The Santa Society (13 page)

Klaus whimpers as Reason reaches for my door handle. When it’s open, he spills through and bounds around in circles on the freshly plowed pavement. By the time my feet hit the ground, he’s already christened the nearby plow.

“He seems at home here,” I say.

“He probably smells the other animals.”

“Ah, that makes sense.”

He guides me to a paved path, leading to the cabin. When we reach the porch, I notice Adirondack chairs and a stack of firewood in the shadows. Our boots make pleasant thuds on the wood floor—sounds that should accompany a place like this, like I’m sure I heard on “Little House on the Prairie.”

He opens the door, and the smell of something delicious spills out. I step inside and am only vaguely aware of the door closing behind me. I sniff the appetizing aromas and notice something underlining them. His unique scent, that incredible blend of pine and spices, surrounds me. I’m in heaven.

“I hope you like traditional food.” He removes his boots and places them by the door, then helps me with my coat.

“Traditional is perfect.” I sound polite and robotic as I follow his lead and take off my boots too. Klaus has run ahead of us both, breezing into Reason’s home like he lives here. I don’t even see him anymore. My nervousness grows. What if he breaks something?

“Klaus,” I plead.

“He’s okay, look.” Reason points through an entryway to the living area.

I turn and see Klaus sprawled on a rug in front of the fire. His tail smacks the floor twice, but he doesn’t lift his head.

I move my eyes around the room, taking in the entire effect. Everything has been built out of pine: the ceiling, the floors, the walls, and the furniture. Everything. I stare in amazement. I’m miles from civilization, standing in the great frontier.

The stone fireplace reaches to the ceiling with a raised hearth. The chocolate colored sofas flank a matching recliner with its own lamp and table. I smile. He’s left a book open on it, face down, straining the spine the same way I do. On the far side of the room, he’s got his Christmas tree up. It’s decorated with clear lights and real cranberry garlands.

My eyes move to the coffee table. It’s already arranged with a setting of plates, bowls, silverware, and two crystal goblets. I’m impressed—it rivals the North Star Inn.

“I thought we’d eat in here, in front of the fire.” He looks at his feet.

“Reason, this—” I look around trying to find the right words. “—it’s incredible.” My words seem so inept.

“Thank you.”

I walk over to the table and notice he’s put cushions on the floor.

“I’ll be right back with dinner. There’s some wine on the table, if you’d like some. I also have cider.”

Indeed, two small carafes await me. One with red wine and the other filled with cider. He disappears around the corner and reemerges a few seconds later, holding a large iron pot.

“Wow, did you cook that over a fire?”

His laughter rumbles. “No, but I thought about it.” He sets it in the center of the table before he continues. “My grandmother came from the south. She made this for me when I was a kid. I think the real name of it is “Brunswick Stew,” but she always called it “Soul Stew.” I think that’s a better name for it.”

He removes his oven mitts. I peer inside and see an interesting stew with chunks of chicken, pulled pork, corn, tomatoes, and peas. It’s kind of an orange-brown color and smells like barbecue.

“I’ve never served this to anyone before. I hope you’ll like it.” His shyness returns and I find it fascinating—I guess because I’m starting to think I might be the only person who sees this side of him.

“It looks delicious.”

He seats himself beside me and dishes our plates, before uncovering a small basket of cornbread muffins.

He blesses the food, and moments later, I try my first spoonful of soul stew. The taste surprises me. It’s like tangy barbecue with a kick, enough to make my nose run a little. But yet, it’s a stew, which baffles me. I grab my cornbread and take a bite. It melts on my tongue with buttery sweetness. Soon, I have finished off my entire bowl and three more muffins.

“You should sell that stew. You’d make a million.” I take a sip of wine and return it to the table.

He looks like a little boy who’s just presented me with a report card full of A’s.

“Come, I want to show you something.” He stands and extends a hand to me. I feel so full I think I might explode, but I get to my feet anyway. He leads me by the hand to the window at the far end of the room, near the Christmas tree. It overlooks two stables and several corrals. I can see the mountains from here, outlined in the far distance by snow and moonlight.

Reason shifts beside me. “It’s not so bad out here, is it?”

I gaze out over this beautiful expanse of solitude. “It’s peaceful, like sleep.”

He stands behind me. I can see our reflection in the glass. It reminds me of earlier today, when he stood behind me in the dressing room.

A chill moves over my arms, even though it’s not at all cold. He slips his arms around me. We stand here together looking out over God’s creation. I realize peaceful is a lame word to describe this.

I’m suddenly filled with so many emotions. They ripple through me. The grief I’ve felt for so long, for the people I’ve lost. I realize too that I haven’t ever added new ones—until now. My mother’s house sits out there somewhere in the darkness, a gift to me. I’ve lived the life of a hermit all year, surviving off savings and the modest inheritance she left to me while segregating myself from everything that represents living. I’ve existed in the land of the dead, walking through darkness and sad, bitter memories. But in front of me—and standing right behind me—I see life and the most profound beauty.

He squeezes me tighter. I think I would be content to never move from where I stand right now. In our reflection, his face bends low to me. He isn’t looking at the view outside when he says, “Beautiful serenity.” My skin tingles.

I turn around slowly, unsure if I am ruining the moment. I face him and look up into those dark glittery eyes. His eyes lock with mine as I rise up on my toes. We press our foreheads together, and I close my eyes.

I can feel him breathing, heavier than before.

Suddenly music begins to play.

I open my eyes and look at him, bewildered. Has he set some kind of timer? We turn. In the living room, Klaus sits near a stereo. He lowers his head as though he’s been caught piddling. He turns away and lays down with his back to us. We hear a loud snort.

Reason laughs, a loud burst of nervous energy and enjoyment.

“How did he do that?” I search his face. I’m laughing too, but underneath that I really want to know.

“Maybe he bumped against the power button. Or maybe he was a DJ before he got the dog gig.”

All at once, we’re consumed in a fit of laughter. We can’t seem to stop until finally my eyes water and my face hurts. The release leaves me breathless and exhilarated. Finally, I notice the song playing. It’s “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire.”

Reason pulls me closer. “He’s got good taste.”

I giggle and we begin to sway, almost dancing. I want to bury my face in his chest and breathe him in, but I keep looking in his eyes. The light in them reminds me of a candle burning in a window—the welcome signal of home.

 
Home. Magic. Miracles. A reason to stay.
His words come back to me like a whisper in my ear.

I clear my throat.“I’d like to cancel our contract.”

Surprise flickers in his eyes. “The contract?”

“Yes.”

“Are you firing me?”

“I am.”

He bites his lower lip and grins. I melt as his hand moves to the back of my neck. His warm fingers brush against my ear, and his gaze lowers to my mouth, an expression that lifts me onto my tip-toes again. I close my eyes just as his lips touch mine. The first kiss is gentle like a feather. The second takes my breath away, sending a tremor rippling through us both. The third kiss fills me with the sense I’m floating in the air, still in his arms, as his mouth melts into mine. I think I taste the clean crispness of peppermint. Then I realize it’s not really a flavor at all, it’s just him. Like his scent, he has his very own taste.

When he pulls away, I’m left with an aching longing to swim in his presence—the supple silkiness of his kiss. As the place where his lips touched mine cools, I already miss him.

He speaks to me in a soft whisper near my ear. “Thank you.”

At first I think he’s thanked me for the kiss. Then the fuzzy haze clears from my thoughts, and suddenly I know. He thanked me for finding a reason to stay.

Chapter 15

AFTER REASON DROPPED me off at home, I collapsed in my bed with Klaus-the-house occupying half of it. But I remained too electrified to sleep. I gave up around 5:00 a.m. and have been pacing the house ever since. Last night burns in my heart. I keep replaying the memory over and over, squeezing every last bit of juice, before the images turn grainy and the warm sensations become harder to summon.

I never realized before how hard it is to hold on to good memories…because I’ve never tried. The bad ones replay with involuntary vividness. I want last night’s kiss to be the same.

Now it’s almost time for the parade. I’m already dressed and ready, except for my hair. I have no idea what I am doing. Worse, I don’t have any clips or bobby pins or even a curling iron. A person can do only so much with a rubber band. I stare at myself in the mirror, feeling at a total loss.

As I let go of my hair and watch it fall again, I picture my mother with her hair pulled up in all the many ways she liked to wear it.
I bet she has something I can use.

I rush down the hall and throw open the door. Everything remains exactly where she left it. I’ve only been in here once since she passed away—yesterday, to borrow the earrings.

I turn on the light, not sure where to look first. I scan the cluttered room of furniture, all of it loaded with drawers. It could be anywhere.

I turn to the chest of drawers first and start at the top, pulling them out and shoving them closed again. I find only neat stacks of clothing. I reach the bottom and see her nightgowns. I close it. I can still remember seeing her wear them. My throat tightens.

I move to the dresser, refusing to get emotional. The first drawer contains only socks, the second undergarments, and the third—I stop.

A school picture of me at the age of thirteen faces up. I wince at the amount of makeup on my young face, and that hair. Wow. As I remember it, I had an entire bad hair year. I flip it over. On the back, I see the year and my age written in her handwriting. Odd, I thought she had all the old pictures organized in storage boxes. I wonder why these aren’t with the others. And there doesn’t seem to be any particular order to the things here, which is unusual for my mother.

I slide my hand over the top of the pictures and papers. I see myself at all different ages, notes I wrote, and artwork I drew for her. It's a drawer full of me. I know I won't find hair stuff in here, but I check the bottom anyway. My fingers graze the corner of a box. I uncover it and pull it out. An envelope slides off the top of it as I place it on the dresser.

It’s nothing more than a small shoebox from a pair of children’s shoes—probably once belonging to me. I lift the lid and set it to the side. The picture on the top is of my mother, probably taken in her early twenties as she stands on a beach, wearing a bikini. She smiles radiantly at the camera with her long black hair spilling over her shoulders. I gape as I look at her, wishing I had a body like that. Shouldn’t I have inherited that from her? She stands beside a friend, another young woman I don’t know. I look closer. It could be my Aunt Pattie, but I can’t tell for sure. Aunt Pattie died young too, Much younger than my mom. She was in her thirties when breast cancer killed her.

I sigh and replace the lid. I’ll look at these later. I know I’m running low on time, and I still haven’t found any bobby pins or clips. As an afterthought, I grab the envelope and slide it inside for later. The next drawer I open contains the jackpot I hoped for: a zippered vinyl bag full of bobby pins, barrettes, and clips of all kinds. I remove a large barrette, exposing a red velvet ribbon coiled beneath. My heart quickens as I hold it to the dress—it matches perfectly.

And it keeps getting better. There’s also a curling iron. I scoop all of it in my arms and grab the shoebox, turning out the light with my elbow on my way out. I stop by my room and lay the box on the bed, then head for the bathroom, knowing I have a lot of work left to do.

The mayor stands beside Reason, giving him an earful about liabilities. I’m seated in a carriage, staring at the rumps of five large reindeer and trying to pretend I’m not listening.

“We’ve got kids, babies, and little old ladies lined up from here to Dickens Street. The safety concerns here are staggering.” I sneak a peek at his flushed face. He fidgets with his hand in front of his round belly.

“Mayor Tucker, with all due respect, I have trained these animals myself. I’ve worked with them extensively over the past five years. I promise you they know what to do.”

“No one said anything about real reindeer. We’ve
never
used real reindeer. What happened to the float and the elves and all that”—he pauses and throws his hands up—“safe stuff?”

“I decided to do something different this year.”

“
You
decided?”

“I came up with the idea, yes, sir. The elders voted unanimously, and I signed off. ”

“I see.”

“Just think of the photos. You can display them in City Hall. And then the magazines features, the authenticity, the marketability. We felt it would be beneficial to the city—a shot in the arm.”

“It’s not 1890 anymore. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to run a city with the Society shadowing my every living minute? I realize the historical significance of this alliance, but for Christ’s sake a man needs time to make arrangements—get the paperwork, the permits in place—not as fancy as your job, I’m sure, but just as necessary.”