To Santa With Love

by Janet Dailey

  “Because he was hungry?”

  “No, Choya. Because I came out here to live with you and your son and that totally changed my life in a hundred ways and—and I’m not sure I even know what I’m doing most of the time.”

  He was taken aback and reached out a hand, which she gently pushed away. Choya studied her face. “You’re doing great. I should tell you that more often.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Let me fill in the blanks. Long day. Crabby kid. No one to spell you. I’m sorry, Jacquie. I shouldn’t have left you with him for hours. I got busy—but that’s no excuse.”

  “He was a handful.”

  Choya gave a curt nod. “He can be sometimes. I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

  She heaved a rueful sigh. “I just want to get through Christmas and not yell at anyone or break anything. That’s my goal.”

  “Just don’t break my heart—I’d appreciate that. You’re not going back to Dallas, are you?” He seemed to be speaking only half in jest.

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “Just making sure, babe.” A long look passed between them, filled with feeling neither could express in words. Then he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Jacquie lifted her face to his and he kissed her lips, slowly, breaking it off to take her hand and help her out of her chair. Then he lifted her into his arms. “I can’t stand it another second. To hell with being a gentleman. But I will let you choose. Big bed or twin bed?”

  “You’re too much. Either will do. But I’m sleeping alone.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again, cradled in strong arms that held her as if she weighed nothing.

  They both heard Robbie stir and call fretfully. “Dad,” he said faintly. “Dad? Are you home?”

  Choya set her down with obvious reluctance. “Yes, Robbie. Stay there. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Jacquie smiled wickedly at him. “Your turn.”

  Choya left her to see to his son, then came back into the kitchen to heat up a can of chicken noodle soup and carry the bowl to the living room on a tray.

  Jacquie distracted herself by looking up on-campus living arrangements and class schedules. She created a calendar grid and filled it in, studying it with a frown.

  Choya wasn’t going to like it. Neither did she. She lifted her head when he went by in the hall, his son in his arms, on the way to his real bed. Jacquie didn’t offer to help and Robbie, who was awake, didn’t look at her. She hid a smile, remembering her father getting her to bed when she’d been an uncooperative little girl. She’d mastered the art of going limp and maximizing her slight weight, not to mention plaintive requests for “just one more.” As in one more glass of water, one more hug, one more fairytale—she wondered how her parents had managed to raise her and keep on smiling through it all.

  She heard the sound of a storybook being read aloud from the little boy’s bedroom, and concentrated again on what she was doing. Jacquie hardly heard Choya come back downstairs again and she jumped when he put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Relax. He’s so restless I don’t have a chance in hell of sneaking away. I only got him to stay in bed by telling him he couldn’t ride Apache if he was really sick.”

  “Do you think we should take him to the doctor?”

  Choya gave a dismissive shake of his head. “No. He bounces back from this kind of thing really fast. For some reason, he’s decided to make the most of it this time.”

  “Oh?” she asked, not willing to tell him about Robbie’s misbehavior. “Why is that?”

  “Probably because he has a sympathetic audience. You.”

  Jacquie smiled weakly. “Oh, I can be tough.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. He’s never been spoiled and I don’t want to start now.”

  She gave an acknowledging nod and glanced into her laptop, clicking out of the web pages she’d pulled up one by one. The screen was a blank again. If only her mind was.

  “So what are you up to? If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”

  Jacquie leaned back in her chair. Now or never. She would have to tell him.

  “I’m putting together a tentative schedule for the spring term in Tucson,” she told him.

  “Great. Glad to hear it.”

  “Um—taking the classes I want will mean being in Tucson four days a week. Almost five, actually, if I figure in the driving time.”

  “That’s more than half the week.” He studied her face as she bit her lower lip, worrying it thoughtfully. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

  “No way around it.” She took a deep breath and looked into his concerned eyes. “I was thinking of sharing an apartment with someone in the middle of the week—I really don’t think I could stand a dorm. Otherwise it will be too much driving and I’ll be too tired to study.”

  “I see.” His voice was flat. “Sharing, huh? Anyone particular in mind?”

  Jacquie knew instantly that she had crossed an invisible line.

  “I don’t know anyone in Tucson. I’ll contact campus housing, see if they have any listings for someone looking for a roommate.”

  “So it’s a done deal.”

  “No, not at all. I still haven’t finished my application or the rest of the paperwork—it all has to go in together, though.”

  His expression was controlled and so was his voice. “Why not just move to Tucson and get it over with?”

  “Choya, it’s not like that—”

  The soft sound of footed pajamas reached them at the same time. Choya turned first. “Robbie, get back to bed. And stay there.”

  The little boy looked beseechingly at Jacquie. How much had he heard? He was likely to get the wrong idea, given how abruptly she’d left the first time.

  “Do what your dad says.” She had to back up Choya on that point, even though the look in his son’s eyes made her feel unnecessarily guilty. “Get under the covers. Then I’ll come up and read you another story so you can fall asleep.”

  Choya’s level look moved from Robbie to her for a beat. Then he spoke. “I’d rather you didn’t,” he said crisply.

  She wasn’t going to argue with him. Not in front of Robbie. When the little boy ran back upstairs, Choya leveled a look at her from his superior height. “I know I’m not going to win this one, Jacquie. Do what you have to do. If I stand in the way of you getting an education, you’ll walk out that door and never come back. I want you here.”

  “Gee whiz,” she said sarcastically. “You sound like a man in love.”

  He only shrugged and turned to go to his son. “I’m a realist. That’s all.”

  The kids waiting to see the Christmas play were squirming in their folding chairs or turning around to look at each other. They were shushed by the grown-ups, not very effectively. Jacquie looked around the small church, recognizing a lot of the people she’d met in town over the last several weeks. The old frame church was drafty. The audience members held the program in gloved and mittened hands, not bothering to look at it.

  It didn’t matter, Jacquie told herself. It wasn’t like the Christmas story changed from year to year, even if the young actors did. She had tucked an extra program into her pocket for Sam, who’d decided to stay home but insisted on knowing who this year’s players were.

  A home-sewn curtain with an uneven hem had been rigged over the raised altar, where the nativity tableau would be set, its two halves held in place with a clothespin. Now and then, the curtain bumped out as an adult or child crossed from one side to the other, getting ready for the annual show.

  The lady from the feed store was two rows back, with a couple of younger children that Jacquie guessed were nieces and nephews, probably Ashley’s siblings. Floyd Simmons, the barber, was only a few seats away, and she saw Robbie lean forward to wave at him. The boy was sitting on the other side of Choya, almost concealed by his dad’s brawn. Jacquie had to wonder if he was keeping away from her deliberately, then told herself not to read anything int
o what was either chance or an innocent choice. But Robbie didn’t look her way very often and when he did, his expression was guarded. She missed the little boy’s openhearted happiness.

  It wasn’t what he had happened to overhear—which really wasn’t anything much—but how he interpreted it that worried her. Jacquie looked at Choya’s impassive profile and wished she could know his thoughts. As though he sensed her gaze on him, he turned and looked into her eyes, pinning her with that golden gaze she still could not read very well.

  Jacquie smiled reflexively, and sat back. Two rows in front, the salesclerk from the souvenir store recognized her and raised a hand, waggling gloved fingers in a hello. Jacquie only waved back, glad the woman was far enough away to keep them from engaging in a discussion of the gingerbread house.

  An older man parted the curtain and stepped in front of it, while an unseen hand dimmed the overhead lights.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Deacon Knowles, and I’d like to thank you all for coming out tonight. Hope you’re ready for the pageant. I know these youngsters behind the curtain are eager to get on with it.”

  The sounds of scuffling and giggling reached the waiting audience. Two boys in shepherd garb came out from the sides and pulled the curtains open, revealing a roughhewn manger filled with hay, covered by a sheltering roof made of ocotillo branches. Slowly the players in the pageant filed out from left and right, trying hard not to look out at the audience without always succeeding.

  Cameras flashed and some proud parents held up small video recorders as more shepherds appeared, dressed in burlap tied with rope over their jeans and sneakers. Then came three Wise Men, who were no more than five or six years old, in brocade robes and improvised turbans. The Bethlehem villagers were made up of the remaining kids, younger still, who bumped into each other now and then.

  The ragtag group was joined by Joseph, a sturdy thirdgrader, who led Nelly by a rope. The ewe seemed to know exactly what was expected of her and took her place by the manger and stood there, greeted by name by her loyal fans. Old Nelly took her chance to get into the hay and chewed a piece calmly as little Mary entered, clad in blue, solemnly smiling as the deacon narrated the Christmas story. The children played their parts and remembered their brief lines without a hitch or stumble. The brief pageant concluded with the appearance of a star high in the painted sky—it was a camping lantern, by Jacquie’s guess—and a carol sung in high, sweet voices.

  There was a burst of heartfelt applause, and the audience gathered in the foyer for cocoa and cookies.

  “Weren’t they darling?” the souvenir shop clerk asked Jacquie. “I come every year. It just doesn’t seem like Christmas until this happens. This is your first time, isn’t it?”

  Jacquie agreed with a nod. “Yes, it is. The kids were wonderful.” She looked around for Choya and Robbie. The rugged rancher was chatting with another older woman, gray-haired and friendly-looking, who glanced toward Jacquie with eager interest.

  She smiled in their general direction, hoping to catch Robbie’s eye. The boy kept his gaze firmly fixed on the woman who was talking to his father, to Jacquie’s dismay.

  There wasn’t anything she could do about it, she reasoned, only half-listening to the clerk’s chatter. “Yes, it was easy,” she responded to a question about the gingerbread house, still looking at the two Barnetts.

  She felt . . . closed out.

  “I’m glad to hear that. You have a happy holiday now.” The clerk moved on to someone else, a friend, perhaps.

  Jacquie had no way of knowing. She walked over to Choya, who put his arm around her shoulders and introduced her to the woman he’d been talking to, a family friend. Robbie let go of his father’s hand and moved away through the small crowd. Jacquie shrugged off Choya’s embrace to look in the direction the boy had gone, worried about him.

  Choya seemed to understand. “He just wants to talk to his friends,” he reassured her. The little shepherds were gathering around the sheep, who’d been led away by the teenaged Ashley and was now standing just outside the church.

  Jacquie turned her head, smiling at the woman, whose name she didn’t catch. She forced herself to relax in Choya’s casual embrace, fighting her uneasiness.

  On the way home, Robbie took the back seat, resting his head against the side of the car by the window.

  “Sleepy, son?” Choya asked.

  “No. I was just looking at the stars.”

  There seemed to be thousands, twinkling sharply in the cold night air. Jacquie glanced up at them. “I never saw so many,” she said softly.

  “They’re always there,” Choya replied.

  “Not in Dallas,” she said in a teasing voice.

  Robbie hummed the carol the children had sung, and the familiar melody made Jacquie feel a little sad. Then he stopped. “Dad—is that the Star of Bethlehem?”

  “No,” Choya replied. “That star appeared a long, long time ago. Hasn’t been seen since.”

  “That could be it,” Robbie insisted. “It sure is a big one.”

  “True enough,” was his father’s indulgent answer.

  “Well, if it’s only a regular star, then I can make a wish on it,” Robbie reasoned.

  “You go right ahead.”

  Jacquie didn’t interrupt, amused by the discussion. The little boy made his wish in silence and neither she nor Choya questioned him as to what he had wished for.

  The house was quiet when they went in, with no sign of Sam.

  “Gramps must be in bed,” Robbie said in a low voice.

  “Which is where you’re headed,” Choya reminded him. “Go get ready. Then you can come down and I’ll read to you.”

  The little boy didn’t look at Jacquie as he requested his story to be read in his bedroom. It wasn’t her imagination. He was keeping away from her. She couldn’t bring herself to ask him why and she didn’t want to ask Choya later.

  Let it go, she told herself. The holidays were stressful for everyone and it was common sense to expect a sensitive boy like Robbie to react accordingly. She wandered around the lower floor of the house when Choya went upstairs, hearing his voice, faint but deep, from above. It seemed to her when the story was done that Choya was answering questions from Robbie and the last thing she wanted to do was listen in.

  She went into the living room and switched on the tree lights. The candy-laden gingerbread house on the mantel sparkled in their glow. She saw cracks in the hard frosting. It didn’t matter. The box inside would keep it together a while longer. She had a feeling Robbie would fight the house’s inevitable demolition—or offer to do it himself, by eating it, stale frosting and all.

  Jacquie sighed and headed for the sofa to curl up and try to relax. Hugging a pillow to her chest to keep warm and to stave off a growing feeling of loneliness, she couldn’t help but remember what Christmas was like at her parents’ house in Dallas—they’d always invited their friends and relatives, even the most distant, serving punch and eggnog, and slicing an enormous Christmas ham into sandwiches for all comers. Her mother made cakes and pie and frosted cookies. No one went hungry.

  The stairs creaked as Choya came downstairs again.

  “In here,” she called.

  “Sorry that took so long. I seem to be popular with him again.”

  “Yes. I guess you noticed he’s barely talking to me,” she said as his long strides brought him into the room.

  “I hadn’t noticed that. Why, did he misbehave?”

  “Only a little,” she quickly covered. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  Choya shot her a curious look from where he’d stopped, then shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about it,” he said. “Let him sulk.”

  Jacquie nodded, not feeling like she had any choice. Choya’s gaze moved to the tree as though he was checking it for burned-out lights—there weren’t any—then to her. “Not too cheerful in here. Want me to build a fire?” he asked.

  “No,” she replied. “I don’t want to stay
up late. Christmas Eve is tomorrow. I can’t think of what I should be doing, but I feel like I should be doing something.”

  He came to sit by her, stretching out an arm along the back of the sofa cushions until his fingertips grazed her folded elbow. She didn’t make a move toward him, just rested her head on her upper arm and looked at him wistfully.

  “The freezer and fridge are stocked,” he reminded her. “You don’t have to do a thing.”

  “My mother always went all out and cooked like crazy and invited a hundred people—okay, not that many. I guess I should be glad I don’t have to, right?”

  He studied her for a long moment. “If you want to throw a party, I’m game. Can’t think of anyone to invite, though.”

  “Never mind. It’s just that it’s my first Christmas away from home. I’m being a big baby, aren’t I?”

  “I couldn’t say,” he answered thoughtfully, “not having ever spent a Christmas away from the ranch. I don’t know what it would feel like. But judging by the look in your eyes—oh, come here,” he said. “Be my baby.”

  She shook her head and he gave her a sideways look, then dropped the subject. They chatted, but his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. The warmth and magic of the show at the church seemed to have vanished on the ride home. And it bothered her.

  She told herself not to succumb to self-pity. The Barnetts had their own quiet way of celebrating, that was all. And it wasn’t as if Maureen and Cameron Grey were going to any trouble this year. They’d escaped, figuring that the Galveston branch of the family could throw a party this Christmas. If there was one. Jacquie had spoken briefly to both of her parents that afternoon—they’d been walking on the beach barefoot and watching seagulls fly. That seemed even odder to her than being here in the rugged high desert, where Christmas trees had to be imported.

  “Did you like the pageant?” he asked.

  “Oh—yes, I really did,” she answered, startled out of her reverie. “The kids were so cute.” She hesitated. “There was something I wanted to ask you, though. Why doesn’t Robbie participate?”