The Santa Society (16 page)

“Sit down, Reason. Anger doesn’t become you.”

Reason’s hands clench and a vein pulses in his temple. A hot flush of blood reddens his face, but he obeys. He sits and holds his hands between his knees. He really takes this fraternity club seriously.

Cassius regards him quietly. When he speaks again, he turns to me. “Very well, you want truth,” he turns to me. “I’ll give you truth. Ms. Sinclair, as a young man, I fell in love with a woman and married. Society life became too much for her—the secrecy and isolation too lonely. It’s a delicate matter to be the spouse of a Society member. It requires two marriages, one to the man and one to the Society. She wanted a normal life for our little girl. She gave me an ultimatum, and I made what I still believe was the necessary choice. I kept my commitment to the Society.”

He rubs the joints in his hands, lost in thought. Finally, he looks from me to Reason and continues. “It necessitated the creation of Amendment 16, which is meant to preserve the secrecy of our work and prevent anything like it from happening again.”

Reason gapes at him. “That’s all you’re going to say about it? Have you no conscience?”

Cassius clears his throat and continues. “You, Ms. Sinclair, are my descendent—my granddaughter. Your mother, Adelaide, was my daughter. For the sake of my love for the Society, I paid a heavy price—my wife and my child.”

Distantly, I feel Reason squeeze my hand, a lifeline to the here and now. “For the love of God, man, I didn’t see that coming.” He speaks to me with soft, urgent words, but I don’t hear any of them.

This can’t be true.
The floor has fallen away, and I’m tumbling into a dark chasm. I fumble through my family history—the little I know—comparing Cassius’ words with truth. My mother never spoke much about her real father. Where did he go? Who was he? Mom had a stepfather and later a half-sister—my Aunt Patty. And she loved Christmas. I never wondered why. I focus my eyes on Klaus who lies draped over my feet. His ears twitch as he watches Cassius.

 My thoughts ripple outward until they slowly smooth out into placidness. A skill I’ve practiced a lot this past year. It doesn’t lessen the sickness in my stomach. Does he really think he made the right choice? Or does he just need to believe he did?
My poor mother
. Maybe she would’ve wanted a life filled with Christmas, rather than the one she lived holding on to every shred of it she had left. A spurt of adrenaline quickens my heart and makes it hard to listen to his reasoning.

“You’re lying. You don’t know my mother.”

“I’m certainly not lying, Ms. Sinclair.” He goes on. “And here we are, proof that security breaches are weeds with ongoing and far reaching roots. If this weren’t so, I would not be in your living room now.” He pauses and glances at Reason. “It’s clear Father MacCloud sees things differently. Perhaps, with some time to consider the consequences of his actions, he’ll realize what he must do.”

I jump to my feet and so does Klaus, leaning into me as I speak. “I’ve heard enough. You’re a bitter, selfish man. If what you say is true, my mother spent her life chasing the ghost of you in Christmas. And you were always out there somewhere.
I
felt guilty for leaving. But you,
you
were hiding.” My voice chokes as tears blur my eyes.

“I’ve come to believe my wife did something good for Adelaide—gave her freedom. Her life would have been quite limited otherwise,” Cassius insists and strikes the end of his cane on the floor like a gavel.

I’m shaking as I gawk at this man who deserves at least half of all this guilt I’ve carried alone. Full of white hot rage, I cover my face with my trembling hand. I can’t look at him.

She died in this very room without her father—the man who sits in her chair right now, defending himself and desecrating it with his presence. Sudden understanding crystallizes with the clarity of coins falling into the proper slots of a sorting machine.

I can hardly breathe. Her love for Christmas, all her fanaticism about it, what else could it have been but a pitiful act of homage to the man who thought Christmas was worth more than her? I face him again. “Get out of her chair, and get out of her house. You don’t deserve to be here.” Rage seeps from every pore of my body.

Cassius stands and puts on his hat, but he keeps his eyes on the floor. He looks a little less dignified as he walks toward the door. He tilts his face toward us as he reaches for the knob. “Ms. Sinclair, you may not see it now, but your mother was better off. You will be too. Father MacCloud, I trust you will do what needs to be done.”

I cover my eyes again and turn away. Moments later, I hear the click of the door as it closes.

Reason comes to me. I feel his arms slip over my shoulders as he pulls me to his chest. His heart beats against my cheek. “I didn’t know it was you. I’m so sorry, Er.”

Why do I keep getting those words?
I squeeze my eyes shut—maybe I can hold in the tears.

Chapter 18

I CRY UNTIL I CAN NO LONGER BREATHE, until the earth beneath me feels as if it has left completely. I cry until Reason picks me up like a child and carries me to the couch, where he holds me on his lap—in his arms. He soothes me. I cry until I’m spent and have nothing left but sniffles, sheer exhaustion, and his hand stroking my hair. He removes the bobby pins, one by one, and gently unravels it. It falls around my shoulders where he buries his fingers in, holding me tighter. Thankfully, he doesn’t talk. He knows I need silence.

I’m consumed with reviewing my mother’s life, seeing more than I did before I knew any of this. And the irony that grips me? Her father, this despicable old man, has by some perverse twist of fate outlived her. This injustice seems like such an absurdity.

Words flutter in my thoughts with the weightlessness of ash rising from burning paper.
Society. Sacrifice. Secrecy.
I don’t really know what most of it means. I boil down the obvious into digestible parts: the Society seems really old and really big, they do things they think are vital, and Reason has chosen me over them if it comes down to it. He met me one week ago today and he has made a stand for me, regardless of the price he will pay for it. And I’m glad—I despise Cassius and his stupid Society.

I notice Reason’s breath has changed to a steady rise and fall. He’s fallen asleep, still holding me in his lap. As the ashes settle inside me, one thing still burns. It’s the most obvious question, I now realize. What could be so dire, so serious, that it requires such reverence, sacrifice, and silence? I can’t imagine anything that would possess such an excessive caliber of importance…unless it protects something or someone. But what—who?

A sudden sinking feeling washes over me. Okay, maybe it’s more than just a fraternity or a club. I think back to when Reason asked me to promise not to fear him. It included the obvious, that he will not hurt me. Dumping me to save his ties to the Society and his obvious financial entanglement with it would be understandable. Not pleasant, but understandable. He’s known them longer.
But it would hurt me.
It just seemed like a sweet gesture then. Now it feels more like an oath passed between us. One I didn’t fully get until now.

I’m starting to realize this man takes his promises seriously. I hold onto this thought as I drift into the oblivion of sleep.

I awake to the smell of coffee brewing. I’m still on the sofa, but Reason has slipped out from beneath me. He spent the entire night holding me while I slept in his lap. This realization touches me deeply. It also enhances the growing feeling I’m his fall from grace, the fruit that darkens and spoils his life.

He appears beside me, holding a steaming coffee mug. It says “Santa Baby” on the side with a picture of a diapered cartoon baby wearing a huge, droopy Santa hat.

I stretch and gaze up at him. As responsible as I feel for complicating his life, he’s lifted mine. Seeing him here, in the morning with a fog of sleep still hazy in my eyes, reminds me of those first few moments of a sunrise.

“Good morning." He offers me the mug.

“Good morning.” I accept it and smile, but my eyes feel puffy and swollen from crying. I’m sure I’m not a sunrise.

He comes to sit on the floor beside me. I sit up and lean on my elbow to take a sip. He watches me with a peaceful look on his face, as though nothing out of the ordinary happened yesterday.

Finally, he says, “I know we have a lot to talk about, but I want to do something else first, if that’s okay.”

“Okay.”

“I want to put up a Christmas tree in here.”

This makes me pause. If we bring a tree in here, it might change everything. It will no longer be just the two of us sitting together, in the here and now. It will be us, a tree, and the memory of my mother in a hospital bed beside it. Already, I can see the lights just beyond her sleeping face.

“I don’t know. The tree reminds me of her.”

Sadness creeps into his face. “Was it a live tree?”

“No, not the night she died. She always put it over there, just behind the sofa by the window.”

“Then we can put it here, in front of the window by the chair. It'll be a different tree. We can just use lights, a fresh canvas.”

“Okay.” I look down at my clothes. We’re still dressed in our Mr. and Mrs. Claus costumes. “Let’s get changed first.”

 I’m starting to think I’ll do anything for Reason MacCloud.

We choose the largest tree on the lot, and it almost touches the ceiling. We’ve strung it with lights and topped it with a folded star he made from wrapping paper. He moved the chair a little closer to the fireplace so the tree sits in the center of the front window.

He’s right. It does seem different—not the same tree, not the same year.

We’ve stuffed our bellies full with Chinese takeout, and he’s built a fire in the hearth. I know the talk is coming, but now that we’ve managed without it, I feel almost inclined to continue on. Maybe we can pretend yesterday never happened, and maybe I’ll just forget all about the man who claims to be my grandfather.

We sit on the floor with a picnic of almost empty paper plates between us.

Reason fidgets with his napkin, twisting it between two fingers. He takes a breath and lets it out in a long exhale instead of words. Finally, he rubs his hand over his jaw and clears his throat.

After another inhale, he begins. “Erin, I know all this seems crazy to you. But I’ve been in the Society all my life. I don't know anything else. My father used to hold the same Office I do. After he and my mother died, the Society took care of me. And what Cassius said is true. It’s a secluded life.”

He keeps his eyes on the flames. Light and shadows flicker over the side of his face. He looks so different in this moment: half-light and half-darkness. His gaze slides to the hearthstones.

“I always knew I’d remain in the society. They would’ve let me leave if I’d wanted, but I didn’t. Most of us descend from other members, long bloodlines who don’t know or wish for anything else. When they created Amendment 16, they wanted to discourage bringing in outsiders who might not be able to adjust to it. People that haven’t experienced it before can't really know what they’re getting into—not until after an oath is given. Which means it’s not a fully understood vow. Before Amendment 16, marriage usually happened between families. Only in rare cases did members pick their own spouses, and never without a long period of reflection and prayer. The society never intervened. But after Cassius, the Society realized the world had become a much smaller place. In order to protect what we do, we’d need to tighten down on the potential for exposure.”

I watch as he continues twisting the now crumbling napkin. Paper fibers stick to his fingers.

“I didn't plan to feel this way about you, Erin, or about anyone really. But I met you, and now I do. There’re so many people depending on me. But I know I can’t fulfill my oath if I’m always regretting it. That’s the nature of it. It’s a duty that needs a soul behind it. Without that, it’s nothing. That’s why Cassius moved to the Council—he couldn’t do it anymore. And he knows it, even though he’ll never admit it.”

I’m trying to understand his words, but they run together in my head. I start at the beginning. “So, they took care of you. And you feel indebted. You’re following in your father’s footsteps.”

“Yes, but it’s more than that. I wish I could tell you all of it, Erin.” Shadows consume his face as he drops the napkin on his plate.

“Reason, I don't want to cost you something so important to you.”

“I’ll lose either way. That’s the twist. I’ve got to choose what’s right. It’s who I am. And you’re right for me. My father taught me to honor the oath—even if it challenges the laws of men. The Society has spent so long trying to carry the weight of the world that they’ve forgotten what it means to be human. Maybe they can’t do it forever. Maybe that’s just the way it’s meant to be.”

He has such a simple, uncomplicated way of looking at things and I admire him for it. I wish I could be the same, but I’m not. I’d never want to let this man down. What if I’m not worth it?

I wish that God, for once, would let me have something good without a hidden byline, the inevitable catch-22 that always comes. Here it is again. I don’t have to know what the Society really does in order to know I’m starting to fall for a man I probably can never have…because even if he tries to live without regret, by choosing me he’ll always be looking over his shoulder, remembering what he gave up to have it. Regret does dampen the soul. I should know.

Suddenly he seems so innocent, so altruistic and naive to think I’m capable of being whole, of being enough. I don't think I’m strong enough to let him go. I’m too weak to get anything right. A tear escapes from the corner of my eye, and I lower my gaze.

He looks up from the fire and watches it slide down my cheek. When it reaches my jaw, he wipes it away with a soft touch of his finger. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“It’s okay, I get this way a lot.” I try to laugh, but it sounds nervous and false. “That’s the thing about me you don’t know.”