The Santa Society (3 page)

“Not having a very good day, huh?” He laughs as he makes his way up the steps and strolls over the walkway.

“No, not a good day.” My gaze falls to the pouch he carries—the magic answer to my problem.

He regards the door, assessing it with the look of a man hoping for a challenge. His expression falls by the time he reaches the top step. He sighs and pulls something from his pocket.

“Well, this’ll only take a second.” He gives me a smile and closes in on the door.

I watch him from the rocker. He shoves something into the threshold, in the tight crack between door and frame, and slides it down with a quick swipe. The door immediately opens. When he pulls his hand back, I see a driver’s license peeking out of his closed palm. I even recognize his bearded face in the tiny picture.

I stare at it. It’s pretty much the same shape and size as the debit card in my back pocket.

Callie hasn’t spoken. She hasn’t been this quiet in the whole two hours I’ve known her. She watches him, as though he has commanded lightening from his fingertips.

He clears his throat. “Well, there you go.”

“Thanks.” I pull my debit card from my back pocket and offer it to him reluctantly.

He plucks it from my hand. “Credit or debit?”

“Debit.”

He lumbers off to his van.

As soon as he disappears behind it, Callie turns to me. “Why didn’t you just use that little card like he did?”

I let my breath out in a slow sigh. “Because, I didn’t think of it first.”

“Oh.”

“Callie!” Tammy calls. “It’s almost lunch time.”

Callie offers me another toothless grin. “I’ll come back to see you again, okay?”

The sight of her blazing hair and happy face warms me. Maybe even enough to melt a few ice crystals inside my frozen heart.

“Okay.” I smile as she hops down the steps like a bunny.

She gives me a little wave, skips across the lawn, and disappears through her bunny hole in the shrubs.

The locksmith makes his way back to the porch. He struggles to separate the carbon copies of my receipt with his thick, square fingertips. After a few failed attempts, he finally lifts his thumb to his mouth and licks it. My throat tightens as he drags it across the top copy. It sticks. He tears it off and hands it to me.

“Oh, wait.” He fishes in his coverall pocket. “There.” He brushes the pocket lint off my debit card, holding it up like a holy grail. “If this ever happens again, you can try this little baby right here. They don’t work on most locks these days, but you got an easy one.”

Lucky me.
“Thanks.” Tears sting my eyes, but I give him a tight smile.

“Have a wonderful day,” he calls and heads back to his van.

I glance down at the receipt, trying not to touch the wet corner at the top. I find the total written in red pen with a smiley face. My eyes tear up as I read the name signed at the bottom: Security Santa. I shove it in my pocket. I just gave up fifty bucks for a half price coffee and a free dog.

Chapter 3

AFTER TWO AND A HALF HOURS spent locked out of my house, $50 for a driver’s license swipe, and another $54 at the grocery store for dog food and accessories, I’m $104 poorer and pretty sure I should have stayed in bed this morning.

Klaus yawns and jumps when I stumble through the door with a huge bag of kibble. I rest against the door frame with one knee lifted to balance the obnoxiously large sack and try to get a better grip on it, but the extra plastic bag on my wrist keeps getting caught up. I try to sling it outward, but the food bag slides off my leg and slams to the floor. The impact shakes the house so hard a picture falls from the wall beside me. I look down. The Serenity Prayer lies face up with small chinks in the glass, obscuring the words. Now the title reads:
Sry Er
.

I blink at it, forgetting about the mess. For a moment, I can remember exactly the way my mother sounded when she called me Er—how she pronounced it like “air.” I am suddenly next to her bed again, listening to her jagged, uneven breaths.

Only the light of the Christmas tree keeps us from total darkness. Casting a golden glow across her face, it gives her pale skin an ethereal glow. The rattle of her breathing has softened to the point I begin to panic. Maybe it’s about to stop. But then I hear a whisper so faint I’m not sure I have heard it at all. “I’m sorry, Er.”

The sound of kibble crunching brings me back to reality. I open my eyes. The bag has a large rip in the middle. Through it, brown gumdrop-sized pellets have spilled out into the floor. Klaus happily sweeps them up like a Hoover vacuum with his doughy lips.

“Okay, okay.” I reach for the bag, straining with all my strength to lift it. “Let’s go to the kitchen. I’ll feed you.”

 I motion with my leg for him to follow me, hoping to keep him away from the glass. He gives me his once-over nod as though processing my words, then falls into a trot beside me. In the kitchen I set out a bowl of kibble and fresh water. He laps up all the water first then transitions to the food. Pieces of it fall from his lips to the floor. He makes a pass over them. Crumbs and even entire pellets vanish so fast I can’t see it with my naked eye.

I turn my back and start rummaging for a plastic container large enough to store the kibble in. Finally, I find an extra trash can in the laundry room. Once it’s washed, I fill it up and drag it to the pantry. It takes some rearranging, but I finally clear a space big enough to shove it in and push against the door until it closes.

I add more water to Klaus’ water dish, but he takes only a quick drink before he meanders over to the poodle door. Intrigued, I follow. I want to see how Klaus-the-house gets himself through that flap.

He shoves his head through first and stands for a moment as though relishing the fresh air in his lungs. He reminds me of an ancient statue with no head. He backs up and snorts, with his face tilted up at me, like the rise at the end of a question.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him. “Don’t like audiences?”

Klaus wags his tail and heads for the back door. He stands there waiting until I walk over and open it for him. From the doorway, I watch him mark off his territory. He urinates on the empty flower pot at the corner of the patio. Then he adds a splash to the lawn chair and the willow tree. Once he finishes squirting the garden hose reel, he trots past me through the door and into the living room.

I follow, arriving just in time to see him climb onto the cream colored, microfiber sofa. He stretches out in the cushions and wallows around until he gets them just right. I consider reprimanding him for the liberties he takes, but I just don’t have the energy. I leave him to the couch and head back to the kitchen. I’d rather make a banana sandwich than argue over the couch. I never sit on it anyway.

I glance at the clock. 8:00 p.m. I lay my book aside and lower the recliner’s leg rest. Maybe Klaus and I will be a good match. I mostly read. And he mostly sleeps, judging by the fact he hasn’t budged from the sofa.

I don’t know why I keep reading about happy things like love and romance. It only makes me feel more miserable. But I’ve done it for months. I guess I don’t really have a better alternative. Adventure would only amplify my mundane existence. Family stories would only remind me of the family I don’t have. Horror…well, then I’d
never
sleep. Of course, I do have plenty of Christmas stories. I glance at the bookcase across the room where three entire shelves display my mother’s collection. She loved Christmas more than anything, except her family. Even our family portraits all contained winter backdrops. Fortunately, I took them down from the walls last week. At least in the closet they won’t haunt me so much.

On the lamp table next to me, the yellowed note from the mailbox waits next to a business card. I reach for the note and carefully unfold it. I try to prepare by making myself a stone, cold and empty. The date reads December 25, 2000.

Erin,

Happy Birthday, sweet girl. I know we haven’t exchanged letters in the mailbox for a long time. I thought your 18th birthday would be a nice time for memories. And it’s Christmas. There is no better day of the year. I will always miss my time with you when you were growing up and all the ways I have loved you as a child. I know it’s your eighteenth birthday, but in my heart you will always be my baby. Since your father died, I know I have held onto you a little too tight. I promise to let you go, but only as far as I have to. Just please don’t forget how much I love you.

Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday always,

Mom

I refold the note and return it to the table.
My mind is a stone
.
My mind is a stone.
I repeat it like a talisman that will keep me safe. Tears burn in my eyes.
I am a bloody hard rock.
Hot streams spill down my cheeks.
I won’t break
. But my chest clenches in a spasm that reaches down to my stomach and envelopes it with one massive fist. Sobs spill from my mouth. My voice deafens me, loud and raw. Everything inside me brims up and spills over. Sorrow and tears escape through my lips, my eyes, and my soul. I am somewhere other than here, as waves of agony sweep over me so intense I think I will die...and I hope I will.

Because I know there’s a chance my mom might still be here if I hadn’t let her go. Maybe treatment would’ve let me keep her longer. And I know why I never got her note from the magic mailbox. It’s because I walked out on her in anger—the day I turned eighteen. I left, on Christmas, and I never moved back until all-the-time-in-the-world ran out.

I feel something heavy in my lap. When I open my eyes, I see Klaus’ head there. He watches me with round, sad eyes. I swear he feels the blackness swallowing me. I rest my hand on his face and close my eyes again. I surrender to the tide and let my tears flow away like the blood of life until my thoughts go blank, and I have no energy left to care.

I open my eyes and see morning has come. I only know this for sure because the light looks morning-ish in the living room, and no angels wait to take me anywhere.

Klaus lies at my feet—correction—on top of them. I can’t feel anything below my ankles. I struggle to pull my legs free. He grunts and lifts himself up. Instantly, my feet flop about like sandbags dangling from my ankles.

I check my watch and see its ten o’clock already. I haven’t had that much sleep in months. I’ve got a pressing urge to make a phone call, so I’m glad I don’t have to wait until later.

I grab the cordless and pluck the business card from the table. I haven’t really read it before now. It’s the one the guy gave me yesterday, the one who didn’t own Klaus. The card says his name is Reason—Reason MacCloud.
Never heard that one before.

Who cares about his name? I’m more interested in his ability to help me sell this house, even though it shouldn’t be hard to sell. Maybe that just means he will sell it even faster.

I dial the number and examine the white card. A silver embossment accents the words in an arching fashion that moves from the bottom right to the upper center. It looks like an evergreen branch.

The phone rings and rings. Just when I’m convinced I’m about to hear a recorded message, someone picks up the line. A noisy ruckus erupts in the background. I can’t make it out, but it sounds like someone answering in the middle of an amusement park. I think I hear a loud, “Shhhhhh!” The line falls quiet.

“This is Reason, how may I help you today?”

I try not scoff at the irony. “Hi, my name is Erin Sinclair. We met yesterday in front of the coffee shop.

“Yes! I remember—the lady who doesn’t like dogs.” He laughs. I am taken back by his deep, rich voice. In a way I didn’t notice yesterday.

“I never said I didn’t like dogs. But that’s not why I called. I need help selling my house.”

“Wonderful. Would you like to meet later today?”

“Well—I”

“Is today a bad time?”

“No, it’s just that I didn’t expect you to be free today since it’s Sunday,” I stammer.

“Sunday’s not a problem for me. Not at all. I’ll be there at noon.”

I check my watch. Noon is only an hour and fifty minutes away. I haven’t prepared. I—

“See you then?” he presses.

“Sure.” I roll my eyes. Great, now I have to rush.

“Good.”

“Wait…don’t you need my address?”

“Oh, right. What is it?”

I rattle off my address, wondering how he just happens to have a pen in hand. After I disconnect, I survey my mother’s living room. I see all her books, as though she will be back soon to read them. Near the fireplace, her yarn basket holds a partially knitted afghan that peeks over the rim, waiting to be finished.

The idea of losing this back-any-minute appearance fills me with uncertainty. Maybe I’m not ready. But I can’t punk out now. I’ve got to do it because I’ll never be sure.

I leap from my chair, startling Klaus as I step over him. I need coffee first—strong coffee and a shower.

Chapter 4

I GIVE MYSELF ONE LAST CHECK in the mirror. This is a bad, bad look for me. The puffy redness in my lids has changed my eye color from blue to a sickly gray. Worse, the jagged eyeliner says I’ve had way too much coffee. And my ponytail—it hangs over my shoulder like a drab brown scarf. I haven’t cut it since I left New York last year.

The doorbell rings.

I flip the light switch off and gaze into the pitch black of the mirror, wishing I could look as anonymous as this when I get to the door. I turn and head down the hall to the living room, just as the bell rings again. As I reach for the knob, I notice Klaus hasn’t even barked. Guard dog must not be in his repertoire.

I open the door and find myself eye-level with a man’s bicep. The size is so impressive that I forget myself for a moment. Finally, I peel my eyes away and glance up. Reason stands with his back to me, facing the street. The back of his bristly head looks like a dark five o’clock shadow. He doesn’t turn around even though I’m sure he knows I’ve answered the door.