A Gift For Santa. Beth Carpenter
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You’re not supposed to wiggle your body, but if you wriggle your toes, nobody sees. And it helped me remember. Say we were doing spelling words, like c-a-t, cat. I’d wriggle my toes, right-left-right, c-a-t, and I’d remember.”
“C-a-t,” she repeated, flapping her feet.
“Good, but when you do it in school, just do your toes, not your whole feet. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good girl. Now, I’ve got a present for you here, somewhere.” He rummaged through the stack of packages he’d been provided.
“But you only get presents if you’re good.”
“You are good. Sometimes it’s hard to behave, but you try, and that’s what matters. Here it is, a package for Layla.” He handed her a polka-dotted box. “Merry Christmas.”
“I love you, Santa.” Layla hugged the box against her chest and flashed him a bright smile before skipping away.
Chris chuckled. The things kids said. Like Ryan the other day, asking if Chris was a foster kid. It must be hard, knowing you were a temporary part of a family, that the place you were living was your home only for a while. You could never have a pet of your own if you were moving around all the time. Chris could sympathize there; he’d begged for a dog for years when he was a kid but his parents said no. The closest he ever got was a fish.
Was it wrong for Chris to encourage Ryan to form a bond with Kimmik, knowing he’d be moving elsewhere after Christmas? The kid obviously loved dogs. Anyway, if he hadn’t promised, Ryan would probably just continue sneaking Kimmik from the yard. He seemed like a strong-willed kid.
Marissa stepped forward, leading another little girl with a thick black braid. “Santa, this is Lotu.”
“Hi, Lotu.” And so it went. One child after another. Some were shy, barely able to verbalize one gift, while others had an entire spiel memorized, including a record of their good behavior. After a while, the requests tended to run together, but each child was unique, and Chris tried to give every one his full attention.
He used to wonder why Oliver would have left a well-paid desk job in order to start a reindeer farm. It must have been a risk. But now that Chris had experienced the magic for himself he was starting to understand. Watching the kids’ eyes light up when they touched real live reindeer, or the excitement on their faces when they talked to him. Christmas magic.
There wasn’t a lot of magic in the house where he’d grown up. Sure, they got presents from his parents. His mom was a compulsive shopper, after all. And she usually had some Christmas doodads scattered around the house. But nobody baked goodies or decorated a tree. Nobody set out milk and cookies for Santa, because Santa didn’t come to their house. Chris remembered feeling superior to the kids who still believed in Santa. Who would have thought he’d ever be charged with the awesome responsibility of being the jolly old man himself?
Once all the children had had a chance to talk with him, he and Marissa went outside to watch the reindeer rides. This was a mixed group from an after-school program. Some of the parents had decided to put together the Christmas party as a special treat. The kids were thrilled to get to hang out with Santa and real reindeer.
Becky and the elves had three reindeer pulling little red wagons around the brightly lit parking lot. All three elves seemed to be enjoying their jobs, including Dillon.
Near the front door, children waited for a turn. One boy jostled a girl, causing her to spill the cup of red punch she’d carried outside. Her squeals as it splashed onto her sweater and the sidewalk startled the nearest reindeer, who threw up her head. But fortunately, the elf in charge was able to control her, while Becky calmed the girl and sent her inside with a parent to clean up.
At the end of the night, Becky paid the three elves and sent them home. Chris helped Marissa load up the reindeer and pack the equipment in the truck, while Becky collected their fee. Marissa had just closed the tailgate when her aunt reappeared. She started down the sidewalk, but when her foot hit the now-frozen puddle of punch, it slid out from under her and she went down.
“Becky!” Chris rushed over and knelt beside her.
Marissa was right behind him. “Are you okay?”
Becky blinked at them for a moment. “I think so.” She sat up.
Chris put a restraining hand on her shoulder. “Just take a second. Did you hit your head?”
She rubbed the back of her skull. “No. Only my bottom.” She moved her legs and winced. “And my ankle.”
Marissa touched it gently. “We’d better get an X-ray.”
Becky hissed as she moved her foot. “No. I’m pretty sure it’s just twisted. If you can get me home, I’ll be fine.”
Despite Marissa and Chris’s best efforts to convince her, Becky refused to let them take her to the emergency room. She smiled at Marissa. “I guess you’re driving.”
“Why don’t I drive the reindeer?” Chris suggested. “And Marissa can take you home in my truck. It’s not quite as high to climb into.”
Marissa jerked her head toward him, probably about to say they didn’t need his help, but after another glance at Becky, she nodded. “That’s a good idea. Thanks.”
Chris helped Becky into the passenger seat of his truck and carefully tucked her foot onto a folded blanket. He handed the keys to Marissa. “See you there.”
He climbed into Oliver’s old dually and followed Marissa out of the parking lot, slowing down to make the turn with the trailer. The truck shuddered over the joint where the concrete met the asphalt, and Chris was doubly glad he’d volunteered his vehicle. Becky’s ankle would have felt every bump in the road with the worn-out shocks on her truck.
Forty minutes later, he swayed and bumped down the drive and pulled up outside the barn. Before unloading the reindeer, he walked back to the house, where Becky was sliding out onto her good foot. With Marissa on one side and Chris on the other, she hopped across the front yard. She stopped in front of the porch to catch her breath. A crack ran across the bottom step. Paint peeled away from the porch railings. When Becky grasped the handrail beside the stairs, it shifted. Marissa bit her lip and eyed the path to the front door.
“Let’s not stress that ankle.” Chris bent and lifted the older woman into his arms. “Marissa, could you get the door?”
Becky almost giggled. Marissa scurried ahead while Chris carefully climbed the steps and then carried Becky into the living room, setting her on her usual chair.
Oliver struggled out of his recliner. “What happened?”
“I’m fine.” Becky squeezed his hand. “It’s just a twisted ankle.”
He settled into the chair beside her without ever letting go of her hand, panting a little. For a moment, Chris thought it was panic, but soon realized it was simply the exertion from standing that had Oliver out of breath. He didn’t look good, being thinner than the last time Chris saw him, his face almost as pale as his beard.
A middle-aged woman, presumably Oliver’s health aid, pushed through the door from the kitchen. “Oh, my. What happened here?”
Becky explained briefly, while Marissa dragged an ottoman in front of her chair and plopped a pillow on top for her foot. Chris was glad to see the ankle didn’t look too swollen. It wasn’t until Becky was comfortable that Oliver finally looked up. “Chris. Thank you for your help. And for filling in for me.”
“It’s only until you’re ready to take over.” Chris shook the older man’s hand.
Oliver gave a wry smile. “I don’t quite have the energy right now. Maybe by next Christmas I’ll be back at my fighting weight.”
“I hope so. Nobody does Santa better than you.” Chris caught Marissa’s eye. “I’ll unload the reindeer and the truck while you get Becky