The Santa Society (11 page)

He closes his eyes as he hugs her back, almost like she’s not somebody else’s kid.

I gape. The love—the peace in his face sends a shock of déjà vu through me. I hadn’t given any thought to how he might behave with children. Now I know. No wonder he’s Santa in the city parade.

I’m still holding the forgotten plate in one hand and a spoon of eggs in the other. I kick back into gear. I spoon in the eggs and a biscuit. Reason gives her gravy and an orange juice. I’m careful not to make too much eye contact, but when I hand Tammy her plate, I touch her hand for a moment. I just want her to know I haven’t judged her. She meets my eyes and nods.

They move on to a table, and I’m once again acutely aware of Reason’s presence next to me. This time, it’s mixed with reverent humility. He’s electricity—profoundly alive and complex.

Across the room, Callie hands the white envelope to Tammy and gushes with a rush of excited words. “It’s a cupid card, Mommy. We can trade it for food at the bank. And they’ll give us new coats and mittens.”

As I mentally translate what she’s said, I realize Callie and her family will have food and warm clothes for Christmas.

I add a spoonful of eggs to the next plate. It’s everything I can do to resist my overwhelming urge to kiss Reason’s sweet face.

Chapter 13

“THEY’RE THE WORKING POOR.”

“The working poor,” I repeat.

“Poverty’s bigger than many people realize. And it doesn't discriminate.” Reason steers the truck through an intersection and turns onto a side street, one I’ve never noticed before.

We ease along an alleyway, passing behind a row of old homes that serve as commercial buildings. This section of Christmasville is called Father’s Square. The houses used to be where the city’s founding fathers lived. One home has been turned into the city museum, but professional firms and local government offices occupy the remainder of them.

I’m sure the sewer department must be nearby. Maybe I should ask Reason to stop by there before we leave. If I show up in person, maybe someone will get to the bottom of the missing records.

Reason parks behind a brick three story, next to the only one other car in the lot: a silver Mercedes. The thick layer of snow covering it makes it apparent it hasn’t been moved since at least yesterday.

Reason continues, “There’s a lot of that right now, especially this Christmas—people who haven’t quite lost everything…yet.”

“I just didn't expect Callie to be one of them, I guess. They live right next door to me. I don’t really know them all that well, but when I saw them putting up their decorations it just never occurred to me they didn’t have much food inside.” My eyes drift to the folded ladder propped against the side of the building.

I remember her father, John, did seem distant. But who am I? I’ve been living there for almost a year, and I didn’t even know their names until last weekend. It doesn’t get more distant than that. I’ve been so caught up in my own life I haven’t noticed much else around me.

If they can’t buy food, they could lose their house. I feel queasy knowing Callie’s at school right now, pasting and coloring with all the other kids, and she’s got food in her tummy only because of the soup kitchen.

Reason touches my arm. “Don’t worry, Er, she’ll be okay. I promise.”

I turn to face him. How can he know that? No one can know such a thing. But, I take it for what it’s worth. He’s just trying to comfort me. I know there’s no guarantee of anything, no story book salvation. Bad things happen and there’s no rhyme or reason. And God, wherever he is, let’s it happen.

I try to smile, but it’s halfhearted. I can see he knows it. He reaches his hand over to my hair and brushes it away from my face. His eyes slide along my cheek as though he’s lost in a tangle of private thoughts. He looks at my ear and touches my earlobe. I want to close my eyes, but I don’t want to miss his face. The look on it has a direct line to my stomach, where I feel the quiver of nervous wings fluttering.

He pulls his hand from my ear and holds it up just in front of me. I look down and see a small golden key. His mouth twists into a playful smile.

Half of me wants to lean forward and kiss those smiling lips, the other half wonders why he’s offered me a key. The question of it tugs at my curiosity with a baited hook. I bite. “A key, huh?”

His smile broadens. Then, much to my dismay, he gently bites his lower lip—a habit, I have grown to realize. It’s also the arrow in my heel. His eyes are so warm, I can hardly think straight. Does he do this on purpose?

I pluck the key from his hand and turn it over in my palm. It’s an old fashioned skeleton key, with a small inscription in the center. I hold it up and squint for a closer look. I think it is a “C”.

“What’s it for?” I ask.

“You’re Mrs. Claus, right?”

“Right.”

“Mrs. Claus will need clothes for the parade tomorrow.”

I smile. “Of course.”

He chuckles. I watch the pleasant way his shoulders shake and the scar disappears in his laugh lines. “It unlocks the costume closet. Let’s go.”

Before I can respond, he’s out of the truck and opening my door. I jump down from the seat. The snow crunches beneath my snow boots as we pick our way through the parking lot and enter the building. Reason closes the door softly behind me as I adjust my eyes to the darkness. We stand in a seating area that looks like a lobby. A coffee carafe sits on a table in the corner with a carousel of sugar and cream, a cup of coffee stirrers, and packages of cookies arranged in a small basket.

As my eyes adjust, I see a head of gray hair just barely visible behind the reception counter. I take a step closer and peer over the edge. Someone has fallen asleep with their head resting on top of their folded arms—school desk-style.

Reason clears his throat.

A woman sits up immediately, confused. Her eyes flutter and dart around the room. When they come to rest on Reason, she sits up straighter and neatens her hair.

“Good morning, Reason.” She dabs at the corner of her mouth with a tissue. I can’t help but wonder if she’s been drooling. She must be in her nineties. I’ve never seen someone of her age sleep like that. Surely her muscles must be regretting it now.

“Good morning, love.” He turns on the light and leans over the counter to reach for something.

She squints as though needles have been jabbed in her eyes. Oblivious, Reason straightens and disentangles another key from a cluster of others, this one the modern kind. He holds it up to the light then tosses it in the air and catches it in his palm, dropping the rest of them into a hidden container on the other side of the counter.

“Where’s the mister?” he asks.

“Upstairs where he always is. I couldn’t take the snoring. This is as far away as I could get.”

Reason glances at me and gives me a meaningful look that tells me this is a normal routine around here.

“Hannah, this is Erin Sinclair.”

“Hi.” I wave.

She repeats my name softly to herself as she squints up at me. “Good morning, dear.” She grabs a pair of wire framed glasses and sets them on the bridge of her nose. Now that she sees me better, her face relaxes. Two pale blue eyes study me from behind the lenses.

“Erin will be Mrs. Claus tomorrow. We came to get clothes.”

“Oh!” She jumps to her feet, moving much faster than I expect of someone her age. “Oh, my.” She laughs nervously as she crosses the room and disappears in the hallway.

Reason seems relaxed as he gives me a wink. He pulls his phone from his pocket and swipes his finger across the screen. His eyes graze back and forth as he reads something. Then another tap and swipe and the phone disappears in his pocket.

Hannah scurries back up the hall. Her hands flutter like butterflies as she moves, grazing her hair, her glasses, the pockets of her long red robe, and the invisible wrinkles she smoothes down on the front and back of it.

“It’s all ready for her, sir. All ready, oh my dear. What a day, what a day this will be. Mrs. Claus!” She beams at me. I am starting to feel like I’m the Pope, making an unexpected house call. I shift my weight to my other foot.

Hannah locks eyes with Reason, and I think I see something pass between them. Then she’s on the move again. “I can make any alteration you need, my dear, and have it done by afternoon. Just let me know, and I’ll come in and pin it for you.”

“Thank you, Hannah.” Reason slips his hand around mine. “Ready?”

I blink at him. “Sure.”

He leads me up the hall, past a long line of closed doors. We turn a corner, and I see a door at the far end. This must be where Hannah disappeared to earlier, because it stands slightly ajar. Light spills out, bathing the hardwood floor in a golden strip of light.

When we reach the door, Reason reaches around me and pushes it open. His chest presses into my shoulder, and his warm breath tickles my ear as the door swings open. My breath catches in my throat.

It looks like a dressing room for royalty. I see our reflection in the full-length mirror across the room. He’s not looking at the room but at the side of my face, watching my reaction. The recessed mirror sits across from us, on the other side of a sea of red shag carpet. It’s set into an alcove with panels on each wall, offering three simultaneous views.

Two large doors frame the mirror on either side. The antique brass knobs have keyholes in the faceplates, just the right size for the key in my hand.

“Take your time. I’ll be in the office with Hannah, if you need anything. There’s an intercom just above the chair.”

I glance at the elegant leather wingback chair with its decorative brass tacks. Sure enough, I see the square of a small black speaker installed in the taupe wall. My eyes stray to the ceiling. I follow the white crown molding around the room, amazed by the carved intricate detail. It looks like a snow scene with a sleigh, reindeer, and playing children.

I lower my eyes back to the mirror where Reason watches me, grinning, still waiting for me to answer.

I return his smile. “Thanks.”

“Your dress is in the closet on the right.” He closes the door gently, and I’m alone in a lavish closet that seems better suited to a king and queen than actors on a Santa float. I’ve almost forgotten the key in my hand. I cross the room and insert it in the lock. It turns easily in my hand, and I hear a soft click.

A light automatically turns on inside as I open the door. The first thing I notice is the wooden box on the top shelf. The white wig must be in there. My gaze falls to a long velvet cloak, a trim of white fur runs continuously around it, from the hood to the lower hem and back up again. I’ve never seen anything like it. A golden “C” clasps the neck together. And it’s heavy looking, like maybe it’s real gold—not a plastic button or a silly cord with a white pompom dangling at the end of it like I would’ve expected.

I slide it to the left and stop. I’m staring at a full length dress, made of the same rich velvet as the cloak. It looks like a replica of a prior century, a time when someone first thought up a story about a girl called Cinderella. I run my hand along the fitted bodice. It’s not seductive, just beautiful with a Christmas-at-the-palace flare.

I stare at it, as though it will climb down from the hanger and dress me itself.

I survey the ceilings, hoping I haven’t missed a security camera somewhere. Maybe I’m supposed to do this in the closet—it’s certainly big enough. There aren’t any obvious cameras, but still, I hurry.

Minutes later, I’m in the dress and looking at myself in the mirror. The bodice fits me snugly, but not too tight, and the hem just barely grazes the floor. Long sleeves keep it consistent with winter. It has a collar with rounded corners, edged in a thin strip of white fur. It doesn’t come together in the middle. Instead, a delicate string of crystal rhinestones lays taut across my collarbone, connecting each side of the collar with a jeweler’s clasp. It reminds me of a tennis bracelet. Surely these aren’t diamonds, right? But I’m still wondering as I inspect the open space below it, where it exposes an oval of bare skin on my chest. It doesn’t plunge, though. It shows only the tiniest hint of my meager cleavage.

I can’t believe how beautiful it is. I don’t remember ever seeing anyone dressed like this in the Christmas Parade—ever. In fact, now that I think of it, I don’t remember seeing a Mrs. Claus on the Santa float. I must not be remembering it correctly, or maybe Christmasville has begun taking this whole thing more seriously these days. I mean, obviously—I look at myself again in the mirror—very seriously.

I struggle to zip the back but can’t quite raise it all the way. I’ll need to call Hannah.

Feeling like a princess imposter, I press the button on the speaker.

“Are you ready for me, dear?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be right there.”

The speaker goes silent. I haven’t opened the box yet, so I pull it down from the shelf and lift the lid, expecting to see a mass of white ringlets. I’m taken aback when I find a fluff of white fur. It looks sort of like a Russian fur hat. I’m about to put it on my head when I realize it has an opening at each end.

Maybe it’s a hand warmer to put my hands in. I hold it up and look inside. The hole runs straight through. It’s definitely for my hands.

I hear a soft rap at the door, before it opens. Hannah steps through.

“Oh!” Her eyes widen. “Oh, my goodness, you look beautiful dear, just beautiful. I always wanted to see someone in this dress.” She zips it the rest of the way.

I must be the first Mrs. Claus, or at least the first one in this dress.

She inspects me in the mirrors. “I don’t think it needs altering. It’s a perfect fit.” She bends over and adjusts the skirt, then straightens.

“Let’s see it with shoes on.” She disappears inside the closet and emerges again with a pair of black snow boots in her hand.

I laugh. I guess I’d forgotten about practicalities. High heels wouldn’t work well in winter snow. Of course, snow boots make sense. Instead of shiny patent leather or pleather, they are suede-like, slender, and soft. They zip on the inside, with a pretty silver buckle on the ankle. I slide them on. They come to the middle of my calves.