Love at Last

by Darlene Panzera

  The advertising agency buzzed with the nauseating drone of chatter, chuckles, and overhead speaker Christmas carols. Kristen did her best to weave through the people blocking the hallway. But no one seemed in a particular hurry to move.

  She almost tripped over the cleaning lady, and had to squeeze past Mr. Holly and his arsenal of watering cans and trays of pink flowering Christmas cactus. What was he doing here at this hour anyway? It’s not like plants had to be watered by a deadline and she didn’t think cactus even needed much water.

  By the time she reached the sanctuary of her own private office, she was a total of sixteen minutes behind schedule.

  “Kristen, I’d like a word,” Mr.Vanderbilt said, following her to her desk.

  “Certainly.” She set down her briefcase and glanced at the crease on her boss’s brow. Not good.

  “Barry Winters called and he doesn’t like the flyers you designed for the Children’s Center.”

  Kristen pursed her lips. “He said he wanted the front flap to include pictures of children and that’s exactly what I gave him.”

  “Mr. Winters wants colorful pictures of happy children, with smiling faces, not black and whites of a group of kids who look like they’ve eaten sour grapes. He also says your slogan, ‘Bring out your little ones and we’ll bring out their best,’ lacks spontaneity and the overall essence of fun.”

  “Fun?” Kristen’s mouth popped open as she tried to decipher where she’d gone off track. “Isn’t the goal of the Children’s Center to teach kids how to become better members of their community?”

  “Yes, by connecting with others and having fun in the process.” Mr. Vanderbilt took a deep breath and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “Look. I don’t want to have to fire anyone before the holidays, but I’m afraid your job is on the line. I can’t afford to keep an associate who produces inadequate work.”

  Kristen gasped, and her stomach wrenched tight. “I’ll work overtime. I can rework the advertisement, come up with a better slogan.”

  “You have one week,” Mr. Vanderbilt said, his tone gruff. “And to help give you some ideas, I want you to take Sheila Rosenberg’s place as Mrs. Claus at the agency’s three upcoming charity events. Sheila came down with flu this morning and can’t perform her part.”

  “Me? Play Mrs. Claus?” Kristen stared at her boss, sure he must be joking. “I’m not Mrs. Claus material.”

  He raised his feathery brows in a way that sent shivers up her spine. “Well then, become Mrs. Claus.”

  Kristen swallowed hard, adrenaline pumping like mad into every vestige of her being as Mr. Vanderbilt walked out of her office. She had no experience with kids. She’d never even worn a real costume. When she was little, she donned a business suit for Halloween and pretended to be a lawyer. But she needed this job to pay off her new Mercedes and being fired would look bad on her resume.

  Drumming her fingernails in a rhythmic pattern on her desk, she pushed the thought of Christmas and the role of Mrs. Claus out of her head. Work was the one thing that kept her sane in this crazy mixed-up world and she wasn’t about to let Mr. Vanderbilt or anyone else distract her.

  A moment later Kristen’s co-worker, Ashley Chatman, knocked on her office door and entered before she had time to reply.

  “Heard the news,” Ashley said, her lips curved into a smile. “Mrs. Claus, huh?”

  “Oh, Ash, you know I don’t know how to relate to kids. What am I going to do?” Kristen looked at her friend, who didn’t have any kids of her own but had two little nephews. “You could go to the children’s events for me. Dressed as Mrs. Claus no one would know it was you. Please Ashley, could you do it for me?”

  “No way. Mr. Vanderbilt would skin me alive if he found out I replaced you. And besides I’m leaving tonight to spend the holidays with my sister in California.”

  A jingle of bells and a flurry of greetings erupted from the hallway and both Kristen and Ashley turned their heads. Through the glass walls of the office they could see Noah Goodwell making his cheerful happy-go-lucky rounds.

  “I bet that relentless do-gooder has never had a bad day in his life,” Kristen complained.

  Ashley smiled. “He’s always so friendly and nice.”

  “Too nice to be genuine.”

  “Handsome,” Ashley continued, and a dreamy look crossed over her face. “He’s very, very handsome.”

  “Somewhat good-looking,” Kristen conceded. “Oh no. Here he comes.”

  Noah poked his head around the door. “Hello ladies,” he said, wearing a bright smile. “Just want to wish you a good morning.”

  “Good morning to you, too, Noah,” Ashley returned.

  Kristen gave him a curt nod. His gaze lingered on her a second longer than Ashley. Then he left, and his voice could be heard greeting Mr. Holly down the hall.

  “It wouldn’t kill you to at least say ‘Good Morning,’” Ashley scolded.

  Kristen frowned. “Today it might.”

  After lunch, Kristen met her boss in the advertising agency’s cluttered storage room.

  “You’ll be going with Santa to the children’s wing of the hospital at two o’clock,” Mr. Vanderbilt told her, “and you’ll need this.” He handed her a white wig, a granny hat, and a pair of clear, wire-rimmed glasses.

  Kristen’s fingers shook as she clutched the items in her hands. “And where is Santa?”

  “Right here.” Santa Claus walked toward them in full attire. With his red and white suit stuffed wide and his white wig and beard, he looked almost natural. Except for the eyes. There were no lines around the blue eyes that widened at the sight of her.

  “What happened to Sheila?” Santa asked, his voice vaguely familiar, yet sounding a bit hoarse.

  “She got sick,” Mr. Vanderbilt explained. “Kristen is taking her place.”

  Santa hooted with a hearty, “Ho, ho, ho!”

  This time, she did recognize the voice, but stepped forward and pulled aside the thick white woolly beard to make sure. His clean-shaven square jaw and mischievous grin gave him away.

  “Noah Goodwell is Santa?”

  She assumed Santa would be played by one of the old, fat retirees who still came into the office now and again. But she should have known her obnoxiously jolly ‘can’t we all be friends’ co-worker was the more obvious choice.

  “He volunteered,” Mr. Vanderbilt informed her.

  “Of course he did.” Kristen ground her teeth together so she wouldn’t say what was really on her mind.

  Playing Mrs. Claus was bad enough, but pretending to be the wife of the guy she considered to be her office rival? She knew who would get the Children’s Center account if she couldn’t produce a better slogan in time. Now she’d have to find a way to endure his falsified sugary sweetness and save her job.

  Noah’s cheerful mood took a nosedive straight through the storage room floor as soon as he spotted Kristen Lockhart with the Mrs. Claus outfit. He tried hard to get along with everyone at the office, but this woman was all prickles and barbed wire.

  She was pretty with her slim figure and long, straight, black-brown hair, but no right-minded guy would venture near her, if he could help it. She was the type who probably entertained herself by watching old documents disintegrate in the paper shredder each night. Or by practicing new ways to scowl in front of her bathroom mirror. The type who never laughed or smiled, or did anything spontaneous or fun.

  Their advertising agency’s tradition of having Santa and Mrs. Claus visit three children’s venues the week before Christmas usually made him merry. But this year, Kristen’s dried-up-prune- presence threatened to sabotage the whole affair.

  Noah set his jaw as Kristen shot a troubled glance over her shoulder and headed for the door. He had to help her discover the true spirit of Christmas. It was the only way he’d survive spending time with her in the days ahead.

  Kristen followed ‘Santa’ Noah down the hospital corridor. A blue-uniformed nurse opened the door on the left and stood
aside to let them enter.

  Noah walked straight up to the little girl laying in the bed, a heart patient, and belted out a hearty, “Ho, ho, ho!”

  The blond girl’s eyes widened and a smile spread across her face. “Santa Claus, did you leave the North Pole early to come see me?”

  Noah handed her a candy cane. “Of course I did.”

  “And Mrs. Claus too?”

  Kristen hung back a few feet, but Noah motioned her forward. She hesitated, and then slowly drew near, holding up the hem of her red velour gown so she wouldn’t trip. Despite the fact Noah had been spouting the benefits of the season the whole drive over, Kristen didn’t feel any peace, hope, or joy. She simply wanted to do her duty and leave a.s.a.p.

  “Merry Christma-aaaah! Noah, help me!”

  The little girl gripped her neck with both hands and wouldn’t let go. Kristen tried to pull away, and when she did the little girl began to cry. And scream. Three nurses ran into the room, pried the girl’s hands off her, and then asked her and Noah to leave. Kristen was thankful.

  Noah was mad. Of all the people who could have played Mrs. Claus, how did he get stuck with someone who didn’t like kids? If he had any doubts before, this cinched his heart and mind closed. He could never like a woman who didn’t like kids. He didn’t think she even liked Christmas. He thought he could show Kristen what Christmas was really about, but now he didn’t believe she’d ever understand.

  Resentment exploded his jolly persona right out of the building. “What is the matter with you?”

  Kristen shook her head, and leaned against the outside corridor wall. “I-I didn’t mean to make her cry. The kid sprung toward me and-”

  “She just wanted a hug. How would you feel if someone you loved refused to hug you?”

  Kristen stared at him, her face blank.

  Noah gave her a hard, scrutinizing look. “Haven’t you ever hugged anyone?”

  “No, not really...” She lowered her head. “We don’t - my family and I - hug or kiss each other much.”

  Noah remained silent and very, very still for several long moments. He couldn’t imagine a home without hugs. Hugs were a staple at his house. How could a person go through life without receiving any hugs? Maybe Kristen wasn’t mean after all. Maybe her heart was as sick as the little girl’s, only in a different way.

  “Everyone should be entitled to a hug now and then.” Noah stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Kristen and to his surprise, she was trembling. “A hug represents warmth both inside and out. It shows you care about them.”

  “I’m a terrible Mrs. Claus,” Kristen mumbled. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “Yes,” he said, releasing her. “You should. I’m going to talk to the nurses. You need to go back in there and make amends so that poor kid can believe in Christmas.”

  Believe in Christmas? How could she help the little girl believe in Christmas when she herself didn’t believe?

  The three nurses hovered nearby as Kristen made her way back into the little girl’s room. One of them frowned, another wore a wary expression as if she didn’t trust her. Kristen swallowed hard, but she couldn’t seem to get rid of the lump of guilt lodged in her throat. How was all this her fault?

  Noah crooked his finger toward the blond little girl and leaned close as if to tell her a secret. “Mrs. Claus doesn’t know how to hug. Can you show her how?”

  The child grimaced and shook her head no.

  “I’m sorry I pulled away,” Kristen said. “I’d love to learn how to hug.”

  The girl bit her lip and appeared unsure.

  “Please?” Kristen coaxed.

  “It’s safe,” Santa Noah told the girl. “She just hugged me in the hallway.”

  The girl smiled and Kristen couldn’t help notice the child gave ‘Santa’ her complete trust. And with that trust, came a look of peace. The blond reached out her arms once more and this time Kristen didn’t pull away. She even placed her own arms around the sick child, a bit awkward at first, but then as she thought about her own childhood, with more empathy.

  Why didn’t her family ever hug each other like this?

  Kristen and Noah visited several more rooms and ended up in the cafeteria where they were greeted by some of the healthier patients and staff. Everyone seemed so happy to see them. It must have been contagious because Kristen found her own mood lifting to match theirs.

  Noah nudged her arm. “You did good, Mrs. Claus, once you got started.”

  Kristen almost laughed and Noah pointed to her face.

  “Is that a smile? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you enjoyed yourself today.”

  Kristen removed the wire-rimmed glasses and put them into the pocket of her red and white striped apron. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

  “Hugging the kids, or hugging me?”

  This time she did laugh. “The kids, of course. Hugging you was horrible.”

  “So I guess you wouldn’t want me to do it again?”

  “No.”

  Noah looked into her eyes and gasped. “But you’re unsure.”

  “I am not,” Kristen retorted, careful to keep her voice firm.

  “Well, if I’m as horrible as you say, then I guess another hug wouldn’t change anything, would it?”

  Before Kristen could protest, Noah pulled her close. At first she tensed, unable to stop the ingrained impulse to protect herself, to shield herself from vulnerability. But then a peculiar sense of warmth, a sense of peace, enveloped her. And for one moment she let go, relaxed, and closed her eyes.

  “Would it?” he repeated. “Make a difference?”

  “No,” she said, and smiled. “You’re still horrible.”

  The following morning, Noah Goodwell strolled down the office corridor handing out his ever-cheerful round of greetings. Kristen shook her head at his behavior, but today she did it with a lighter heart.

  Noah poked his head into her office. “Ready to visit the school for disabled children, Mrs. Claus?”

  “I’m not Mrs. Claus until I put on that ridiculous white wig,” Kristen said. She looked at her watch. “Until two o’clock I’m still Kristen.”

  “I look forward to your divine transformation, Kristen,” Noah teased. He held up two fingers. “I’ll see you then.”

  Kristen returned to the ideas she had typed into her desktop computer. If she couldn’t come up with a better slogan for the Children’s Center, the account would no doubt go to Noah. She didn’t know why Mr. Vanderbilt didn’t give the account to Noah in the first place. Noah was good with kids. He cared about them. He would have come up with a slogan to fit the Children’s Center’s mission statement on the first try.

  She drummed her fingers on her desk. What kind of slogan would a guy like Noah come up with? Something spontaneous. Something playful. Fun.

  The fact the administrator of the Children’s Center didn’t think her slogan contained any of these elements didn’t sit well. She couldn’t help think it was a reflection of her.

  Of course she wasn’t spontaneous. Spontaneous people were reckless, silly individuals who usually ended up in a heap of trouble. She and her brother were raised to be dignified, by very proper, well-educated, dignified parents.

  Still, Barry Winters comments niggled at her, hurt, like he’d thrown a mocking barb. Did people think she was uptight, straight-laced, and boring? Since when did she care?

  The school for the disabled and mentally impaired welcomed Mr. and Mrs. Claus with open-hearted cheers.

  Noah pulled out a string and two-inch metal ring from the pocket of his Santa suit. “If I drop this ring down the string and it slides to the ground, the person before me doesn’t believe in Christmas. But if the ring hangs on the string like a necklace? What does that mean?”

  The children shouted. “You believe!”

  “Do you believe in Christmas?” Noah asked them.

  “Yes!”

  Noah dropped the ring and it swung back and forth
on the string. “You do believe in Christmas!”

  “How about Mrs. Claus?” one boy asked with a slight slur.

  Noah dropped the ring down the string a second time and this time it fell to the floor. “Oh no! Mrs. Claus doesn’t believe in Christmas.”

  The kids gasped, their eyes wide.

  Noah glanced at Kristen and she shot him a look of resentment. “Kids, how can we turn Mrs. Claus into a believer?”

  “Give her a candy cane!” a red head in a wheelchair shouted.

  “Give her a stocking with her name on it?” asked another.

  “How ‘bout we give her a present,” a young boy suggested. He walked over to Kristen and handed her a very distorted wreath sculpted from bread. The kind kids make from flour, water, and salt, and bake in the oven until rock hard.

  Noah tensed, as he awaited Kristen’s reaction. Don’t blow it. Please don’t hurt these children’s feelings.

  Kristen looked at the gift, said thank you, and with a big smile, she lifted the bread dough wreath to her mouth.

  “You don’t eat it,” the boy shouted, pulling her arm down. “You wear it!”

  “It’s a pin,” Noah told her, and laughed at the confused expression on her face.

  The whole auditorium of kids laughed too.

  Kristen turned the wreath over, discovered the safety pin glued to the back, and blushed a furious crimson bright enough to match her Mrs. Claus dress.

  “You could have warned me,” she hissed under her breath, as she drew near him. “But no, you let me make a fool out of myself. And you laughed.”

  “Of course I laughed,” he countered. “It was funny.”

  “You think everything is funny, don’t you? I bet you haven’t ever had a bad day in your life. Every day is just a big, fun-filled party for you, isn’t it? A colorful, gift-wrapped present!”

  Noah smiled and waved to the crowd, glad that Kristen at least had the decency to keep her voice below the children’s hearing.

  “For your information, I have had a bad day. Several of them. Days when I didn’t know why I survived the car accident and my younger brother didn’t. Days when I questioned if his death was my fault instead of the driver who took us out.”