The Lodge on Holly Road. Sheila RobertsЧитать онлайн книгу.
it. “But you’re still a fake,” Richie said.
And you’re still a little fart. “Ho, ho, ho,” James replied, and rocketed the boy off his leg, sending him flying.
“Hey, he shoved me,” Richie said to his mother, and pointed an accusing finger at James.
“Trick leg,” James said apologetically. “Old war injury. Merry Christmas,” he called and, with a wave, abdicated his holiday throne.
“Okay,” he said to Shauna, “I’m out of here.” Thank God today was over. He was never doing this again. He didn’t care if every Santa on the planet was home with the flu.
“You can’t go yet,” she protested, and began looking desperately around the mall.
After a ten-hour day? Oh, yeah, he could. “No kids, and it’s ten minutes till the end of our shift. We’ll be okay to leave. Right, Krystal?”
Krystal frowned. “Well...”
It was nearly five o’clock. All the moms and kiddies were now on their way home to make dinner. The next Santa crew would arrive soon to deal with the evening crowd. All they had to do was put up the Santa-will-be-back sign. What was the problem? Maybe Shauna and Krystal felt guilty about stealing a couple of extra minutes from work.
Not James. He’d worked hard all his life and he had no qualms about stealing a few minutes for himself now. For over forty years he’d been a welder at Boeing. Then he’d come home and work some more, putting that addition on the house, mowing the lawn, cleaning the garage, repairing broken faucets.
Of course, he’d also realized the importance of playing—backyard baseball with the kids, Frisbee at the park, board games on a rainy Sunday afternoon. And real life had taught him that you had to take advantage of everything good, even little things like getting off ten minutes early. Because you never knew what cosmic pie in the face was waiting for you around the corner.
“Come on, ladies,” he said, putting an arm around each of them and trying to move them in the direction of the Starbucks. “The eggnog lattes are on me.” They still balked. He’d never known the women to turn down a latte. He glanced from one to the other. “Okay, what’s going on?”
“It’s a surprise,” Shauna said.
James frowned. He hated surprises, had hated them ever since Faith got sick.
“It’s a good one,” Krystal said as if reading his mind.
And then he saw his daughter hurrying down the mall toward him and the heaviness settling over him was blown away. There she was, his brown-eyed girl, all bundled up in boots and black leggings and a winter coat, her hair falling to her shoulders in a stylish light brown sheet. Once upon a time, it had been curly and so cute. Then suddenly she’d decided she needed to straighten her hair. He never could understand why the curls had to go. But then he’d never understood women’s fashion.
He’d also never understood why she thought her face was too round or why she thought she was fat. Her face was sweet. And she was just curvy. As far as he was concerned she was the prettiest young woman in Seattle. That wasn’t fatherly prejudice. It was fact, plain and simple.
“Daddy,” she called, and waved and began to run toward him.
Krystal had been right. This was a good surprise.
“Hello there, angel,” he greeted her, and gave her a big hug. “Did you come so your old man could take you to dinner?”
“I came to take my old man somewhere special for Christmas,” she said. “Thanks for not letting him get away,” she told his holiday helpers.
“No problem,” said Shauna. “Have a great time.”
“For Christmas?” James repeated as Brooke linked her arm through his and started them walking toward the shopping mall’s main entrance.
They were going somewhere for Christmas on the twenty-third? Did that mean she wouldn’t be spending Christmas with him and Dylan? It was their first Christmas without Faith (well, technically their second since she’d died on December 24 the year before). He’d assumed he and his son and daughter would all be together to help one another through the holidays.
But she was an adult. She could do what she wanted. Maybe she’d made plans with friends. If she had, he couldn’t blame her for wanting to escape unpleasant memories. Maybe she’d found someone in the past couple of weeks and wanted to be with him. She shouldn’t have to babysit her dad.
“Don’t worry, Daddy,” she said. “I’ve got it all under control.”
He didn’t doubt that. Like her mother, Brooke was a planner and an organizer. She’d organized their Thanksgiving dinner, gathering his sister and his cousin and her husband, assigning everyone dishes to bring.
But what was she talking about? “Got what under control?”
“You’ll see,” she said with a Santa-like twinkle in her eyes.
Oh, boy, another surprise. “What are you up to, angel?”
“I’m not telling, but trust me, you’ll like it.”
He wouldn’t like anything this season but he decided to play along. “Okay, lead on.”
He hoped she hadn’t spent too much money. Kindergarten teachers didn’t make a lot and he hated to think of her spending a fortune on some fancy meal. He’d be happy enough with a hamburger. Anyway, he’d rather eat in the car than go into a restaurant dressed in his Santa suit.
They were out of the mall now and at her trusty SUV. She complained about her gas mileage but he was secretly glad she had this vehicle. It had all-wheel drive and handled well in the snow, so he didn’t have to worry about her when she was driving in bad weather. Seattle rarely got much of the white stuff, but they’d had a couple of inches earlier in the month and the weatherman was predicting more by New Year’s.
James had always loved it when they had a white Christmas. It meant snowball fights with the kids and hot chocolate afterward. Faith would lace his and hers with peppermint schnapps.
“No frowning allowed,” Brooke said as they got in.
“Who’s frowning? Santa doesn’t frown.”
“He never used to,” Brooke said softly.
“Well, Santa’s getting too grumpy for this job. It’s about time for the old boy to pack it in.”
His daughter shot a startled look in his direction. “Daddy, are you crazy?”
“No, I’m just...” Sick of this ho-ho-ho crap. It would never do to say such a cynical thing to his daughter. “Ready for a break,” he improvised.
“You can’t take a break,” she protested as she drove out of the parking lot. “You’re Santa.”
James studied the crowd of cars rushing around them, people busy running errands, going places, preparing for holiday gatherings with loved ones. Most of the men in Seattle would be out the following day, frantically finding gifts for their women. He wished he was going to be one of them.
He reminded himself that he still had his kids. He had a lot for which to be thankful, and if Brooke had plans for Christmas, well, he and Dylan could make turkey TV dinners and eat the last of the cookies she’d baked for them, then watch a movie, like Bad Santa. Heh, heh, heh.
Now they were on the southbound freeway. Where were they going? Knowing his daughter, it would be someplace special.
He smiled as he thought about the contrast between her and his son. Dylan would come up with something at the last minute, most likely a six-pack of beer and a bag of nachos, their favorite football food. Naturally, Dylan would help him consume it all.
James was wondering what downtown Seattle spot his daughter had picked for dinner and was hoping it was in the Pike