Noelle

by Greg Kincaid

  “Is he seeing the children?”

  Abbey sighed, the load of it all written across her face. “The judge put him on probation for the DUI and lifted the requirement for supervised visitation. They started spending overnights last weekend. But their time together has been rocky. They’re also supposed to have a midweek overnight with him on Wednesdays. This week will be their first one. I’m not sure about it.”

  “How so?” Mary Ann asked.

  “Keenan is trying to take my side. He doesn’t want anything to do with his dad. I had to make him go last weekend. He already told me he doesn’t want to do the Wednesday overnights.”

  Mary Ann pushed her coffee away and dropped her voice even further. “What do you tell him?”

  “I tell him that his dad loves him and that Link will always be his dad—the only one he’ll ever get. Nothing will change that. I told him he needs to go and quit complaining.”

  “I don’t know, Abbey. That’s adult thinking. Maybe he just needs to have fun with his dad. For now that might be enough.”

  Abbey looked at Mary Ann for a few long seconds. She wasn’t sure she could tell her about the latest development without falling apart—again. Thinking about it hurt so much, and talking about it would hurt even more. She wavered back and forth. Mad one minute, sad the next. But it wasn’t fair to ask Mrs. McCray for help and not share all the facts. She swallowed hard and pushed down her anger. She tried to stay businesslike. “The kids at school know about Link’s DUI. Some mom was driving by and saw the sheriff take the kids out of the car. I guess she gossiped with some other parents, and eventually it trickled down to the kids, and they started talking about it. You know how things get around in Crossing Trails. You’d think an alien had landed on the courthouse square. Now I suppose everyone knows. Keenan is so embarrassed. I think his way of coping is to tell me his dad is a drunk and a bad dad. He must have picked that language up at school from the kids who were talking.”

  Abbey couldn’t help it. Her anger flipped back to sadness. The tears started at the corners of her eyes and rushed down her cheeks. She wiped them away with a paper napkin. “I told him that his dad is just unhappy and that sometimes people drink because it helps them forget about how bad they feel—at least for a little while—but then later they usually feel a lot worse.” She hesitated and then asked, “Was that okay? I didn’t know what else to tell him. Of course, Link never apologized for the whole awful evening to the kids. He just pretends it didn’t happen.”

  Mrs. McCray reached out and took Abbey’s hand. “Honey, I couldn’t have said it any better. It’ll take time for this to heal. For you, for Link, and of course for the kids.”

  Abbey looked down at her notes. “Did you talk to Keenan’s counselor at school, Ms. Nester? I called and gave her permission to speak with you.”

  “Yes, I spoke with Maureen—she’s one of the best counselors in our school district, and I know her well from her work at the high school. She’s going to talk to Keenan again tomorrow during the morning recess. The sleeping in class is unusual for him, but she also said that when children are under stress, just like adults, some sleep disruption is common. She told me that Keenan complained to her, too, about not wanting to go to his dad’s house.”

  “Mrs. McCray, Link makes the children sleep on a blow-up mattress. How comfortable can that be?”

  “I wouldn’t worry, Abbey. Todd spent half his childhood curled up on the carpet with his blanket. We had to pick him up and put him in bed.” Mary Ann realized that Abbey was checking her watch, concerned about the time. “One more thing we discussed that was interesting. Ms. Nester suggested that you try something called a ‘transitional object.’ ”

  “What’s that?” Abbey asked.

  “Usually it’s a doll or a stuffed bear. It could be a toy. It’s something that the child enjoys that goes back and forth between Mom’s house and Dad’s house, something constant when a child’s world is shifting so fast. She said that it helps children to feel more secure, less frightened of the unknown, of leaving the custodial parent behind.”

  Abbey perked up. “What a great idea. I could let Keenan take his Star Wars bedspread with him when he goes to Link’s apartment. Emily already takes her PAW Patrol backpack everywhere she goes.”

  “Well, you can try it. Maybe it’ll help with the switches.”

  Abbey pushed herself away from the table but hesitated before she stood to go. “I hate to ask you—you’ve done so much already.”

  “Please, what is it?”

  “Wednesday, after work, Link and I have to go to our parenting class at the courthouse. The judge ordered it, even though the timing is ironic because it makes our situation with childcare even more complicated. My brother was going to watch the kids, but after the ‘being the man of the house’ talk, I wonder if you—”

  “What time?”

  “Five-thirty to seven. I can drop them by. My dad is planning to loan Link some money to replace the battery in his truck—Dad’s only doing it for the kids’ sake. I’m thinking Link could pick them up from the farm by eight and they can stay with him for their overnight.”

  “Of course, and don’t worry, I’ll feed them.” Mary Ann had another idea. “Do you think they’d like to sit on the back of my mare? Maybe I could lead them around the corral?”

  “Oh, Mrs. McCray, that would be fantastic! Emily loves horses.”

  George tracked commodity prices in the paper, especially beef, pork, wheat, and corn. He also found the weather to be a particularly relevant topic. World affairs and politics were frustrating; he felt he never got the whole story, just alternative slanted versions. He secretly read the advice column and enjoyed the sports page. He wasn’t sure, however, what to make of the large front-page color photograph of his wife or the headline that read ANNA CLAUS IS COMING TO TOWN!

  When he was finished reading the story beneath the picture, he laughed out loud. With only Christmas, the elderly Lab, in earshot, he exclaimed, “This is just too good!” A startled Christmas looked up at his beloved master and thumped his tail on the ground in response before returning to his morning nap.

  Clearly the local paper was making a big deal out of this. George suspected that all the fuss would make Mary Ann uneasy. It would him. As much fun as it would be teasing her, he would stay quiet. Stay supportive. She seemed to be taking the whole thing rather seriously—as if she were doing more than just pinch-hitting for an old friend. He read the article again.

  Anna Claus made a surprise appearance in Crossing Trails this week, breaching a centuries-old tradition of silence. Our investigative team pieced together some details on this late-breaking story.

  She’s about five foot six and of medium build, confident and attractive. Her hair is pulled back, away from her face, and is neatly tucked beneath a white felt stocking cap, adorned with a green cotton tassel. Although new to our community, she looks vaguely familiar—almost like an older and wiser version of a young woman we used to know quite well. She does not carry a large red rucksack filled with toys. Instead she carries a valuable message. It’s not a message from her famous other half—who was absent for unknown reasons.

  Anna Claus’s message is uniquely her own. “I want children to share a special moment with me where they tell me what they want to give, not just what they want to receive.” Is that a message that children and their parents are willing to hear? She hopes so.

  She admits that in the beginning she was shy, even hesitant, about her public debut. Two hundred–plus years in the kitchen is a long time. During those two hundred years, women have come a long way, but not so much in the area of holiday traditions. The prime-time winter holiday cast is male-dominated—Santa, the elves, the Grinch, Charlie Brown, Frosty, even Rudolph. There’s hardly a girl to be found.

  It took some courage for Anna Claus to step out of the kitchen and ask to have a voice, too. You can see that courage in the searching brown eyes that carry an intense passion for being Anna Cla
us. She quips, “When you’re a solo act, you’d better be good.”

  This, her first event, was modestly attended. Crossing Trails’ mayor, Miranda Parks, reports, “We had fifty children, and I think everyone had a good time. Anna Claus is a welcome addition to our holiday tradition.”

  Anna Claus will next be appearing at Sheraton’s Department Store on Crossing Trails Square, Saturday from 10:00 a.m. to 12:00 p.m. Get there early!

  In the meantime be careful. She’s making a list and checking it twice.

  George set the paper down. Maybe Anna Claus wasn’t a comedy sketch like a lost episode of I Love Lucy. He wondered if he should call their five children and suggest a mandatory appearance to show support for Anna Claus. Their mother seemed to be taking on something special, even courageous—perhaps this whole thing was more than just about Mary Ann’s stubborn need to be right or win an argument. There was a part of him that liked the idea of his wife playing this part. Good spouses support each other.

  But…there was also some part of him that was hesitant. Why was that? he wondered. Was he jealous? Reluctant to change tradition? Unsure of a woman’s role? He would never have thought of himself in those terms. He had a daughter, Hannah; he relished her successes and wanted her to have the same opportunities as his boys.

  George remembered his grandfather Bo McCray telling him many years ago that one of the hardest things he did was giving George’s grandmother, Cora, the keys to their new car. That seemed so ridiculous now. Even Bo had laughed about it later. Reluctant to let Cora drive—what was that all about? “The woman can drive a tractor or a road maintainer with the best of them, but I didn’t want her to drive my new car.”

  George remembered reading that men are almost twice as likely as women to die in an automobile accident. He remembered, too, that the insurance for his daughter was always significantly less than what he had to pay for his boys. It made sense; boys are risk takers, and they get in more accidents. Still, all those jokes about women drivers…

  George looked about the room, and it dawned on him that none of the decorations were up. Maybe that’s what was bothering him. While he had the dog’s attention, he laid it out. “I’m sure glad that Anna Claus is spreading the Christmas spirit all around Crossing Trails, but we need a bit more holiday spirit in this house. Why don’t I fix your collar?” George got out of his chair and walked over to the closet where Mary Ann kept the wrapping paper. He dug around until he found some green ribbon and a red bow. “That’ll work.” He bent and used the ribbon to tie the bow on the dog’s collar. He then reached down and hugged the dog. “You’re better than a reindeer any old day. And between you and me”—he looked around, as if to make sure no one was listening—“I’m sticking with Santa.”

  —

  After George went out to the barn and did his evening chores, he returned to his favorite chair and watched the local news. As if the story in the paper hadn’t been enough, the final segment was a feel-good piece: an interview with Anna Claus, from her appearance at the library. George looked down at Christmas. “There she is again. In the papers and now on the news!”

  He pulled the lever on the recliner and let it go nearly horizontal. He closed his eyes and continued to mull things over. He was more confused than he’d been in a long time and not sure why. He wanted to feel good about it, but he didn’t. There was something about this whole Anna Claus thing that was unsettling. He seemed stuck in some kind of trap. Was he viewing a step forward for a woman as a step backward for a man? While he knew enough old guys around town who did feel that way, he wasn’t one of them. It was something else.

  Was his gut correctly signaling to him that there was something slightly off-kilter with Anna Claus? Should she just go back to the North Pole and leave Christmas in the capable hands of good ol’ St. Nick? Or was her arrival, now more than ever, necessary and long overdue? The world was a decidedly more complicated place than it had been when he was boy, a child with simple Christmas wishes.

  He wasn’t sure, but he also felt like he owed it to Mary Ann to find out what was at the bottom of his conflicted feelings. Maybe he owed it to himself, too.

  Mary Ann got to the school auditorium fifteen minutes before her choral students arrived for their last major rehearsal before the annual Christmas concert. Before they descended, she used the extra few minutes to update the list app on her phone, which she relied on to keep track of everything she needed to do. For years now she’d taken on more than most people thought possible. She liked it that way—staying busy kept her life full and meaningful. At the back of her mind, the clock was always ticking, time running out. This kept her motivated to do, do, do.

  She knew that sometimes she wore others out, even George. His mind was oriented a different way. He was calmer and worked hard so that he could capture moments of peace and solitude—when he read the paper, walked the dog, or just sat by the creek and smelled the spring onions that grew in clumps on the bank. George was fully capable of relaxing. Mary Ann—as she would be the first to admit—was not so good at shutting down.

  There were hazards in taking on so much. Mary Ann lived under the constant fear that she would forget something. She seldom did. She looked over the app. She was about finished. As a few students began to drift in, she scanned the calendar. This week she had students to shuttle to a debate tournament. The high school’s holiday concert was also looming. When on earth was she going to get presents wrapped, the tree up and decorated, deal with the preparations for the annual McCray holiday party? For years they had always held their big open house for friends and family the night before Christmas Eve. Well, there was still some time—she’d have to figure all that out.

  Mary Ann was pleased that Mr. Smethers, the band teacher, continued to take an active role in the concert. They’d been doing the Christmas program together for over twenty years, so they had it down. This year they’d decided to bring a bit more country to the program and introduced two new songs: “Hard Candy Christmas” and a jazzed-up version of the Elvis classic “Blue Christmas.” As more students arrived, she began to practice both songs on the piano. The kids gathered around and, without being asked, joined in singing. She loved these moments, she thought. Spontaneous joy in music.

  One of Mr. Smethers’s students, a talented sophomore jazz saxophonist, improvised a solo riff for “Blue Christmas” that brought the house down. When he finished, the other students clapped and all agreed he had to play it again at the concert.

  The practice went smoothly, and time flew as the singers and musicians worked through the program. At 5:00 p.m. the alarm on Mary Ann’s phone rang. Rehearsal needed to end promptly at 5:00 so she could be home by 5:30 for Keenan and Emily. “That’s it, guys, you’re terrific.”

  Before she could get out the door, Mr. Smethers stopped her. “Several of us were talking,” he said with a conspiratorial smile, not identifying who the “us” might be. “And we wondered if Anna Claus might emcee the concert this year.”

  Mary Ann wasn’t sure where this request was coming from. Who was “us”? Her colleagues? The kids at school? It caught her off guard—though she had to admit she was a bit flattered. Word of Anna Claus had spread. Still, the holiday concert was about the students. “Bob, that’s a very interesting request. I’d have to ask her. She wouldn’t want to take anything away from the students. It’s their night.”

  Mr. Smethers persisted. “We think Anna Claus would add to the evening and not detract from it. She has talents, like music, that just got past old St. Nick. We think she should show them off. Would you ask her?”

  Mary Ann didn’t mind doing it, but she just wasn’t sure she had the time to take on even one more task. “We’ll talk it over, and then one of us will get back to you.”

  “Thank you.”

  She grabbed her purse from the top of the piano and stopped for a second. It occurred to her that she had a responsibility of sorts, not just to her students and her family. Now there was someone else that
mattered. She found Bob before she exited the theater room and said, “Anna Claus would be happy to help.”

  Bob was clearly pleased. “Tell her that we’re very excited to have her help.”

  “She’s happy to give it,” Mary Ann said over her shoulder as she headed off the stage and down the hall to the administrative offices to pick up her phone messages. There was an entire handful, many more than usual, but she figured it had to do with the time of year. No matter how often she sent notes home, it was the same question every year—the mothers (and some fathers) of boys calling before the show and asking, “Is it navy pants or khaki pants?” Apparently every parent’s horror was his or her son showing up for the concert with the wrong-colored pants. But tonight there were only two or three of those messages. Most weren’t for Mrs. McCray. They were for Anna Claus, and every day there were more and more of them.

  Once she was in the car and well past the city limits, she called George. She looked down at the stack of phone messages resting in the passenger seat. “George?” she asked.

  “Yes?”

  “I got fourteen phone messages at school today for Anna Claus.”

  George glanced at the pad of paper resting on the kitchen table. The phone had been ringing for him, too. “That doesn’t surprise me. You’ve got quite a list growing here. You were on TV, too.”

  “Anna Claus?”

  “Yep.”

  “What have I gotten myself into?”

  “Hard to say.”

  “Are you okay with it?” Mary Ann asked as she approached McCray’s Hill in the distance.

  George hesitated too long and tried to compensate by being emphatic. “Yes. Absolutely. I’ve got your back on this one.”

  “That sounded like ‘Absolutely sort of’ to me.”

  “Absolutely sort of. I think. Positively maybe.” George tried to bite his tongue before he rambled on even further. He knew he was making it worse.

  “Mixed feelings?”