The Santa Society (19 page)

I scan the mountainside, feeling like I’m trying to find a special grain of rice out of a thousand others. “I give up. I don’t see it. There’s too many.”

“There.” He takes my hand and extends my arm to its full length so that my own finger points it out to me. I study the swatch of blackness until I see a cluster of lights set aside from the rest, near the blinking red light of a tower.

“Okay, I see it.”

“That’s the ranch. Do you see how there are miles of nothing in between it and the city?” He still leans in to me, gazing down the length of my arm. Our heads are side by side.

It distracts me to have him so close. “I see.”

He lowers my arm, and takes my hand in his. The warmth feels like a heated glove. “There are tunnels, hundreds of them. We use them to move through the city without being seen.” He squeezes my hand before he lets it go and envelopes me in his arms, his warmth blanketing my shoulders.

The image of so many tunnels holds me spellbound. I imagine them superimposed like a map over Christmasville. Questions buzz in my mind, so many I can't keep them straight. “Who receives your gifts—everyone? I mean, is there some kind of list?”

He laughs at this, like I’ve said something funny. For a moment, I feel embarrassed. “Actually, we do use a list. We add people in need whenever we encounter them, but most of the names are revealed to us by the Gift. It’s usually children. They’re the ones who have enough faith, enough belief to make it happen. It takes a certain amount of innocence. But sometimes even children lose faith in something bigger than them.”

The idea of children losing faith seems tragic, like a church without God, or a mirror with no reflection. And I don’t have much of it anymore, I realize.

Something tugs at me. I clear my thoughts and try to focus on it without looking too hard. Suddenly I remember Reason’s words the day I asked him to sell the house.
I’ll get you—I mean—your house listed this afternoon.

Tiny hairs rise and stand on end across my skin, prickling against my clothing. “Did you add me to it?”

He doesn’t answer right away. I can't see his face, so I wonder if he’s heard me. Finally, I hear, “Yes.”

I turn to face him. “You put me on it…the day I asked you to sell my house.”

He closes his eyes for a moment in hesitation as though he doesn’t want to answer. Slowly, he nods. His eyes are dark circles of black ink glittering like the lights on the mountainside.

I don’t know if it’s his hesitancy or my knack for seeing big globs of tarnish on a silver lining, but the implications begin to assault me. The interest he has taken in me, the wonderful time I’ve had with him, would he have felt any of it otherwise? If he is Santa Claus, and I have a need—

“Don’t think that way, Erin. Please. When I submitted your name, it was rejected. I tried to add you, but I couldn’t.”

Why would I be rejected? And yet, that seems more like my typical luck. This is the first thing I’ve heard all weekend that’s quite normal—normal and believable. Of course I would get kicked off Santa’s good person list. I’m not even sure I want to hear why. Then I realize if he didn’t add me, then he’s been real with me, right? My heart leaps for a second until another thought crashes into it: It could still be out of pity. I hear myself ask, “Why did I get rejected?”

“Because you were already on it.”

“I was?” I’m back to implications. “How?”

“Someone else in the Society added you.”

“Did you know what I needed—why someone added me?”

“No. The listing showed as ‘pending,’ which means ‘need unknown.’ Normally, if that happens, it gets updated before Christmas.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Then the Gift takes care of the rest.”

My empty stomach begins to feel queasy. I push away the doubts I don’t want to think. I tell myself I’ll deal with them later, just as I’ll face my responsibility for this whole thing later. This week has been real. That’s all I can stand to believe.

He encircles me again, and my thoughts drift. I’m ice skating in Town Square. I’m wearing a ring that appeared out of thin air. I have to believe. I have to.

The fragrant smell of him comforts me. Santa Clause doesn’t lie. He doesn't want to help so much that he’d lead me on a small adventure to cheer me up. He’s not capable of feeling something transient and fleeting just to help someone in need. Need doesn’t necessarily mean he should fall in love just to fix me. None of that makes any sense either.

I inhale him into my breath, my lungs, and my heart. Santa doesn’t give himself for Christmas, even when he doesn’t know what else to give. He doesn’t break hearts. He doesn’t deceive. Not even on accident.

I remember the list. I see it in my mind, an old scroll stretched open on a long table. If he didn't add me, someone else did. I need to know who.

I wander down the hallway to my bedroom with Klaus padding along beside me. Now that Reason’s gone home, I feel like a ghost myself. I marvel at how I can’t even seem to separate myself from the effect he has over me. Is it that I can’t, or that I really don’t want to?

I turn on my bedroom light where I’m instantly greeted by childhood friends: the fuzzy faces of stuffed animals I collected as a kid. If Reason is gone from my life tomorrow, will I return to the hell I’ve existed in this year? I struggle to imagine myself doing that, living here and trying to build a life in the past.

Or returning to New York and trying to pick up where I left off, back when I drifted in the sea of other lonely people, not thinking about the big things—the big picture in the day to day. I can't come up with a single thing I really stood for. I took down the record in court. I kept it safe and verbatim, preserved its integrity for the judicial system I believed in. But what else did I do with Erin?

Social things now seem trivial. The nice apartment I had now seems superficial. And it’s all gone anyway. I imagine no one really cares where Erin Sinclair went. I’m not sure anyone ever did, except my mother.

Klaus nudges my hand. I look down and see his amber eyes peering up at me.

“Yes, I do have you, don’t I?”

I bend down and scratch his ears. He licks my face and drapes his head over my shoulder. I haven’t given it thought until now, but I wonder if Klaus is the one who gave me something to hold onto. Did he lift me up, before Reason? Maybe he did.

I lean my face against his head. Thick tendrils of dog stink infiltrate my nostrils. It chases away the last memories of pine and pipe smoke. “Wow. You really stink again. What’s it been...a week?”

I’m too tired to bathe him now, though. I need to sleep. When I stand and turn back the quilt, the shoebox from earlier shifts to the side, almost falling off the edge. I’d forgotten all about it. I grab it and carry it to the dresser. I’ll look at it tomorrow.

I turn off the light and climb into the comfort of my old bed. A few seconds later, I hear a grunt in the darkness just before Klaus jumps in beside me. He snuggles against me, a great big, comforting presence in the night. I nestle my head into the soft down pillow, trying to ignore his powerful stench. It hovers all around me. But I don’t care as much as I used to.

Chapter 21

I WAKE TO THE SOUND OF A JACKHAMMER drill outside. It vibrates through my skull. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I grumble as I sit upright in bed and glance at the alarm clock.10:00 a.m. I scramble over Klaus to the window. When I pull back the curtain, I see workers milling around the front yard.

Since today is Monday, maybe I’ll get some answers about the whole thing by afternoon. And I haven’t even thought about the furnace lately. I hear it humming along as it pumps warm air through the air ducts. I still have no idea if it’s been fixed or if it just magically began working again. Either way, I’ll probably get a bill for that too.

I make my way through the house, heading straight for the coffee pot. A few minutes later I settle into my chair and take a sip of the steaming brew. Slowly, the cobwebs of sleep begin to clear. I have no idea if Reason plans to come by today. I never asked. Somehow, I have begun to assume such things.

The jackhammer has stopped, but the roaring generator and clanking metal fills its space with sufficient atrociousness. The irritation of it makes me suddenly think of Cassius. It seems to me like he could leave this whole issue alone if he wanted to. I bet he wrote Amendment 16 in the first place. Why can’t he just amend it again or, better yet, revoke it? What does he accomplish by tormenting us?

I keep forgetting he used to be Santa Claus. I picture myself showing up at his door, trying to be diplomatic with him, but he promptly shuts it in my face. If he’s my grandfather, shouldn’t he have at least a speck of genetic empathy for me? No wonder the Gift dumped him.

A thought occurs to me. How did Cassius know Reason and I weren’t just friends, that he wasn’t just being Santa Claus? I haven’t considered this before. I know Dex accidently told him about the parade, and may have even mentioned we had dinner together, but this suddenly doesn’t seem like it should be enough to make him take the permits, show up here making threats, and then suspend Reason the very next day. He must have known something more. Otherwise, he risked looking liking a fool for jumping to conclusions. And somehow, I just can’t imagine him being unprepared or incompetent.

I guess in the end it doesn’t matter. Or change anything. I let my thoughts turn to something more pleasant: like the beautiful blessing the men gave me yesterday, the way they stayed loyal to Reason. I wonder if their loyalty comes from faith, or just plain old devotion. After all, Reason does inspire that in people.

And they know him better than I do. They know him well enough they stayed seated even though it looked like they should probably walk out on him. They know enough to stand and bless a stranger simply because he says she’s worth it. Everyone but Brice.

I try to organize the events in my mind, but I can’t. Did he leave because of the blessing or because he planned to submit himself to the Elders instead of Reason? I can’t get past the way he looked when he glared at me. He had hate in his eyes, like I’m the evil enemy who reduced a great man—made him act below his own standards. Maybe I am.

The phone rings for the first time in days. I must have forgotten I have one because I startle at the sound of it. I grab it from the table beside me. “Hello?”

“Erin! How are you, babe?”

Babe? I don’t know anyone who would call me babe. “Who is this?”

“It’s Rick.”

Rick? Babe? It falls in place: my new hairdresser. “Um, hi.”

“I knew you’d remember me. Hey, I wanted to see if you’d be interested in dinner tonight?”

Dinner with Rick? “No, thanks. I’m pretty busy.”

“Oh. Well, it’s just I kind of thought we had a vibe thing going on between us—you know. Maybe another day would be better?”

“Actually, no. I’m sorry, I just—actually, I’m seeing someone right now. But thanks anyway.”

“I totally get it. Never hurts to ask, right? Oh, and hey—I almost forgot. You left something here the other day. At least I think it’s yours. A scarf—it’s black?”

“No, I don’t think—” My gaze instinctively goes to the coat rack. Next to my coat, the peg I always hang my scarf on sticks out—empty. I try to remember, but I’m not even sure when I wore it last.

“You sure? It’s fuzzy, with gray flecks in it?” He describes.

It does sound like mine. “Wow, I didn’t even know I’d lost it. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Sure thing. I’ll leave it at the front counter for you, whenever you stop by. We close at 6:30 tonight.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate you letting me know.”

“No worries. Take care.”

I hear a click and the line goes silent.

My mind reels. My mother made that scarf two Christmases ago. I can't believe I managed to leave it somewhere and not even notice it’s been missing. I’m glad Rick called, even if it’s not for the date offer.

I scramble out my chair and head down the hall toward my bedroom. First, I’ll get showered and dressed—no makeup. I don't want to encourage Rick’s interest. Maybe I’ll bring Klaus too. He could use some fresh air.

When I turn on the light, my gaze falls to the shoebox on the dresser. Guilt creeps up inside me. I haven’t been thinking about Mom at all lately. I lost the scarf, haven’t even bothered to look through this box. In fact, since I dreamed about her I’ve been completely AWOL. I try to remember the dream as I move toward the dresser. Bits of it float about in my mind, vague and fragmented.

I kept so many boxes of things, didn’t I? But only one has something you need. Only one.

Didn’t she say that? I can’t remember. And it’s just a dream, right? It doesn’t mean anything. But I still reach for the shoebox and carry it over to the bed where Klaus lies in the same spot I left him in earlier. He’s not much of a morning person.

I scoot in beside him and remove the lid. The envelope still rests on top. I place it next to me on the quilt and grab a handful of photographs to sift through. I pause and study one of my father and mother on their wedding day. Their faces beam with excitement, and I’ve never thought it before, but maybe fear. Who gets married without a scary, elated sense of jumping from a plane and praying the parachute works like you practiced? I always thought it should feel like that. They look so young, so alive.

Tears sting my eyes as I move to the next one: my mother as a little girl. She sits on her mother’s hip. I've seen this one before, but I focus on it now, studying the face of this grandmother I never met, searching it for some hint she’s taken her daughter and left her husband. She looks tired, but she smiles for the camera. On her finger, she wears a wedding band. I wonder if it’s from Cassius or her second husband.

I try to do the math and figure out when she might have married again, but I don’t really know enough to say for sure. I only know my Aunt Patty was five years younger than Mom, which doesn’t tell me a lot. I wish I could still ask my mother. So much has been lost, things I’ll never know the answer to…because I never thought to ask.