St. Nick

by Alan Russell

  Maybe that’s what it did boil down to: “Yeah.”

  The boy nodded. Apparently Raymond could accept Nick’s career change much more easily than Nick could.

  “Is the girl all right now?”

  “They tell me she’s getting better.”

  The parents hadn’t let him see her. That had made it worse for Nick. Of course they were probably operating on a lawyer’s advice, just as he was. He didn’t blame them, but he wished that they had let him see her. Not that he could have explained anything to her. She was too young. But at least he could have said he was sorry. He would have said that to the whole world, but his lawyer had advised him to not make any public or private apologies.

  Nick changed the subject. “Hey,” he said, “Easy’s time clock is running, and I want to talk to you before she bounces me out of here.”

  “Talk about what?”

  “Talk about my not doing a very good job of explaining some things. I guess I’m a better cop than I am a Santa’s helper, but that’s probably not saying much. I came over to straighten out a misunderstanding. And I brought you a present. I didn’t have time to wrap it, though.”

  Nick lifted up a shopping bag, and pulled out a square-shaped box that was large but thin. The box was light enough so that Nick tried spinning it on his finger, but he was no Harlem Globetrotter.

  “Catch,” Nick said, but he faked the toss and then reached around the IV stand and gently placed the box on Raymond’s chest.

  Raymond picked it up. In the darkness he seemed to be having trouble figuring out what it was.

  “It’s nothing,” said Nick. “It’s just one of those Advent calendars. I remember my boy and girl used to love them. Every Christmas I had to get two of them so they wouldn’t fight over who got the treat.”

  Raymond was still looking at the calendar with a puzzled expression.

  “You ever see one of these before?”

  The boy shook his head.

  “I’ll show you.”

  Nick removed the calendar’s cellophane wrapping and then used his finger to point. “You see, you got to look for the numbers. There are twenty-five of them, one through twenty-five. And behind all those numbers are little doors waiting to be opened. Find the number, open the door, and get a treat. Some Advent calendars are really elaborate. They got neat little prizes in them. But this one’s only got chocolate. You like chocolate?”

  “I like chocolate.”

  “That’s what I figured.”

  The festive calendar seemed to cast a glow in the dark room. It showed a winter scene, Santa Claus delivering presents under an outdoor Christmas tree that was elaborately decorated. Around the tree, an assortment of animals waited. Raymond put his hand on the calendar and touched that world.

  “You know the date today?” Nick asked.

  Raymond shook his head.

  “It’s December the second. That means you have to find yesterday’s number, and today’s number. So look for numbers one and two, and then open the flaps.”

  “There’s one.” Raymond pointed to the number. It was in the middle of one of the tree’s ornaments.

  “Push in on that perforated line,” said Nick. “Get a fingernail in there. That’s it.”

  The flap opened and Raymond scooped out a miniature chocolate ornament. He looked at it for several seconds before popping it in his mouth.

  “Now find number two.”

  “It’s not there.”

  “It’s there. You just got to look.”

  The number was camouflaged amidst the brightly wrapped presents under the tree, but eventually Raymond located it. He thumbed open the tab and revealed a miniature chocolate. Smiling, he lifted the box up to Nick.

  “It’s for you,” Nick said.

  Raymond shook his head. “We’ll share.”

  The boy’s arms were already trembling from the exertion. Nick decided not to argue. Maybe the kid shouldn’t be having too many sweets anyway. He reached for the chocolate, and popped it into his mouth.

  Raymond struggled to lower the box to his chest. He looked like a weight lifter laboring to get through his last repetition. The box dwarfed his thin chest.

  “Good chocolate,” said Nick.

  The boy barely nodded. He reached over to his bed stand and fumbled for something.

  “You need help with something?”

  Raymond shook his head. He put his hands around a water cup and drank. When he finished he said, “It’s hot.”

  Nick nodded, even though he didn’t think it was hot. If anything, the room was cold.

  “Really hot,” the boy said.

  Nick reached over and touched Raymond’s forehead, and then his cheek. The boy was burning up.

  “You have a fever,” Nick said. “I better go get somebody.”

  Raymond didn’t seem to hear. His eyes were closed. “Did you have your talk with Santa Claus?”

  His words sounded disconnected, the output of a fevered mind. Nick didn’t answer.

  “It’s so hot,” said Raymond.

  “I’m going to get a doctor.”

  “Did you tell Santa to bring me snow? That will cool me down. Snow …”

  “I need someone to help in here!” Nick yelled. “I need someone right now!”

  Chapter 12

  Go Tell It on the Mountain

  December 3

  Nick slept fitfully. Instead of visions of sugarplums dancing through his head, he kept thinking about the sick kid. The sun wasn’t even yet up when he called the hospital.

  “How’s the kid doing?” Nick asked.

  “It’s been a long night for Raymond,” Easy said. “They had to intubate him.”

  In his mind’s eye Nick pictured the boy with a tube down his throat, and he winced. It took all of his willpower to ask, “Can I see him later?”

  “He’s probably still going to have the tube in him,” said Easy, “and he won’t be able to talk.”

  It was a good excuse to avoid seeing the kid. But Nick said, “Talking is overrated. When you see him, say I’ll be coming to visit later.”

  Nick was doing his final Santa touch-ups when he heard the sweeping of Henry’s broom. The janitor came into view and stopped his sweeping to signal “A-OK” with his thumb and forefinger to Nick.

  “Looking good, Saint Nick,” he said. “You a regular celebrity.”

  “Is that so?”

  Henry nodded. “Saw you on the news last night.”

  For a moment Nick thought there must have been yet one more story on the trigger-happy cop.

  “That reporter looked mighty cozy sitting in your lap,” added Henry.

  Nick let out a pent-up breath. “It must have been an optical illusion,” he said, with maybe just a touch of regret in his voice.

  “Didn’t look like no optical illusion,” said Henry, and then continued with his cleaning.

  Remembering Charlotte brought on a twinge of guilt. Nick wondered if it had been a mistake to give the reporter Laura’s letter. He should have secured the evidence, but he hadn’t. What if she tossed the note? These days it seemed all the news stations only wanted to do happy news. He’d made a copy, but wished he had the original. If the reporter was a flake, he might still be able to do something. According to a calendar posted in the administrative offices, there were still twenty-one shopping days until Christmas.

  Strange, he thought, how Christmas was now defined by how many shopping days lead up to it.

  He made his way through the mall to his sleigh, and saw Angie waving to him as he turned the corner. The head Elf seemed to have eyes in the back of her pointy hat. “Hi, Santa!” she called. When he drew closer she enthusiastically whispered, “You looked great on the news!”

  Over the course of the day Nick heard that repeatedly. It seemed as if everyone had seen the spot except for Nick. He heard from Forster, and shopkeepers, and even parents. They commented on how cute the feature was, which made Nick glad he hadn’t seen it.

 
There was a steady stream of children all day, and whenever it was slow Nick scanned the balcony and surrounding area for the two predators he called the Grinches. So far his Grinches were no-shows.

  His shift was coming to an end when he heard a nearby commotion of excited voices. People were pointing and commenting on a confident, athletic-looking man in an expensive suit holding hands with a little girl. Someone thrust a piece of paper and a pen into the man’s free hand, and he quickly signed his signature.

  “What’s going on?” asked Angie.

  “Downtown Danny Brown is what’s going on,” said Nick.

  “Who’s Downtown Danny Brown?” she asked.

  Nick gave her an incredulous look. “What planet are you from?”

  Angie didn’t have time to answer the question. Danny Brown was on his way to Santa’s sleigh, and so was the growing throng behind him. On the gridiron, Brown was the quarterback for the San Diego Sea Lions. He was used to leading huge men onto a field of battle, but as they drew nearer to the sleigh it was clear that he was having trouble directing a daughter who couldn’t weigh more than fifty pounds.

  “Come on, Savannah,” implored Brown. “You know you want to see Santa.”

  The girl balked. Nick had seen this dilemma countless times; she desperately wanted to see Santa, and yet she was afraid. The girl was looking at Nick from behind one of her father’s large legs. She had big blue eyes that took up half her face, and there were blue and gold ribbons in her long, sandy-brown hair; colors for the Sea Lions.

  “Come with me, daddy,” she said.

  The crowd behind them laughed. Now it was Brown’s turn to look reluctant. The quarterback’s body language said it all: seeing Santa wasn’t something macho athletes did.

  “I’ll be right near you, Savannah. Just go on up.”

  But still she clung to his leg. “Come with me, daddy.”

  The audience yelled their encouragement, and Brown shrugged. Savannah came out from behind her father’s legs and started tugging at his hand. It was an unfair tug of war: the little girl won easily, and her father accompanied her up to Nick’s sleigh.

  “Sit down on that knee, daddy, and I’ll sit on this knee.”

  “I don’t think Santa’s leg can support …”

  “Sit down,” said Nick. His shift was almost over and Raymond would be expecting him.

  The crowd echoed Nick’s invitation. Shrugging, and then mugging, Brown settled on Nick’s right knee. With her father so near, Savannah wasn’t afraid any longer. She turned to Nick and became positively chatty, and over the course of the next few minutes was very specific about what she wanted for Christmas.

  “Okay,” Nick finally said, deciding her list was long enough as is. “You want an ant farm, a talking Mother Goose, some dance slippers, a puppet set, a dollhouse, a volcano kit, some play horses, and a corral to put the horses in.”

  “A palomino and a mustang.”

  “Right. Are you sure you don’t want a football?”

  She shook her head very firmly.

  “Ask her Daddy what he wants, Santa!” yelled someone in the crowd. The notion was seconded, and then some.

  “It’s your turn, Danny,” said Nick. “Have you been a good boy?”

  “I sure have.”

  “And what do you want for Christmas?”

  Brown spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear: “I’d like an early Christmas present, Santa. We play Kansas City on Sunday, and we really need a win.”

  The onlookers cheered. Cameras had appeared and pictures were being snapped.

  “Okay,” said Nick, “since you’ve been good, I’ll give you the early Christmas present you want: a gift-wrapped win over KC”

  Nick’s pronouncement drew the largest cheers yet.

  “That’s going to surprise the odds-makers, Santa,” said a smiling Danny.

  “Never bet against Christmas,” advised Nick.

  “I sure won’t.”

  The quarterback picked up his daughter. She wasn’t that much bigger than a football. He held her gently, but firmly. Nick could tell she was one thing in his life he would never fumble.

  For once, no one was watching Santa. All eyes were on Danny Brown. Pieces of paper were being thrust at him as Angie put up the “Santa is Feeding his Reindeer” sign. Nick expected to slip away unnoticed, but one person fell in next to him.

  “I thought it was against the rules for Santa to promise a particular gift.”

  “Sue me,” said Nick.

  At least this time the reporter hadn’t brought her cameraman.

  “I’d rather interview you,” Charlotte said.

  “You already did,” said Nick.

  “No I didn’t, Mr. Pappas.”

  He walked faster. “I got nothing to say,” he said. His secret was out.

  “This isn’t about your situation,” she said, trotting to keep up. “It’s about Laura.”

  Nick slowed down a little, but he was sure his face reflected his uncertainty. He didn’t trust the media.

  “I want to discuss her letter with you. I’ve barely been able to sleep since reading it,” Charlotte confessed.

  Maybe she was on the up and up. “Join the crowd,” said Nick.

  “If you want me to try and find Laura you’re going to have to help me, and that means we have to talk.”

  “I don’t know,” said Nick.

  Charlotte smiled. “If the only way I can get you to speak with me is by sitting in your lap, don’t think I won’t resort to that.”

  “Quit with the threats,” said Nick, doing his best to hide a grin. He thought a moment. “Your only interest is talking about that letter?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I got to meet with someone now,” he said, “but I’ll be free around eight if that works for you.”

  “Why don’t we eat while we talk?” said Charlotte.

  It had been a long time since Nick had dined with a woman. “Sure,” he said.

  Easy wasn’t working at the hospital that night, but she’d made arrangements to let Nick in to see Raymond. The boy was still intubated and Nick decided to make light of his condition.

  “Some people will do anything to get out of talking with me,” said Nick.

  He patted Raymond on the arm, and the boy’s eyes smiled back at him. Raymond reached for the Advent calendar and extended it to Nick.

  “No way,” said Nick. “I’m not finding today’s door for you. That’s your job.”

  Raymond scanned the calendar, and then jabbed triumphantly at the number three. He pointed to Nick and motioned that he eat.

  “Why don’t we save it for when they pull that tube out of you?” Nick asked.

  The boy shook his head.

  “Always did have a weakness for sweets,” said Nick, patting his stomach. “Santa and I have that in common.”

  He removed the chocolate, and then bit into it. With his hands and eyes the boy asked Nick how he liked it. “Tastes great,” said Nick. He didn’t tell Raymond his chocolates could never be anything other than bittersweet.

  Nick finished up by licking his fingers. Raymond seemed amused by the display.

  “Guess who visited me at my sleigh today?” Nick asked. “I’ll give you a few hints.”

  Nick thought about his first clue for a moment. “He’s a professional athlete, and he wears the number twelve.”

  Raymond pantomimed the catching of a baseball, the shooting of a basketball, and the tossing of a football. Nick stood up, responded with the motion of a caught football, the upraised hands of a score, and his spiking the imaginary ball on the ground, but his theatrics were all but ignored by Raymond. The boy was looking around for something, and found it. He started tapping the bed table insistently, and then ran his finger along it. After a few seconds Nick figured out what he was saying.

  “Brown,” said Nick, recognizing that the boy was pointing at the table’s color. “That’s right. Downtown Danny Brown came to the mall with his daug
hter.”

  Raymond nodded triumphantly.

  “Danny only asked for one thing,” said Nick. “He wanted an early Christmas present of a win over Kansas City on Sunday. I’m probably going to be in Santa’s doghouse for saying he could have it. None of Santa’s helpers are supposed to promise any gifts. Only Santa can do that.”

  Raymond seemed to get great pleasure out of rubbing his index fingers together in a motion that all but said, “Naughty, naughty.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Nick, “I’m not much of a Santa’s helper.”

  Raymond shook his head in disagreement. “Thanks for that vote of confidence,” said Nick.

  He thought about bringing up Raymond’s request for snow, but it didn’t seem the right time.

  “Afraid I can’t stay too long tonight,” Nick said. “Since Easy’s not working I can’t abuse visiting hours, and besides, I got to go meet a woman for dinner.”

  Raymond made a sound and Nick said, “It’s not like that. This lady’s a TV reporter. You see, Santa got this letter from a girl named Laura, and Christmas kind of passed her by last year, so this reporter and I want to help the girl. Anyway, for a reporter she seems okay.”

  Raymond tapped his heart and pointed at Nick.

  “You trying to say I like her?” said Nick. “Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much, kid?”

  Chapter 13

  The Holly and the Ivy

  It had been years since Nick last visited Old Town. It was one of those spots that most locals had conceded to the tourists, even though the area laid claim to many of San Diego’s historical roots. The old mission was there, and the Casa de Estudillo, and the Whaley House and other attractions, but Old Town was mostly a string of restaurants and mercados designed to gather in the tourists.

  Nick had forgotten how attractive Old Town was. The area was dressed for the holidays, but not overdressed. Most of the whitewashed buildings were adorned by strands of white icicle lights. Luminarias, lit candles inside paper bags, lined walkways and offered their soft glow to passersby. The luminarias had a warming radiance, not emitting light as much as serenity. Against the wind and the darkness the candles burned on.

  For the fourth time Nick brushed at his shirt, trying to pat down the wrinkles. Before entering the open-air restaurant, he sucked in his gut. No need, he thought, to look like Santa off the job. Charlotte was standing at the hostess stand. She examined him for a moment before looking away. Nick was secretly pleased she didn’t recognize him.