A Dog's Perfect Christmas

by W. Bruce Cameron

  “Even more,” Hunter avowed.

  Which meant things might be changing for them soon. That was why he looked uncomfortable. “Has there been anything definite on the promotion?” she inquired delicately.

  Hunter shook his head. “Not yet. Topic hasn’t come up. I imagine Mrs. O’Brien will want to speak to me after holiday break.”

  Juliana nodded. “I want you to know, I’ll support whatever you want to do. I mean it. If you’re on the road, I can deal with it. As long as I have you, I can deal with anything.”

  His smile was soft and loving, as was his kiss.

  He was only out the door for a moment when he stuck his head back in her room. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Go back. What were the rules for Ello’s assignment?”

  * * *

  Sander dropped the kids off at preschool, then sat in the minivan, watching cars drive up, dump children, and drive off. He was lingering to see if Claire showed up. She’d said they went ahead and signed up her grandchild Jenner to attend here. Sander was looking sharp in his suit and hoping she’d see him. When the last car had departed and he was alone, he had to face the fact that he had missed her.

  Sander reached for his cell phone and carefully tapped his thumbs on the screen.

  SG: Hello Claire. I am at the preschool. I was hoping to run into you today. Did I arrive too late?

  He waited for a few moments before her reply.

  CT: I don’t text.

  Laughing, he pushed CALL.

  * * *

  Ello watched Sean saunter up to her as the school announced the end of first period with a cascade of locker slammings. “Hey!”

  “Hi,” she responded cautiously. What’s going on? she wanted to ask him, but of course never would.

  “Cool how much more it snows here than in Detroit.”

  “Uh-huh.” So now we’re going to talk about the weather?

  “Haven’t seen you much,” he observed, and the first signs that maybe Something Was Wrong flickered across his face like a warning beacon.

  “I noticed,” she responded flatly, because although they were in the same classes and had the same lunch, he’d been acting like she was invisible.

  Are you mad at me?

  Sean’s smile had completely left the building. His eyes were searching hers now. “I mean,” he began softly, “the thing with your dad that I told you. Is it, like, a thing now between us?”

  “What? No, of course not.”

  What about your mother’s rage mode? Is that a thing between us?

  “Okay, because I was worried you might be mad at me.”

  “Because of that? No.” You obviously have never seen me mad.

  “Oh, good.” He sighed, then smiled again.

  “I mean, it’s kind of the worst, because my dad’s acting like nothing’s wrong.” A tremor passed through Ello as she reflected on her father’s brave face, covering his concern to protect his family.

  “You okay?” Sean asked, looking ready to take another three-day suspension for her.

  She nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “So we’re still friends then.”

  Ello nodded. Friends.

  * * *

  After visiting Juliana, Hunter returned to his office. There was a large envelope sitting on his desk, his name printed across the front. He opened it and scanned the document inside. It was brief and to the point: as of the second of January, he was fired. He would receive his accumulated vacation pay and two weeks’ severance. Valerie O’Brien had written a note by hand to him at the bottom. It didn’t say, Thanks for your years of hard work, or, Really appreciate all the extra unpaid hours you put in. It said, Maybe it would be best for you to pack up your things for Christmas break and just not come back.

  Kim stuck her head in his door. “I texted, then I called your cell phone,” she accused.

  Hunter patted his pockets with a frown.

  “The fire marshal’s here to do a surprise inspection. Were you expecting him? It’s not in my calendar.”

  “I don’t think they schedule surprise inspections,” Hunter replied mildly.

  “I do all the work and nobody thanks me, and then we have a surprise fireman,” she scolded. “I’m barely keeping this place running as it is.”

  “I agree with that,” Hunter allowed, but Kim didn’t seem to hear. He followed her out to the reception area. A man in a suit with white, trimmed hair and a determined look on his face was waiting for him at the front desk, his posture stern and combative.

  “Mr. Goss? I’m the fire marshal.” The man flipped open a wallet with a fire-department badge in it. He showed it to Hunter, Kim, and the man fixing the drinking fountain. “Fire marshal,” he repeated. “This is a surprise inspection.”

  “Why don’t we take the elevator upstairs,” Hunter suggested. He led the way. Once he was alone with the fire marshal in the lift, he grinned. “Maybe tone it down just a little, Dad.”

  Sander winked.

  They strolled out into Cardboard Central. Even in the middle of the room, where the employees had always sat back-to-back, a Great Wall of China had been erected. Sander’s mouth dropped open at the sight.

  Hunter let Sander take the lead, while engineer eyes peered through cut-out holes and tracked their progress. His father spent a lot of time nodding at the sprinklers and the smoke detectors. “All that’s pretty good, but what’s with this cardboard?”

  Hunter had steered his father near one of the main proponents of the box rebellion, Matthew Danner. Matthew had dark eyes and hair, and avoided other people and shampoo in the same measure. Matthew didn’t turn around, even as the two Goss men stopped directly behind his chair.

  “You’ll have to ask them. This is Matthew Danner.”

  Matthew didn’t turn around.

  “Matthew,” Hunter prodded gently, “the fire marshal would like to speak to you.”

  Matthew still didn’t turn around.

  “You going to pay attention, or get a citation for refusing to assist in a government investigation?” Sander demanded with heat.

  When Matthew swiveled in his chair, Sander opened his badge wallet, then flipped it shut with a snap. “What’s with the cardboard, son?”

  Matthew blinked rapidly. “We put them up because the new furniture doesn’t have walls.”

  Hunter saw that their performance had captured the attention of almost every eyeball in the peepholes.

  “I see.” Sander surveyed the room. “All right, then,” he called loudly. “Attention, please. How many of you want to keep your boxes up?”

  Hands poked up over the barriers.

  “Every single one of you then. Okay.” Sander turned to Hunter. “Since it’s your first offense, I will only fine you a thousand dollars. Today. It increases to five thousand when I come back tomorrow. For the company, and,” Sander raised his voice, “each of you individually.”

  Matthew’s eyes bulged. “Wait, what?”

  Sander pulled out the ticket book they’d purchased from Staples on the way to the office. “I’ll need each of you to have your driver’s license out when I come by to issue you your one-thousand-dollar personal fine for creating a public safety danger to the public,” he proclaimed loudly.

  Matthew looked panicked.

  “Identification, please, son?” Sander asked pleasantly.

  “Wait! No. I’m—I was just going to take it down!”

  Sander paused from writing—Hunter could see the words GREASY HAIR—and regarded Matthew warily.

  “Seriously,” Matthew babbled. He began ripping at the cardboard, the tape yielding with reluctance.

  Sander nodded his fire-marshal approval and pushed past more cardboard to the next engineer in the row. “Your name?”

  With that, the room exploded into action, the walls coming down like Jericho’s. Hunter watched approvingly as the barriers were flattened, the engineers stomping and ripping. Then he felt a touch at his elbow. It was Kim.

  “Hunter?
The fire marshal’s here.”

  Hunter nodded and pointed. “Yep.”

  Kim shook her head. “No, I mean another one.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  An unsmiling African-American man, well-muscled and equipped with a strong handshake, greeted Hunter in the lobby. “Mr. Goss? They tell me you’re the director of facilities. I am William Anthony Gary, fire inspector.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hunter replied faintly.

  “Don’t look so alarmed—this is all routine. We always stop by after a building is refitted with new furniture, make sure the tenant hasn’t accidentally moved a fire extinguisher or dismantled a smoke detector, that sort of thing.”

  “Let’s start on the lower floor,” Hunter suggested.

  He stalled the best he could, nearly doing a fist pump when Officer Gary accepted a cup of coffee in the break room. Hunter prepared a cup for him as deliberately as a lab worker transferring Ebola samples. But then, of course, just as Hunter was trying to divert the man’s attention to the neat pyramid of Kim’s herbal tea boxes, Sander strolled in with a wide grin on his face.

  “They’re all done,” he advised gleefully.

  “Well, thank you very much for stopping by today,” Hunter said meaningfully to his father. He gestured with his eyes toward the door.

  Sander ignored him. He strode forward with his hand stretched out toward Officer Gary. “Afternoon. Name’s Captain Sanders. I’m the fire marshal.”

  Officer Gary looked nonplussed.

  “And you are?” Sander prompted.

  Hunter cringed.

  “William Anthony Gary. Fire department,” the man stated, shaking Sander’s hand.

  Sander looked delighted. “Well, hey! What a coincidence. What do you do for them?”

  “Fire Marshal,” Officer Gary answered slowly.

  Sander’s smile winked out. “Huh.”

  “Uh, Dad? Why don’t you wait out in the car?” Hunter proposed pointedly.

  Sander turned a baffled look on his son, as if unsure he’d heard correctly.

  “Okay? Wait for me there. In the car.”

  In a daze, Sander turned and left the room.

  Officer Gary had his eyebrows raised. “You want to tell me what that was all about?”

  “My dad,” Hunter replied, hoping that would be enough of an answer.

  “And? He said he’s the fire marshal.”

  “Yes, I heard that.”

  The two men gazed at each other without blinking, for what seemed to Hunter to be a very long moment. “My dad…” Hunter began again. Finally, his brain managed to make it out of the ditch. “My dad’s, well … yesterday, he said he was an astronaut. Before that, he was a beekeeper, and ah, a professional bowler.”

  Officer Gary watched Hunter expressionlessly.

  Hunter shrugged. “I don’t see the harm in letting him think, you know, that he’s somebody besides just a grandpa.”

  Kim had entered, holding Hunter’s cell phone with an outstretched hand. “It was on top of the filing cabinet,” she accused him.

  “Thanks.” Hunter gave her the same please-leave signal with his eyes, but Kim stood fast.

  “The fire marshal left. The other one,” she announced carefully, giving Officer Gary a significant glance.

  “Right. The ‘other one,’” Hunter replied with air quotes, giving Kim an exaggerated wink. She glared back at him in outrage.

  “Seemed like a real nice guy,” Officer Gary offered.

  Kim shook her head in disbelief.

  * * *

  Hunter slid into the minivan. Sander, behind the wheel, was in high spirits.

  “That was the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” he chuckled. “You see the expression on their faces when I told them about the fines?”

  “You did a great job, Dad. Perfect.”

  “Was that really the fire marshal?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, that was an awkward moment.”

  They both laughed. “I told him you were addled,” Hunter explained. “That you think you’re a dance instructor and the ambassador to France.”

  They laughed some more, and Sander eyed his son curiously when Hunter’s mirth suddenly cut short, as if he had shut a door on it. “What is it?”

  Hunter shrugged. “The cardboard’s gone, but that doesn’t mean the new configuration’s going to work. They’re all fighting the idea of getting to know each other, especially if it’s being forced on them. You ask one of them anything personal about another, and they know absolutely nothing. And that’s how they want it. Other than knowing how they code, they have no interest in their fellow humans.”

  “You’ll think of something.”

  “Well, I do have an idea, actually. Not sure it will work, but it’s sort of the only shot I’ve got. I mean, it should work, but only if I can motivate them to cooperate. Haven’t been very good at that particular endeavor lately.” Hunter peered at the blank glass face of the office building. “I think I’ll go see Juliana.”

  “Good idea,” Sander agreed. “Oh, and Hunter: no need to set a place at the dinner table for me tonight. Ello and I put together a ropa vieja in the slow cooker. You can let me know if we got it right.”

  Hunter regarded his father. “Wait, go back. No need to set a place.… Which widow we talking about?”

  Sander smiled. “Claire.”

  Hunter nodded thoughtfully. “Isn’t she the one who says she doesn’t want to get involved with you unless you ditch the harem?”

  “Harem,” Sander snorted. “Hardly. Yep, that’s her. We’re seeing each other, but just as friends. I really enjoy her company.”

  Hunter’s mind was on something else. “What do you think that car of yours is worth?”

  Sander looked at his son in surprise. “Why on earth would you want it?”

  “I work with software geeks. They love things like that. Classic car, perfect condition. Probably would be even more exciting to them that it doesn’t have an engine,” Hunter explained. “And think about it. When those guys were kids, a Monte Carlo driving by with its top down had to be just about the coolest thing on the road.”

  “And?”

  Hunter smiled. “I think I just suddenly figured out the second piece of the puzzle.”

  “Second piece? How many pieces are there?”

  Hunter hesitated. “Well, two.”

  “Doesn’t sound like much of a puzzle to me.”

  “You willing to sell me your car? Use the money to get a Ferrari, have your face lifted, go on Tinder?”

  Sander laughed. “Not a Ferrari, no plastic surgery, and no tenderizer. You want the car? It’s yours.”

  * * *

  Ello stared at the ceiling above her bed, Ruby’s head on her chest. The dog was sound asleep. She was talking on the phone with Siouxanne, who was new to the school this year and had been frozen out by Brittne. It turned out they had a lot in common. They dressed similarly, but not too alike. They both read dog books. They both thought Traverse City sucked in the winter but loved how the lights on Front Street looked at Christmas.

  “I hope I got him the right thing,” Ello agonized. “I mean, what do I know about hockey? I read that Gordie Howe was pretty good, but that was a long time ago.”

  Siouxanne cracked an audible bubble out of her gum. “Well, if he doesn’t care about the guy, could he just wear it?”

  “Maybe.… It’s pretty big.”

  “He’ll love it.”

  “I just want him to know I’m not all, like, we’re boyfriend and girlfriend. We’re just friends and I got him a Christmas gift. No big deal.”

  “You see Brittne’s jeans with the slits up the calf? What’s up with that?” Siouxanne demanded.

  Ello stroked Ruby’s silken ears. “I don’t care what Brittne does.”

  Maybe that was true.

  * * *

  Though his passion was in full boil, it was Sander who broke away from Claire, not the other way around. They were ju
st saying goodnight on her doorstep, and even though he had not submitted a formal petition for permission, moving in for a smooch to cap off their date had seemed as natural as anything in the world. But it lasted longer and became far more ambitious than Sander had intended.

  They grinned at each other when they parted. “That wasn’t exactly a just-friends kiss,” Sander observed wryly.

  “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  “I’m just attempting to honor the terms of our agreement.”

  “Me too,” she admitted. “But you seem to have skills that I underestimated in this department, Sander Goss.” She cocked her head at him. “Of course, there are other ways to stay within the guidelines.”

  “I do understand what you are saying to me here, Claire.” Though truthfully, Claire was being less than clear.

  Her eyes sparkled. “Do you? I’m suggesting that, every single time, quality beats quantity.”

  Before he could think of a response, Claire gave him a goodnight peck and turned away, slipping quietly into her house. Sander remained on the doorstep, his breath billowing out in ephemeral clouds, his mind lingering on their kiss.

  When Allison texted him, he ignored it.

  * * *

  One morning Winstead was distressed because Daddy had pulled the tarp off of the car, but they weren’t going for a car ride. The garage door was open, but Winstead was restrained by a leash and unable to bound out into the snow in the front yard, and that didn’t make him happy either.

  He barked when a rattling truck backed up the driveway. Daddy patted Winstead’s muzzle and tied the leash to the workbench. Then Daddy and Hunter and a stranger pushed the car, grunting as they did so, which was followed by the sounds of chains clinking and a machine whining.

  Still imagining the rich odors and comforting motion of Daddy’s car, Winstead was astonished and alarmed when the noisy truck bumped off down the driveway and Daddy’s car followed it, canted up into the air. Not understanding any of this, Winstead wagged and yawned. Hunter slid into his own vehicle and followed the loud truck, but Daddy remained behind.