Santa Hunk (4 page)

CLARE: December 10, con’t

By then it was getting close to dusk.

To get to the second grove, I had to go back out
onto Lakeshore and turn west.

Horseshoe Road, it turns out, was closed, so I took
the next left onto Sunset Point.

I found a parking area and parked.

As I stood outside my car and looked around, I
started to feel a little better.

It was so beautiful. How can you feel sad, in a
place that is that beautiful?

And deserted. Just like the last place I’d explored,
there was nobody here.

I had the place to myself.

I looked at the trees around me. They were covered
in snow, their limbs and branches coated with it. The only sound was a single
twittering bird and, every so often the distant, muffled swish of a passing car.

I turned toward Horseshoe Road—the direction where the
article said the oak grove was.

I stepped over the wooden guardrail and into the
trees.

Before me was a gentle gully. I crossed it and
climbed the other side and beyond it—

Well, I don’t know if I’d ever really seen a “grove”
before.

But there was no other way to describe it.

It was a grove.

I’d say it was about the size of a football field—so
not very big.

But it was breathtaking.

How to describe it?

The trees were so straight, so majestic.

I knew they had to be oak trees, this time. I didn’t
need to look for leaves under the snow. It was how they
felt
. Your
whole life you read about the sturdy oak, the majestic oak, the ancient oak—and
here were trees that
meant
those words, that
embodied
those
words.

There were dozens and dozens of them, planted in
what could have been a pattern but at the same time seemed completely natural.

I walked under the trees, through the snow, drinking
it in.

I tipped my head back to look up. The limbs of each
tree arched up and out and then meshed with the arching limbs of the tree next
to it. It reminded me of pictures I’d seen of the interior of old cathedrals in
Europe: the stone arches coming together overhead to make an enormous vaulted
ceiling.

I’d never seen anything like it.

And I couldn’t believe nobody else was there. The
snow on the ground around me was smooth and unmarked, except, here and there,
dashes of animal tracks.

Where was everyone? How could such a beautiful place
be completely deserted?

It was funny, to notice that. Because on the one
hand, I knew I was alone. No serial killer was lurking in the trees somewhere,
watching me, waiting to pounce.

Even if it was going to be dark, soon, I was safe.

But on the other hand, it confirmed that Savannah
was 100 percent correct. Either I’d imagined the blue-eyed man entirely, or—if
he really existed, and had really said I should meet him at the oak grove—he
was Loony Tunes.

And then I happened to glance over to my left, in
the direction of the lake.

And I noticed something strange.

It was past sunset now, so the ambient light from
the sky was fading.

But one of the trees at the far side of the grove:
it was covered in little lights.

It took me completely by surprise.

And it’s one of those things that is so unexpected,
I didn’t even realize how impossible it was. I thought,
oh, look! The town has put up Christmas lights on a tree in the middle
of the park!

It never occurred to me that there was no electric
service out there, that far from the road. And really, Clare, why would a town
put up Christmas lights in a place like that, where nobody would ever see them?

Instead I got all excited and walked closer, to get
a better view.

I saw that the tree with the lights on it was bigger
than the other trees in the grove. It had an enormous, thick trunk, and its
main branches were much closer to the ground, making the tree’s appearance very
broad and massive.

And then, as I got closer, I noticed that there was
something odd about the lights. They didn’t look like electric lights. They
were too diffuse. They were more like little glowing balls than lights.

The effect as I got close enough to see the entire
tree was overwhelming, it was so beautiful.

I stopped and stared.

And then something moved and I looked back toward
the trunk of the tree—and there he was.

The blue-eyed man.

CLARE: December 10, con’t

And he was smiling. And he spoke to me.

“Clare,” he said. “You came.”

And I was gripped, suddenly, by a quick startle of fear.
It was like my mind was suddenly a confused rush of questions:
how did you get here? Where did you come
from? How did you follow me? I didn’t see anyone following me!

And then he took a couple steps toward me and I felt
my entire body tense, because naturally my instinct was to run. I was going to
make a dash for it—try to get away from this crazy person who’d somehow found
out I’d left my car and had come into these woods and how had he followed me?

But I didn’t run.

Because his eyes were on my eyes, and suddenly my
fear was gone.

Those eyes!

How well I remembered him, now! That
intelligence—that good humor, like he and I were sharing a private joke.

And he seemed to realize that he’d frightened me. He
stopped coming toward me—he stood still, a quiet smile on his lips.

And I felt like he was taking me in—drinking me in,
the way I’d been drinking in the beauty of those amazing snow-covered trees.

And because he’d stopped coming toward me I calmed
down and my senses caught up to me. First, of course, there were those eyes
that I remembered so well from the day I’d been hit by the bus. And his face—masculine,
intelligent, yet gentle. His beard, more of a neat stubble than an actual
beard. And lips that looked so soft—so kissable …

And I noticed also, then, that he was dressed kind
of oddly. He was wearing a cloak, for one thing. Who wears a cloak?

He shrugged the cloak back off his shoulders so that
it draped behind his back.

And his shirt was plain and white, like a Henley
kind of, with buttons partway down from his throat. And behind his shoulders (have
I mentioned how broad they were?) where the cloak was now folded back I noticed
fur—the cloak was fur-lined. And he wore black pants that were sort of loose
except gathered again at the bottom where they brushed the tops of his black leather
boots.

And suddenly I was aware of his body and I
remembered what he’d felt like that day he’d helped me up from the street, the
muscular warmth of him.

And I had this overwhelming impulse to just fall
forward, fall into his arms—

But then I caught myself.

I was being crazy. That was
crazy
.

“Clare,” he said again, and I saw a flicker of
concern in his eyes.

Crazy.

“How—how do you know my name?” I said. “How did you
get here? There’s no car—no tracks.”

“I’m here because you believed,” he said.

Okay,
that
was odd.

And quite honestly, the bizarre combination of
feelings that kept charging up through my gut was almost more than I could
stand.

I wanted to be there.

I wanted to be there!

But was it smart?

No.

So I took a little shuffle step backward—away from
him. Because I could suddenly hear Savannah’s voice in my ear, warning me that
the guy was at best crazy, at worst dangerous, and what was I doing here,
exactly? And was I nuts?

“How did you know my name?” I repeated, and then
because I was nervous I didn’t wait for him to answer—I could still hear Savannah,
saying I was nuts, reminding me that I knew nothing about the guy. “And, you.”
I said. “What’s
your
name?”

And his smile—have I mentioned he had the most
beautiful smile I’ve ever seen in a man in my life?—deepened slightly and he
said, “I’d tell you, but I’m afraid you won’t be able to pronounce it.”

I frowned.

This wasn’t going very well.

In fact, it was becoming clearer by the second that
Savannah’s instincts were right.

This guy was … strange.

In fact, he might be a flat-out weirdo.

A very good-looking weirdo—but still. A weirdo.

So I started thinking about how much ground was
between me and my car, and if I acted calm and kept talking like nothing was
wrong, I could bolt and if I got enough of a head start maybe I could reach my
car before he caught me—

“Try me,” I said, watching him.

And he paused. And I noticed again that gentle, calm
intelligence in his eyes—it was so disarming. It was like, it contradicted all
those fearful thoughts that kept flooding my brain.

He wasn’t scary.

He was
not
scary.

He was … what?

My home.

This man is my home.

And then as if he’d made a decision, he nodded, and
then he opened his mouth and a sound came out.

It was unlike any sound I’d ever heard before.

No! That’s not quite right. The sound was actually very,
very familiar. But it wasn’t a word. It sounded like wind. It sounded like wind
rustling the leaves of a tree—or maybe it was water, the sound water makes when
it tumbles over rocks in a stream.

I stared. My mouth probably hanging open.

And I started to wonder if maybe I wasn’t
hallucinating or dreaming or something.

Because not only was the word he’d spoken
unpronounceable—it wasn’t a sound that a human being could make, using human
anatomy—the human voice box.

He could read the confusion in my eyes, I suppose.
“I told you, you might have trouble pronouncing it,” he said.

I didn’t know what to say. So of course I came up
with something completely stupid. “So, uh, you’re not an American?”

Oh, brother.

“No,” he said. “I’m not. But I do visit pretty often.”

And—isn’t this ridiculous? I felt my heart drop at
those words. Because all I could think was:
he’s
not from here.
He’s only visiting … he’s going to leave.

And I don’t want him to leave.

“You could call me by my nickname,” he said.

Why was my mouth suddenly so dry? Why did it feel
like he was granting me something amazing, telling me his nickname?

“Okay,” I whispered. “What’s your nickname?”

“I have several.” And suddenly his face was so
serious. And the odd feelings inside me intensified. Like this was a test of
some kind.

“One of them is Bear.” He nodded. “Some people call
me ‘Bear.’”

Our eyes met.

And I thought about it. The name didn’t make
sense—he didn’t strike me as bear-like. On the contrary, he was—not slender,
exactly, but not heavy-set by a long shot.

“Also Creator of Magical Songs. And Yule Father. And
Wanderer.”

Ugh. That last one, Wanderer, reminded me of what
he’d said earlier—about not being an American but only visiting.

“And another one people sometimes use,” he said, his
gorgeous blue eyes suddenly locking onto mine, “is Santa.”

I stared.

And then—it was too much.

I couldn’t help it.

Suddenly, I could not
believe
I was having
this conversation.

I burst out laughing.

“Santa,” I said. And then I realized I was laughing
and I worried that he might think my laughter was insulting. But I saw he was
smiling.

“Silly, isn’t it?”

I stopped laughing.

“Look,” I said. “I am not really sure—I don’t know
even why I came here today—but this—this is all—”

“You’re cold,” he said. “You’re shivering.”

And he was right. My jeans had gotten a little wet
from the snow, walking in from the car. And I had no hat or gloves. And now
standing like that I was starting to get chilly.

And I also noticed how—beyond the pool of light cast
from the tree—how dark it was getting.

“Would you like to go inside, where it’s warm?”

His voice was so low as he spoke.

A little shiver went through me.

A shiver of “yes.”

And then I noticed something I hadn’t seen before—something
behind him.

There was a door in the trunk of the tree.

And of course it was crazy—crazy. But there it was:
a door. The top of it came to maybe my chest. It was bark-covered like the rest
of the tree, but I could see the crack between it and the trunk—it was
definitely a door—and then I also saw what looked like a wrought iron door handle.

And I wanted to say
yes
.

I wanted to say yes and go with this man into the
tree.

But in the same instant I was gripped by a wave of
fear.

Madness.

Madness.

Out here in this deserted place with a VERY odd man
who is a complete stranger and he wants me to do WHAT?

“Clare,” he said.

Somehow my eyes found his again.

“You don’t have to be frightened, Clare. I would
never, ever hurt you.”

“This—this is crazy.” My voice sounded shaky at
first but then it steadied and I thought I might even start to scream. “This
is—”

“Clare.”

His voice stopped my words in my throat, as if he’d
caught them in his hand, clasped my words in his hand.

“Clare, you know this, but you haven’t yet allowed
it to sink in: I’m not a mortal man.”

I stared at him, trying to process what he was
saying to me.

“But I have fallen in love with you.”

“I don’t understand.”

He shook his head, like he was regretting something,
only his eyes didn’t look regretful. “It’s been known to happen.”

I couldn’t stop staring. “I—I don’t understand.”

“You have to trust me, Clare, when I tell you I’m
offering you your destiny.”

It made no sense.

Absolutely. No. Sense.

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “This is … nuts.”

“I’ve been … around you for a long time. But you
never saw me.”

So he’s … a
stalker?

This is
bad—this is really, really bad.

“Unless you believe, you cannot see.” His words
broke again into my thoughts and I again became aware of his eyes—their
gentleness, that deep tenderness.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “I don’t
understand any of this.”

“Just remember these words, please, Clare, my love:
if you doubt, your doubt becomes the test.”

It made no sense.

“Will you remember those words?”

I nodded, and then we stood there, looking at each
other.

And it felt like my heart might tear in two.

Half of my heart was gripped by fear.

And the other half, by something else. Something
like desire. Only more than desire. Something older than my bones, older than
life itself.

“You’re cold. You have to go.”

I didn’t want to go.

“But first—before you go—I’d like to kiss you. May I
kiss you?”

And the fearful part of my heart screamed NO. The
fearful part of my heart believed that if I let this man touch me, kiss me, I
would be gone. I would be gone. I would never want to leave him. I would follow
him—through that door, through that door that could not possibly exist, into
whatever impossibility lay behind that impossible door.

And he stepped toward me.

And he reached out and touched my cheek with the
tips of his fingers.

And a stab of pleasure and desire plunged through my
body.

And his hand was behind my head and he was pulling
me into him, and our lips touched, and he kissed me.

And my knees nearly buckled under me and I wanted to
grab him and hang onto him and beg me to take me with him.

And then he’d released me and I stood there, barely
able to support myself on my wobbly legs, my heart racing, my brain swirling.

Looking at him.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

“I told you. I’m Santa.”

I must have looked like an idiot. I couldn’t
comprehend the words.

“I was there, that day on the street, because the
man with the cell phone needed my help. But you helped him, instead. You see, I
am the one who comes when things are dark.”

Santa.

This was too much. “I don’t understand,” I
whispered. “Santa? Santa brings presents to little kids.”

He smiled. “That’s a child’s tale. But there’s truth
in it. A deeper truth.” He paused for a moment, as if searching for the right
words, and then continued. “When the days are darkest—the soul’s midwinter
days—I’m the one who brings the miracle. The thing that helps people go on. I
give the gift that helps people get through the darkest days.”

It was ridiculous—to be standing there hearing those
words.

And yet … something about what he said made perfect
sense …

“You have to go,” he said.

“But—” I looked at him. “I don’t—can I come back?
How will I find you?”

And his smile faded and I saw in those beautiful
eyes a touch of sadness. “When you’re ready—”

And I thought:
I failed.
I’ve failed.

“You won’t fail, Clare. Not as long as you believe.”

I realized that my shivering was getting worse.

And I no longer had feeling in my toes.

“Go,” he said.

And I don’t know how I did it. I was so torn, I
don’t know how I did it. Maybe because, as confused as I was, the only thing
that made sense was to go back to my car and try to get warm. Like my body’s
need to get warm took over for me.

I started back through the snow.

And I felt the tears running down my cheeks.

And I knew that I would turn around and he would be
gone.

But I couldn’t help myself.

And so I turned.

And he was gone.

The lights on the tree had gone out—it was dark—but
I could still tell. He was gone.

“Bear,” I whispered. “Santa.”

But it was too late.

And a fresh new fear plunged through my heart:
I
will never see him again.

I don’t remember the rest of the walk back to the
car. All I know is that once I got there I sat for a long time. And I had the
heater on full blast, but it felt like I’d never feel warm again.

And I sat there, waiting until the sobbing passed so
that I could see the road to drive.