured out. I’ll see if I can get it going, but I warn you, I don’t know much about furnaces.” He strokes my hair.