by Susan Wiggs
“Your point being?” asked India, framing a shot of the glittering pillars of the Avalon Free Library.
“Look, I really like your brother—I think you knew I would. But being with him...it’s got disaster written all over it.”
“You guys are great together. I’m not seeing how that’s crazy.”
“He’s a single dad—like Huntley. He wants more kids—like Huntley. It’s crazy of me to think going down that road again will lead to anywhere but disaster.”
“It’s not the same. Huntley is a tool,” she said simply. “Logan isn’t.”
“Why does it not make me feel better to know I was married to a tool? I think I was right to swear off any kind of relationship. I’m simply not any good at it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is not like you, Darce. You don’t shy away from things just because they might be difficult.”
“I do now.” She wondered if she would ever get over the searing pain of betrayal, the sense of loss.
“Look, if you refuse to let yourself go with a guy—a good guy, like my brother—then guess what you’re doing?”
“Protecting myself. India, I’m doing the best I can.”
“But if you hold back, then you’re letting Huntley win. You’re letting him walk away with everything he got in the divorce, and he’s taking the most vital part of you. He’s taking your heart, your soul, your sense of joy and optimism, your belief in love. So ask yourself—do you really want to give him that? Do you really want to surrender and give up on things that used to be so important to you?”
“Jeez, when you put it that way...”
“Don’t let him win this one. Don’t let him spoil something special.”
This, thought Darcy, was what a best friend was for. She told you the truth, even when you didn’t want to hear it.
“You know what?” said Darcy. “It’s Christmas. I love Christmas. I’m going to enjoy every minute of it, and then I’m going back to the city and to the real world and...”
“And what?”
“And everything will be as it should be,” she concluded.
“It’s coming,” piped Bernie. “The Christmas parade is coming.”
A small parade moved down the road. It was headed by a group of carolers—the Heart of the Mountains Church choir, followed by a few community groups and of course, Santa Claus, bringing up the rear.
The short processional was over soon enough. They all walked together to the Heart of the Mountains Church, where they were parked.
It was a cute little traditional church with a brilliantly lit steeple, its slender silhouette looking perfect against the purple sky. In the snowy yard was an elaborate manger scene illuminated by floodlights, and a sign that read O Come All Ye Faithful.
“It’s beautiful,” India said to Logan, taking more pictures. “The whole day was beautiful—skiing and lunch and Santa. You are one hundred percent forgiven for talking us out of going to Florida.”
Darcy was drawn to the PAWS contingent—the town’s animal rescue league. Volunteers walked with rescue dogs wearing little jackets with the phrase Rescue Me on the side. Some of the volunteers were passing out brochures about pet adoptions.
“Oh my gosh, I wish I could take one home,” Darcy said, watching a beagle bounding through the snow.
“That can be arranged.” Logan came to stand next to her. “I have it on good authority that Santa loves giving away puppies at Christmas.”
“My building doesn’t allow dogs.”
“Maybe you’re living in the wrong building, then.”
Why did everything he said have a double meaning? It seemed that way to Darcy. “I love my building,” she said. “I was on a waiting list forever to live there. It has everything I need.”
As the parade disassembled, Santa climbed down from his throne in the back of a fire department utility truck.
Logan gave him a wave. “That’s my buddy Adam, behind the beard.”
“Aha. So he’s telling you what the kids asked for.”
“Yep.”
“Sneaky.”
“Can I tell you a secret?”
Yes. Tell me everything. “Sure,” she said.
“Charlie and André wouldn’t tell Santa their Christmas wishes. They wrote letters instead.”
“Uh-oh. So, what’s your best guess?”
“Bad news—I think he wants a dog. He had a dog named Blake, but she was old and passed away.”
She gave a low whistle. “That’s a tough one.”
He nodded. “Not the best timing for me. And of course, when Charlie’s with his mom, the dog is all my responsibility.”
“So what are you going to do?” she asked.
“I hope he wants something else. I’m considering my options. Like giving him a toy dog. Or making a donation in his name to the animal shelter.”
“Dude.”
“What?”
“Do you know how lame that sounds? A dog is a dog. Not a toy. Not a donation.” She indicated the noisy mess in the parking lot as the PAWS volunteers loaded up the animals to take back to the shelter.
He nodded. “I know you’re right. Maybe in the summer, then.”
“Does Santa give rain checks for summer?”
He laughed. “You’re harsh.”
“Being the youngest of five, I learned to play hardball at Christmas at an early age.”
“I’ve got a week to figure this out.”
She wondered if she should tell him about the Santa trap. Charlie and André were right on the cusp of disbelief. One wrong move, and the myth would be busted.
“Good news,” Adam reported, now in his street clothes. “I pried the truth out of Charlie—his Christmas wish. I got him to sing like a canary.”
“Yeah?” Logan grinned. “Good work. So, what am I in for?”
“A new snowboard. The kind with flames painted on the bottom. Boots, too.”
“Excellent. Much easier than a live animal. I can make that happen.”
Darcy felt a twinge of suspicion. That was just too easy. She thought about the conversation she’d overheard between the boys. “What about André?”
Adam shook his head. “That kid’s tough as a Kevlar vest. He wouldn’t talk. You’ll have to figure it out another way.”
“Okay,” said Logan. “I’m on it.”
Adam clapped him on the shoulder. “See you around, buddy. And Darcy.”
After he’d gone, Darcy pondered about whether or not to disclose her suspicions. Not now, she decided. “Can I tell you a secret?” she asked.
“What’s that?”
“I still believe in Santa Claus.”
“You probably just like sitting in guys’ laps.”
“Depends on the guy. Depends on the lap. And how do you know what I like? You don’t even know me.”
“Then maybe we should work on that some more.” He lowered his voice and leaned down toward her. “I know you like kissing me.”
“You do, do you?” Kiss me now, she thought crazily. Kiss me now.
“Yeah, so—sorry, I need to...” He didn’t finish, but sprinted across the road toward a tall pile of packed snow. Charlie, André and some other kids were playing on a Bobcat snow mover, which looked like a toy version of a snowplow. The equipment was clearly marked “keep off,” but the kids were either blind to that or just ignoring it.
“Hey,” Logan called. “Get down off that Bobcat.”
“It’s cool, Dad,” said Charlie. “Check it out.”
André was working the levers and making motor sounds with his mouth.
“Damn it, Charlie. It’s a week before Christmas. Shouldn’t you be on your best behavior?”
“What if that is his best behavior?” asked Darcy, coming up behind them. She couldn’t decide whether she was grateful for the interruption of her moment with Logan or frustrated.
“Then I’ve got my work cut out for me,” he said.
* * *
“You didn’t tell a
nybody, did you?” Back on Saddle Mountain the next day, Charlie and André were making a snow fort.
“Only Santa Claus,” said André. “And only in the letter I wrote. A real letter, not an email. You?”
“Same.”
“Yeah, but I saw you talking to Santa today. You must have said something,” André accused.
“I did. The guy in the Santa hut is my dad’s friend Adam. They think I don’t know that, but I do. I had to say something because they expect it. So I said I wanted a snowboard, even though that’s not what I really want.”
“Cool.”
“Cool.”
They had a stare-down. “So, are we gonna tell each other?”
“Better not.”
“Okay.” The snow was perfect for packing, just sticky enough but not too heavy. “Hey, I think my dad’s going to have a girlfriend,” he said. “I think it’s gonna be Darcy.” He’d already gone over this in his mind. Now he wanted to tell somebody, and André was the perfect choice. A best friend.
“She’s cool.”
“Yeah. Does your mom have a boyfriend?”
André added another chunk of snow to the wall. “Nope. Sometimes my dad used to come around, but... He’s not very nice to her.”
“That blows.”
“Yeah.”
Charlie felt bad for André. Charlie himself had a dad and a stepdad and they were both awesome. He looked over at André and frowned. “Wait a second. We can tell each other our Santa wishes. We can take the best-friend oath, and then we can tell each other.”
André hesitated, staring down at the snow-covered ground. Then he said, “Okay, but the oath is unbreakable, right?”
Charlie thought about things that broke. Bicycle chains. Thin ice. Christmas bulbs. His parents’ marriage. Promises. Sometimes it seemed as if everything was breakable.
Not a friendship, though. Not when you were best friends.
“Right,” he said. “Let’s go inside the fort to make sure nobody hears.”
They crawled through the opening and settled into the icy darkness. Charlie pulled out his flashlight and stuck it in the middle with the beam shining up, lending an eerie bluish glow to the interior of the fort. It felt as if they were the only two kids in the world.
“Okay, do we solemnly swear to keep everything we say and hear a total secret? Forever?”
“I do.”
“Me, too.”
“A dog,” said Charlie. “That’s what I want for Christmas. A dog.”
André’s eyes lit up and a grin broke across his face. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh man. That is so rad.”
“I know. I used to have a dog named Blake. She died, and I thought I wanted to die, too. I miss her so much. I never believed I would ever be happy again. But then I saw this kid playing with a black Lab, and I started thinking it might be time to get another dog. See, there are other dogs that need me, other dogs that can be my dog. This is the biggest thing I’ve ever wished for.”
“It’s big,” André admitted. “Really big. What kind of dog?”
“Pretty much any kind, so long as it’s friendly and wants to play and likes to sleep with me at night. I don’t want to be too picky.”
Charlie’s heart sped up when he pictured himself with a dog. Playing and feeding, lying around, taking walks, games of fetch. With a dog of his own, he would never be lonely.
“I’ve been asking and asking,” he said. “My mom and stepdad said no after Blake died, on account of we’re moving overseas and we move a lot. And my dad said no because he’s always busy working and I’m not home enough. Yeah, right. I know deep down in my heart it would be awesome. It would be a dream come true.”
“That’s totally cool, Charlie. So you think Santa’ll actually bring you a dog?”
“If he’s real, he has to, right?”
“Yep.” They rolled snowball after snowball, and more walls went up. It was awesome, having a best friend, thought Charlie. You could talk, or just be quiet and work side by side. You could tell each other stuff. They finished the shelter, and it was like a dark cave inside, cold and small, a real fort to keep them safe in case of enemy attack.
“What about you?” Charlie asked. “What did you ask for?”
André’s smile sank into a line of seriousness. “Remember the promise.”
“I remember. I could never forget.”
“Good. Because the dog is the biggest thing you ever asked Santa for. My wish is the most serious thing I ever asked Santa for.”
Charlie tried to imagine what kind of serious thing André was talking about.
“You know how we had to come stay with your dad because my mom went away for work?”
“Yep. That’s tough. I miss my mom when I’m away from her.”
“Yeah, but you have your dad. It’s different. I don’t have my dad. And I wouldn’t want him. He’s mean and he does bad stuff. So it’s nice how your dad is letting us come here. But my wish is about my mom.”
“You can’t ask Santa to bring your mom for Christmas. It doesn’t work that way.”
“I know. That’s not what I asked.”
“Then what?”
André drew his knees up to his chest and stared at the flashlight beam. “My mom didn’t go away for work,” he said in a very quiet voice.
“Then where did she go?” Charlie felt clueless, but he could tell André was building up to something big. Like last summer at Camp Kioga, in the cabin when Leroy Stumpf admitted he was scared of the dark.
Only this was bigger. Charlie could tell.
“She’s in jail.”
Charlie frowned. “Nuh-uh. You’re lying.”
“I wish I was.”
“Why is she in jail?”
“She got in trouble. My dad was doing something bad, and they both got caught. The judge sent her to a place called Bedford Hills Women’s Correctional Facility.” André repeated the big words as though he’d memorized them. “She has to stay there until February. It’s a jail. Prison. I looked it up online at the library. Angelica doesn’t know. No one is supposed to know. But I snooped. I heard her crying at night and I heard her talking on the phone, and I figured it out.”
“Oh man. That’s bad, André. That’s really bad.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Sure you do. And I know it, too.”
“I just wish my mom will be okay on Christmas. That’s all I wish.” André’s voice broke then, and he screwed up his face as though he was trying not to cry, and then he just let go and he cried hard, shaking all over.
“It’s okay, buddy,” said Charlie, patting him on the shoulder the way his dad sometimes did when Charlie was sad. “Maybe it sucks now, but it’s going to be okay.” The news made his stomach hurt. He wondered if he should send Santa another letter—Forget the dog. I want the same thing André wants.
“Do you think Santa will grant my wish?” André asked, dragging a mittened hand across his face.
“If he doesn’t, then there really is no Santa.”
“But he’s really real, right?”
“He’s real. So all we gotta do now is not screw up, and we’ll get our Christmas wishes.”
“Okay, let’s make a pact. We have to be good. We have to not screw up.”
“So, are we still going to stay up all night on Christmas Eve and wait for Santa?”
“Sure.”
“What if he doesn’t come?”
Charlie punched a window into the wall of snow. “Then we’ll know.”
Chapter Sixteen
On Christmas Eve, Logan was in his office in town, brooding over the resort accounts. The office was adjacent to the local radio station, and through the wall he could hear the relentlessly cheerful voice of the DJ, Eddie Haven, talking about the town festivities, which would culminate in the Christmas morning pageant at Heart of the Mountains Church.
Logan wished he could scrub the worries out of his brain.
He had always been good at numbers. He had always been good at business. That was why the current situation was so frustrating. A looming loan payment and a year-end tax filing weighted the balance sheet heavily into the red. Despite taking a surgeon’s scalpel to the budget, he wasn’t able to stop the bleeding, not completely.
He glared at the screen and brooded some more, until his eyes glazed over.
The front door opened and shut. His father came in, looking around the small space, the shelves crammed with files and work product.
“So this is where it all happens,” said Al.
Logan pushed back from his computer screen, which displayed a spreadsheet with its depressing numbers. “Not exactly O’Donnell Industries,” he said.
“How’s it going?” asked his father.
There was a world of meaning in the question. What his father really wanted to know was whether or not Logan’s crazy enterprise was panning out. Was he making money or losing his shirt?
“I know that look,” said Al. “I realize you think I spent your entire boyhood with my nose in a business ledger, but believe it or not, I knew where you were, every minute. Still do.”
Logan was startled. “If that’s the case, then why did you just stand by and watch me go off the rails?”
“I didn’t stand by, and you didn’t go off the rails. The things that happened, yeah, some of it was hard, but I watched you turn yourself into a man, same as you’re doing for Charlie. A person can get crippled if he doesn’t figure things out on his own.”
Logan thought about all the dumb mistakes he’d made, the way he’d bumbled through the rough years. But looking back, he realized that despite the trouble and the hurt he’d endured, he wouldn’t change a thing. “Tough love?” he asked.
“That’s what I’ve heard it called. Then again, there’s no shame in asking for help. Sometimes,” said his father, “all you have to do is ask.”
* * *
“It’s Christmas Eve.” Darcy came bustling into the office. Her cheeks were bright from the cold, and she looked amazing, outfitted for skating on the lake. “You can’t sit here laboring over the books like Bob Marley.”
He grinned and pushed back from his desk. She was like a breath of fresh air, especially in the wake of his surprising conversation with his father. “Don’t you mean Jacob Marley?”