by Nancy Naigle
“Naw.” Seth pulled on his protective gear and helmet and then did a flying leap onto the seat of his blue four-wheeler and revved it up.
Mac started his ATV and then strapped on his helmet. Locking eyes with Seth, he then patted the top of his helmet with a flat palm twice.
Seth responded with the same gesture followed by a thumbs-up.
That signal was their checkpoint, signifying they were buckled up and ready to go.
Mac twisted the throttle and led the way to the back entrance of the old golf course. They’d worn a path through the property, and this time of year everything was dying off, giving them a pretty smooth ride.
The gate wasn’t locked, but the chain draped between the two poles kept most people out. Mac got off of his four-wheeler, unwrapped the chain, and pushed the left poll gate until it caught on a clump of dried broom straw.
Mac waved Seth through, then hopped back on his ride and caught up to him.
As usual, Seth headed left at the fork. His favorite spot was in the old sand trap off what use to be hole seven when Mac played golf here with his dad. Mac puttered around in circles while Seth hot-dogged his ATV, doing doughnuts in the sand and sending rooster tails into the air.
The cool thing about driving four-wheelers was that no matter if it was hot, cold, wet, dry, or snowy, they always had a good time. No two rides were the same.
The alarm on Mac’s phone vibrated in his pocket.
He waved his arms above his head, their signal for time to go in. Seth wheeled his ATV into one last circle, then headed back toward the gate.
Seth pulled through and waited for Mac to catch up and close the gate.
Mac gave Seth the nod to lead the way back home.
They were pulling back up to the house when Haley came walking over, carrying a covered dish.
The newlywed lived in Norfolk, Virginia, now, but was staying with her parents over the holidays since her husband had shipped out. She’d confided in Mac that she wasn’t sure which was harder, being a military wife away from her husband or staying with her parents.
And so it began that Haley had offered to watch Seth on the three days Mac worked his holiday part-time job. She wasn’t so miserable when she spent time with Seth, and to Seth it wasn’t like being with a babysitter. A win-win for everyone, two nights a week and on Saturdays.
“Looks like you two have been having some big fun again,” she said.
Seth pulled off his helmet and hung it over the handlebar. “It was awesome.”
Mac pushed his ATV into the garage and then helped Seth park his.
“I made some cookies.” Turning to Seth, Haley said, “I thought maybe the two of us could decorate them together tonight.”
Seth slapped his hands against his jeans, sending up a puff of dust. “Do we get to eat some, too?”
“Well, of course we do,” she said. “What’s the fun of decorating Christmas cookies if we don’t eat any?”
“What’s the fun of Christmas at all?” Seth said.
“You can’t be serious.” Haley put the cookies on the workbench, and she pulled her hands to her hips. “Who doesn’t love Christmas? Except the Grinch. Or Scrooge?”
Seth shrugged. “How about we just decorate them so they taste good?”
Haley gave him a suspicious glance. “Tell you what. You can decorate yours however you want. I’m making mine with a Christmas theme, Mr. Scrooge.”
Seth raised his hand and gave her a high five. “Cool by me.”
“Save me a Christmas cookie. I’m particularly fond of red and green.” Mac wished he could make a good excuse for Seth’s behavior, but Haley knew the story. Mac loved Christmas, and all he could do was hope that one of these days he’d find a way to renew that spirit in Seth.
“He’ll come around,” Haley said with a wink.
“I better go get changed or I’m going to be late. Thanks for coming over to hang out with Seth again tonight.”
“Go on. I’ve got this.” Haley gathered her things and headed inside with Seth right behind her.
When Mac came back downstairs, Haley and Seth were having an easy conversation in the kitchen. “I’m headed out. Shoot me a text if you need anything on my way back.”
“We’ll be fine,” Haley assured him.
Anyone who could handle his angsty twelve-year-old got big points. And he liked that she didn’t knuckle under to Seth’s moods. Was he crazy to hope that by the time he got home, Seth would be decorating holiday-shaped cookies in red and green?
* * *
Mac drove over to Santa’s Village. Eleven months out of the year it was the 4-H campground, but every December for the last thirteen years this place transformed into a snowy miniature town spreading holiday cheer. It was easy for Mac to remember when it all started because that was the year Genna had been pregnant with Seth.
He’d taken the job as a part-time Santa Claus to earn a little extra money to splurge on something special for his new family. He’d been so excited to become a father.
Santa’s Village had been a roaring success, raising lots of money for the town to help its residents in need. The town was even able to set up a scholarship fund. Each year they reinvested a little more money into the event, and now Santa’s Village sparkled so bright in both lights and opportunity that the real North Pole would have trouble competing.
Mac was honored to be a part of the team, doing his part as Santa every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday since they’d started the tradition.
It took the local Ruritan Club, and every extra hand they could harness, over two weeks to prepare the site and turn the old barn and equestrian center into a magical place. Over the years they’d perfected putting up the lights and setting up the Hollywood-set fronts that transformed the place. This year they’d added a snow machine.
Okay, so it wasn’t real snow, but bubbles that blew from the hay doors at the top of the barn. They looked just like snow as they drifted down, landing in the mounds of faux snow piled up on the sides of the toy shop next to the barn.
Working here made him feel like a kid again.
A few years ago a major department store had gone out of business and the town had purchased a cast of electronic elves at the auction. Those pointy-eared robotic elves hammered and sawed for hours on end. Kids lined up in front of the long window of the toy shop, watching in awe.
Mac parked his truck behind the tree lot so he could keep a low profile as he headed to his dressing room. He was the best-kept secret at Santa’s Village. Sure, a few adults knew it was him beneath the red suit and high-quality beard, but none of his students, or even Seth, knew that he was Santa.
The smell of pine hit him as soon as he got out of his truck. There wasn’t a candle or spray that could replace the scent of a real Christmas tree. He weaved through the cut trees, checking out the stock and eyeing the largest ones. Brightly colored tassels indicated the price of each tree. It didn’t matter though. He wanted the biggest one that would fit in his house, no matter what the price.
“Hey, Mac. Need help picking out your tree tonight?” A man wearing a red flannel shirt waved in his direction.
Mac walked over and shook the man’s hand. “No. Too early for us. We’ll do that next weekend. Always two Sundays before Christmas. Tradition. You know I want the biggest one you’ve got.”
“I’ve got just the one. See y’all next weekend.” Just then a couple with four children in tow grabbed the guy’s attention to buy a small four-foot tree.
Mac slipped through the back gate and turned to the left, where a row of buildings, really big wooden sheds on skids, had been lined up like Main Street at the North Pole.
Candy-striped poles held directional signs to all the main hot spots. Some were paid vendors, but the most popular place on the street aside from Santa was Mocha Zone, manned by the local Scout troops. They sold fresh cookies and served complimentary hot chocolate with marshmallows. It was their biggest fundraiser of the year. Even though the ho
t chocolate was free, the tip box yielded more money each year than they’d ever earned when they’d charged for it.
Another building specialized in wrapping the gifts people bought from the other shops. The last couple of nights they were open that place would be lined up halfway down the street with men doing their last-minute shopping.
He glanced over at his station—Santa’s Snow Castle.
A line was already forming.
Mac dipped into an alley between Santa’s Toy Shop and the reindeer barn. They only had three deer, but no one seemed to care, or even bother to ask about the rest of them. An empty stall held a sign on an artist’s easel that said Rudolph had returned to the island of misfit toys to visit friends before the big trip. It still tickled him.
Mac took a quick look around to be sure no one was watching, then turned left into the locker room to change into his Santa suit.
When he stepped back outside, he was in character. Santa to the core.
Tonight the air was warm, and all the padding it took to make him look like the big, jolly guy would make for a long couple of hours. He hoped the weather would cool soon like the forecast promised, because cooler temperatures put everyone in the holiday spirit.
He walked outside and headed for his post. Rebecca, a tall blonde dressed as an elf, stood next to the red velvet ropes lining the walkway to Santa’s chair. In candy cane–striped stockings, and a green-and-white dress with bells that jingled when she walked, her costume wasn’t a typical Santa’s helper costume, but her exuberant smile and easy way with the kids had made her a favorite, which is why this was her third year in a row working at Santa’s Snow Castle.
Rebecca had taken the job as head elf to a whole new level.
By the time Mac was coming in the back door of Santa’s Snow Castle, Rebecca had already texted him the list of the first five kids’ names along with tidbits mentioned by their parents.
One of the kids must have spotted him, because a cheer began to rise from the crowd. It wasn’t easy to sneak around in a red suit and white beard. Mac placed his hands on his padded belly and leaned back, treating them to his best ho-ho-ho.
The kids cheered, and parents grinned like they were reliving their own childhood dreams all over again.
Mac had a feeling this was how a rock star felt on a full venue night. Sort of.
He waved as he took his spot on the oversized throne-like chair. The back towered a good two feet above his head, while dramatic arches on each side of him created a whimsical backdrop for pictures. He tucked his phone into a secret pocket, so he could get messages from his head elf throughout the night without anyone noticing.
The first child in line, a towheaded boy who looked to be about five, was bouncing around like an overanxious offensive lineman. At least there’d be no penalty for it here. Mac watched the little boy’s mother whisper something to him before she let go of his hand. He chuckled, knowing from the look on the young woman’s face that she’d told him to calm down and walk, because when he jettisoned toward Mac his mom shrugged and huffed out a long breath.
But Mac didn’t mind one bit. He spread his arms and braced himself for the impact.
Ooopmh. That little guy was a solid hit, definitely some football in that kid’s future. Mac swept him up and onto his lap in one motion. “How are you, Dylan?”
The little boy swallowed a big gulp of air. “Santa! You remember me. I knew you would. I was so good this year. So much better than last year. Good all the time. Good. Good. Good.”
“I thought you were on the nice list. What is it you want from Santa this year?”
Little Dylan eyed him, then tugged on the beard.
Mac intercepted the assault, thankful that sticky glue worked so well, then belted out a hearty, “Ouch!”
Dylan looked nervous. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pulled your beard.”
“I accept your apology.”
Dylan blew out a loud sigh, and then the floodgates opened. Dylan started rattling off a list that would have made a toy company CEO shiver in excitement over the profit potential. The capacity a child had for Christmas wishes and wants boggled Mac’s mind. At an age kids still struggled to remember all the ABCs, they could run down every toy that had been advertised over the last thirty days.
He listened intently.
“And the remote control car you got me last year broke when Dad tried to use it so I think some of the elves might have made a mistake on it. Could I have a better one this year?”
“Thank you for letting me know. I’ll have to see if we have any more of the super duty dad-proof remote control vehicles. Sounds like that’s what you need this year. What’s your favorite color?”
“Red. Really fast red.”
“Okay. I think we just made some of those.” Mac’s dad had been one of those kind of dads, too. The kind that always broke one of his toys on Christmas Day, usually before he’d even had a chance to play with it himself. Always such a bummer. His dad had been a big kid until the day he died ten years ago. Even breaking a few of Seth’s toys over the years. Mac came by his love of Christmas from him.
Little Dylan was still rolling. “Mom and Dad make good cookies. We’ll leave some for you so you won’t be hungry going to everybody’s house.”
“Thank you. And my reindeer get hungry, too. Do you think you could leave a carrot for them?”
“I’m not sure.” Dylan held his finger to his pursed lips. “How about an apple?”
“I think that would be fine. Merry Christmas, Dylan.”
And no sooner had Dylan cleared the steps than a set of twins marched toward him in matching red dresses with lacy collars and black patent leather shoes. He was pretty sure the one on the left already had a blister from those new shoes by the way she was walking.
“Merry Christmas. Have you been good this year?”
Both heads nodded. He glanced at the phone positioned above their heads. Rebecca rocked the Intel. “Lisa,” he said nodding to his left. “And Lori. Do you both want the same things for Christmas?”
“Yes!”
“Well, that will make it double fun. What would you like this year?”
The line of children went on for two hours straight, but even though Mac was tired, sweaty, and missing his son, he really didn’t mind. This time of year was magic to him, and these moments refilled his well. Enough to last all year long.
Chapter Four
Sydney and RayAnne stopped and ate dinner, then drove over to Santa’s Village. Peppermint-striped candy canes and crystal-blue snowflakes glowed from every row marker in the parking lot. Families walked hand in hand, weaving their way toward the busy entrance.
Sydney was reminded again how different Hopewell was from Atlanta. People seemed quite willing to patiently wait for parents to load up their children and strap them into car seats to get a good parking spot. A young mother chased after her son who had already broken free from her twice. She finally swung him up on her hip even though he was over half her height. He wriggled in her arms as they passed a tree decorated in chasing lights and moved toward a minivan.
Sydney remembered those days when RayAnne seemed capable of out-Houdini-ing her in less time than it took Sydney to blink.
RayAnne rose up in her seat. “I didn’t think there were this many cars in the whole town of Hopewell!”
“Must be a pretty popular place.” Sydney cruised down three aisles before finally finding an open parking spot.
“It looks pretty cool.” RayAnne pressed her hands against the window. “Like the North Pole. Look, Mom. It’s like a town.”
“Bea said it was worth the trip. Looks like everybody is here.”
“Hope I don’t see anyone from school,” RayAnne said as she got out of the car. “They’d think I’m such a dork. I’d never hear the end of it.”
RayAnne swung between child and diva at the speed of a cheetah these days. “Well, if you do, that means they were here too. Right? So how could they really say an
ything?”
RayAnne perked up. “Yeah. Guess you’re right.”
“See. Nothing to worry about.” But Sydney knew how cruel kids could be, and RayAnne was the new kid at school. Even so, the last thing she wanted was to cheat her daughter out of her last years of Santa fun.
They walked past a long line of children with their parents waiting to have their chance to visit with Santa Claus. RayAnne dipped her head and forged ahead, following the signs to the tree lot on the other side of the property.
Sydney slowed down, watching as the man in the red suit lifted a young girl onto his lap. Memories of RayAnne at that age warmed her. Back then she’d been able to put RayAnne in a dress without a fuss. Funny how a few years could change all that. She and Jon had fought about telling RayAnne the truth about Santa, but Sydney refused to be the one to ruin the magic … even if RayAnne already knew. At the age of ten that was probably the case, but Jon had always preached, “If you don’t believe, you don’t receive,” so the ruse went on.
Santa leaned in nodding, speaking to the little girl, then smiling, as she enthusiastically ran down her wish list. Actually counting things off on her fingers until a gentle ho-ho-ho rolled through the air.
The little girl leapt from his lap and ran into her mother’s arms with a grin as bright as the North Star itself. “I love Santa,” she said.
Sydney’s hand went to her heart. Absorbing the sweet moment she turned to find RayAnne standing there with her arms crossed and hip cocked. There was that attitude. If it wasn’t bad enough her marriage had fallen apart, her daughter acting out like a hormonal teenager at just ten was about to send Sydney right over the edge of sanity to crazyland. Everyone kept telling her not to worry. Kids are resilient; she’ll be fine, they’d say. That was easy to say when you weren’t the one dealing with it on a daily basis. Most days she wasn’t sure if either one of them would ever be fine again.
“Thought we were looking for a tree.” RayAnne’s snipped words broke the moment.
“We are,” Sydney said. “I was just checking things out. Did you want to visit Santa while we’re here? We have time.”