Christmas Wishlist

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  There was a startled silence from his end of the line, then, “Kate, I—”

  “Don’t call me that, please.” She hadn’t planned on doing this over the phone, but she was basically a coward and she wasn’t sure she had the courage to say it to his face. “It was nice of you to take an interest in Abby and Andy. I appreciate your good intentions, even though I wish you hadn’t acted on them. I know you’ve told the kids you’ll keep looking for the real Santa Claus until you find him, but they think they’re joining you in the search. I’ve already explained to them that isn’t going to happen, and now I’m telling you. There is no Santa Claus, Gabe. No Kris Kringle. No Father Christmas. No jolly old Saint Nicholas, who’s going to leave a gift-wrapped dad under their Christmas tree. Please don’t complicate their lives.”

  “Their lives, Katherine? Or yours?”

  Gathering her waning courage, she took a deep breath. “I’m asking you to leave us alone.”

  “Somehow, that didn’t sound much like a request.”

  She swallowed the sudden dryness in her throat. “An astute observation.”

  This time, his pause was marked by a strained silence. “You’re going to be disappointed if you expect me to say an obedient goodbye and hang up.”

  “Then let me do it for you.”

  “Don’t hang up, Katherine, unless you want to find me at your door in about fifteen minutes, because this discussion isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”

  “There is nothing to discuss.” She fought to keep any trace of panic out of her voice. “They’re my children.”

  “And my clients.”

  “Oh, please, don’t bring up that ridiculous contract, Gabe. It isn’t even a written agreement, just a pretense to persuade two innocent children you’re not a real con artist.”

  “It may be a pretense to you, Kate, but it isn’t to Abby and Andy. And it isn’t to me, either. It’s as close to a commitment to anyone or anything as I’ve come since my divorce five years ago, and I’m not going to back away from it because you think it’s silly.”

  “Silly and dangerous.”

  “To who? The twins? Or your perception that you can shelter them from the world and all its myriad lies? This isn’t about Abby and Andy, Kate. It’s about you. They didn’t ask me to prove there’s a Santa Claus for their benefit. They want you to believe, because if you don’t, then neither can they.”

  “They’re seven years old. A little young to have that much depth, don’t you think?”

  “Excuse me, but aren’t you the mother who started them out reading Darwin’s The Origin of Species?”

  “That was uncalled-for.”

  “Yes, it was,” he agreed, in an unexpected capitulation. “I apologize. But this is important to me. And it’s important to them.”

  “I really don’t care to discuss this with you,” she said over a knot of anxiety so big the words came out with difficulty. “It isn’t easy to raise two emotionally healthy children, but I’m doing my best. And, Gabe, I don’t need or want any help.”

  “Your kids came to me, Katherine. I didn’t draw their names out of a hat. They wanted a detective to find Santa Claus, who happens to be a missing person in their lives. Whether or not he exists in a physical form is beside the point. They’re searching for Christmas, for a little magic to carry with them throughout their lives. Don’t deny them that just because you’re denying it to yourself.”

  Her hands began to shake, and she held the phone so tightly, her knuckles ached with the tension. “Goodbye, Gabe. Please don’t call again.”

  “Kate, listen—”

  She closed the door on a dream she had entertained for nearly a year, and slammed down the receiver before she could change her mind. There. It was done. Finished, before it had begun. Over, before he could get entangled in her life. Ended...before he could break all three of her hearts.

  “Mommy?”

  Katherine turned toward the sound and her daughter, who was standing just this side of the hallway with Matilda clutched tightly against her. Even in the dim light, Katherine could see the ominous flush on her cheeks. “What’s wrong, Abby?” she asked.

  “I don’t feel too good.” It was half whine, half entreaty and Katherine moved quickly toward the outstretched hands. Lifting Abby into her arms, Katherine headed for the bathroom, the bottle of Pepto-Bismol, and what promised to be a very long night.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  GABE DROPPED THE phone into its cradle and stared morosely into the dark. “I really am a Bo Zo,” he said.

  “How can you tell, when you keep it as black as ink in here?” Gun entered the front room of the house they shared, tossing the impatient question ahead of him and switching on a flood of lights in his wake.

  Blinking against the sudden brilliance, Gabe watched his father rumble around the room, dimming, adjusting and fiddling with the wattage until the place was lit up like a Christmas tree. The thought reminded him of being at Rockefeller Center, of watching Abby and Andy stare wide-eyed at the tree there, of watching Kate stare, too, of noticing the wistful, lonely look on her face. He slumped against the chair cushion and eyed his dad, who was settling into the leather recliner. “I thought you were on a stakeout.”

  Gun pushed back in the chair, bringing up the footrest. “Finished up the Casciano case this afternoon. Turned out to be insurance fraud, just like I said it would. Fine detective work on my part, if I do say so myself. Wouldn’t be surprised if McClellan gave me a commendation for it.”

  “Until you pay those fees to get a legitimate P.I. license, the only thing McClellan’s likely to recommend you for is some hefty fines. He’s the police chief, Dad. He can’t be happy to have you skulking around out there playing ‘gotcha’ with his police force.”

  “If he isn’t, he ought to be.” Folding his hands across his chest, Gun closed his eyes. “This city is one up on the bad guys tonight because I got out of bed this morning. Now, what is wrong with you?”

  “Other than knowing the police chief is about to issue a warrant for my father’s arrest, what could possibly be wrong?”

  Gun opened his eyes and narrowed them on Gabe. “You are worked up, aren’t you?”

  “It’s been a long day.”

  “Couldn’t keep up with those kids, could you?”

  Gabe’s head came up with a snap. “How’d you know about that?”

  “Which? The energy level of seven-year-olds or your lack of stamina?”

  “Louisa could have told you I wasn’t in the office, but I specifically did not tell her where I was or what I was doing, so how did you find out?”

  “Simple deduction, Junior. You asked me where I’d go to look for Santa Claus, and I said Macy’s.”

  “I didn’t say I was definitely going to take them.”

  “Why would you go by yourself? The line is always long this close to Christmas, and you’ve never been the most patient person.”

  Gabe stood and paced to the window, where he pulled back the drape. “It’s snowing,” he said, although about all he could see was the reflection of the thousand watts of light behind him. “We waited all afternoon, and when we finally got to the end of the line, the girl screamed like a banshee and the boy threw up at Santa’s feet.”

  Gun laughed. “I’ll bet you took off like a rocket.”

  “No, I took them to a diner for a burger and fries.” Gabe let the drape fall back into place. “Andy said he was hungry.”

  “You used to eat like a horse after you were sick to your stomach.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like them, Dad. They’re constantly in motion, and they never stop talking. They’re whiny and fretful and funny, and they say the most amazing things.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Yes,” Gabe agreed, surprised that Gun unde
rstood. “I had no idea kids would be interesting. Katherine said...” His voice trailed off as he remembered the most recent things Katherine had said to him.

  “Who’s Katherine?”

  “Their mother.”

  “Ah.” Gun nodded, a glint of comprehension in his eyes. “Katherine. She’s the one who doesn’t think much of you.”

  Gabe dropped into the chair again, resuming his slouch. “She’s the one.”

  “From the sound of it, today didn’t do much to change her mind, either. In fact, it sort of sounded to me like she hung up on you.”

  “Is there some part of my private conversation you didn’t overhear? Because I can fill in the details, if you missed any.”

  “No need to go getting mad at me.” Gun put his head back and closed his eyes again. “I’m not the one who screwed up your love life. What’d you do this time?”

  “What makes you think I did something?”

  Gun merely quirked his eyebrows, and Gabe knew there was no point in attempting to save face. He might as well confess the whole thing. It wasn’t as if Gun didn’t know—or think he knew—the whole story, anyway, and there was always the chance Gabe would feel better for having vented some of his frustration. Not much of a chance, but at least the possibility was out there. “I kissed her.”

  That opened the old eyes, Gabe noticed.

  “You have had a busy day.”

  “It happened a year ago, at the Christmas Eve party.”

  “And it took you until now to figure out you liked it? No wonder she doesn’t think much of you. You’re not usually so backward, Junior.”

  “That’s not the worst of it. I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t...?” The corner of Gun’s mouth lifted with rueful comprehension. “You don’t remember the kiss.”

  “I remember waking up on Christmas morning and thinking that Louisa’s eggnog recipe ought to be our country’s ultimate secret weapon. But that’s about the extent of my recall. On the other hand, every time I saw her in the building this past year, I felt like there was something familiar about her.”

  “But you didn’t do anything to find out what?”

  Gabe rubbed the back of his neck. “She hasn’t been what I call approachable, Dad. She never even looked at me sideways when I’d see her across the lobby or in the elevator, always kept her chin up and her eyes straight. You know I’m basically a shy person...I just thought she wasn’t interested.”

  “So how did you—being the shy, backward person you are—find out you’d kissed this apparently unapproachable woman?”

  “She told me. Just blurted it right out.” He frowned. “Then she told me to forget it.”

  “Hmm... Let’s see if I understand the chain of events here.” Gun strummed his inch-long beard with his finger. “You drank a few glasses of Christmas cheer, kissed this woman and promptly forgot about it. A year later, she still remembers, you still don’t, but now you want to and she’s saying forget it.”

  “I haven’t been able to think of anything else since she told me. Something happens to me when I look at her, Dad, and— Don’t even start to say what you’re thinking, because it’s not like that at all. Well, yes, it is, but there’s more to it than that. I just don’t know what. And now it looks like I’m not going to get the chance to find out.”

  “How does that make you a Bo Zo?”

  “I don’t know,” he said with a disgruntled shrug. But the truth was, he did. Are you a real Bo Zo? the twins had asked. They trusted him, and he was going to let them down. Getting up, he walked to the window again and stood looking out at the snow. “Do you think it’s possible she just doesn’t like me?”

  Gun put his hands behind his head and settled more comfortably in the chair. “Either that or it was a lousy kiss to begin with.”

  Gabe couldn’t believe he was even discussing this. No matter what it was he felt for Katherine, he had no business getting involved with her. No matter how much she intrigued him. No matter how much he liked her kids...and no one could be more surprised about that than he was...it had scared him senseless when they announced to the world outside of Saks’s windows that he was their— Well, there was no need even to think about it. He wasn’t going to see them again. Or Katherine. He certainly wasn’t going to kiss her...much as the idea appealed to him. And he wasn’t going to help the twins find Santa Claus, even if he had promised he would. “You know, Dad, it’s none of my business how Katherine raises her kids. If she doesn’t think they need to believe in Santa Claus, then who am I to say they should?”

  Gabe watched the snow come down in thick flurries...and wondered if Katherine was watching it, too.

  “This woman...” Gun said. “This...Katherine. How tall is she?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Dad, because I’m not going to see her again.”

  Gun nodded as if he understood perfectly. “It was just a thought, Junior. Just a thought.”

  * * *

  GRETEL, THE MAGAZINE’S art director, stopped in Katherine’s office on her way down the hall. “Where’s Janeen?” she asked as she tried to deliver the single message slip, which perched atop the double stack of photos in her arms, by sliding it off without dislodging the entire load. “She hasn’t been here all morning, and I’m not sure the temp can hack it.”

  Katherine laughed. “John seems to be doing very well, so far. I haven’t had a single complaint. Of course, I told him I wasn’t really here, no matter who wanted to talk to me, and I asked him not to let people fill up my voicemail. I’d only planned to stay long enough to unearth an article no one else could seem to find, but one thing led to another, and...” She glanced at her watch and groaned. “Tell me it’s not twelve-thirty,” she said. “I told Janeen I’d be back by eleven.”

  Gretel slanted the photos at an angle, and the message slip drifted toward the desk. “So what did you do with Janeen? Leave her double-parked?”

  “Worse than that. I asked her to baby-sit.”

  “Oooh, a fate worse than driving in New York traffic.” Gretel rebalanced her load of pictures and headed for the door. “Wish you’d asked me. You know how much I enjoy entertaining your kids.”

  “Exactly why I asked Janeen. That and the fact she was the one who called me to come into the office in the first place.” Katherine picked up the slip from her desk and skimmed it.

  Janeen called. Santa spotted. The Boathouse in Central Park. 12:30. G.H. sure U wdn’t mind.

  Frowning, Katherine read John’s shorthand again, her pulse snapping in her veins. She lowered the slip, then abruptly raised it again and reread the message.

  “You look ready to set something on fire,” Gretel observed. “What did John misspell?”

  Reaching for the phone, Katherine called her apartment, even though she already knew no one would answer. They were at the restaurant...Janeen, the twins, and G.H., alias Gaberson Housley, alias the only man in the world who honestly thought she wouldn’t mind! “Murder,” she said tightly. “He’s going to have to learn how to spell murder.”

  * * *

  THE BOATHOUSE WAS nestled in Central Park overlooking the lake. There was always a crowd, for the only thing more appealing than the food served was the view of tourists in gondolas and rowboats. Of course, even now, when the lake was nearly frozen, the restaurant was still full to bursting.

  Not that Katherine believed for a moment that Gabe had had any difficulty getting a table at the last minute. He probably played poker with every second waiter in the place. Or provided security guards to safeguard the chef’s recipes.

  She’d worked her way past indignation, ignored a singing sense of anticipation at the battle ahead of her, and was well into quietly furious by the time the cab pulled up outside the restaurant at ten minutes after one. He wasn’t going to get away with this, she thought,
as she paid the fare and raced into the restaurant.

  There was such a crowd in the foyer, so many people waiting to be seated, that it took several endless minutes to reach the hostess and then at least five more before someone was found to show her the way to Mr. Housley’s table. A handful of professional acquaintances acknowledged Katherine’s passing with a wave or a few words of seasonal greetings. But she didn’t waver in her purpose. At least, she didn’t until she caught sight of Gabe.

  He was sitting at a table next to the long wall of windows. On either side of him, Andy and Abby were kneeling in their respective chairs, leaning across the table with their chins propped on their hands, their rapt attention on something beyond Katherine’s range of vision. Across from them, Janeen had turned her chair around so that she, too, could see outside. But it was Gabe’s expression that stopped her, there in the narrow passage between two tables.

  On one level, she noticed that his persistently stubborn lock of hair drooped casually toward his forehead, as if he’d recently brushed it back and it was just awaiting an unsuspecting moment to fall forward again. And she was vaguely conscious that he was wearing a striped long-sleeved polo shirt that had just the right amount of material to fit smoothly across his shoulders without appearing too tight or too loose. The collar was white—she noted that inane detail only because it made such a contrast against his tan. But it wasn’t even the combination of those appealing factors that stopped her in her tracks. Oh, no, nothing in her life could be that simple.

  It was the look on his face as he watched Abby’s and Andy’s obvious delight in whatever had captured their interest outside. Gabe appeared mesmerized by them and when they laughed aloud—not the giggles and high-pitched squeals they usually rendered, but the throaty, translucent tones of pure joy that only children seemed capable of producing—he looked from one to the other with such a mix of enjoyment and flat-out bewilderment that Katherine’s heart went out to him. Not because he liked her children, but because he was so obviously flabbergasted that he did.