Santa Baby

Coffee. Jack smelled it in his sleep. He thought for a moment he was back home and Maggie was bringing him a cup in bed, as she sometimes did. He was cold though, his neck hurt, and his long legs were cramped from being bent into an awkward position all night. Maggie was gone; had been gone for a long time. Memories of last night came back as he opened his eyes. He groaned as light splintered into his hung over brain and closed his eyes again.

"Jack?" A soft voice said as a soft, cool hand touched his face. Suzanne.

She was bent over him holding a large mug of steaming coffee in her hand. Jack peered at her through one squinted eye, then swung his feet to the floor and sat up stiffly. The coat from his Santa suit, which had been draped over his upper body like a blanket, slid off and fell to the floor, leaving his bare arms prickled with gooseflesh under the short sleeves of his t-shirt. Suzanne handed Jack the coffee and opened the fist that had held the mug. On her palm were three reddish-brown tablets.

"Ibuprofen," she said.

Jack took the pills from her, tossed them into his mouth, and took a large swallow of the coffee, which burned his mouth and throat. He winced and rubbed a hand over his face. His punishment, he thought, for all his depraved thoughts.

Suzanne picked up his coat and draped it over his shoulders, and then sat close to him on the sofa, turned toward him with one leg bent beneath her.

"Sorry. I should've warned you it was hot," she murmured, rubbing her hand over the back of his head, her fingernails scraping through the short waves of hair and coming to rest on his back.

"What are you doing here, Suzanne?" Jack mumbled thickly.

"Cleaning up the mess from last night. You know the cleaning crew would just wipe and sweep around it."

"You didn't have to come in. I would've taken care of it."

"Well, you don't seem to be in very good shape, Jack, and it's no big deal," she said. "Why didn't you go home last night?"

Her hand was back, stroking his hair. He wished she would stop.

"I didn't think I should drive," he said.

"Why did you drink so much?"

Jack turned to look at her then through red-rimmed eyes. "What are you, my mother now?"

The fond smile fled her face, and her hand stopped moving in his hair and dropped away.

"No," she said in a soft voice. "Just someone who cares a great deal."

"God," whispered Jack, rubbing both hands over his face. "I'm sorry. I'll be back," he said, rising and patting Suzanne on the knee.

He went into the restroom, took a leak, and then surveyed his face in the mirror under the harsh fluorescent light. He looked like hell, he thought. Jack washed his hands and his face, rinsed his mouth, and ran his wet fingers through his hair. He wished he had some other clothes to put on. The Santa suit felt oppressive, as if he was dragging Margaret's ghost around with him.

Suzanne was still sitting on the sofa waiting for him when he returned. She looked young and fresh in her blue jeans and sweatshirt and scant makeup. Her smile made his heart ache.

"Feeling better?" she asked.

"Uh, sure," he replied. "Listen, honey. We need to talk."

He reached for his coat and shrugged his arms into it. As he sat down, Suzanne scooted closer and took one of his hands and held it in both of her own.

"Yeah, I guess we do, huh?" She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she blew it out, a happy glow suffusing her face. Then, opening her eyes, she said, "Last night was...wonderful. I'm sorry the kids interrupted us. My timing is horrible, isn't it?" She laughed. "I can't stop thinking about it."

Suzanne's smile faded as she gazed into Jack's eyes, her cheeks flushed pink. She looked down at their entwined hands and then back up to Jack's face.

"Remember when you asked me what I wanted for Christmas?" she asked.

"Yeah, I do."

Jack made a feeble attempt at disengaging his hand from Suzanne's, dreading what was coming next, but she held on. He watched her swallow and lick her lips.

"Well, this is what I want, Jack. You. I've wanted you for the longest time," she said, leaning in for a kiss.

Jack knew he should stop her, but the ache in his chest was almost paralyzing, and she smelled so sweet, and her lips felt so soft against his. She had let go of his hand and was cupping his face between her hands. He tried not to kiss her back, or at least he thought he did. However, his body seemed to react on its own, his lips and tongue moving of their own accord. Soon, he was lost in lovely womanliness, his traitorous body burning with desire. His hands had found her waist and pulled her against him.

The phone rang, startling Jack and jumpstarting his headache, which he had nearly forgotten.

Suzanne held tight and whispered, "Voice mail."

Jack pushed her away. "No."

"Jack, let it go to voice mail," she said. "The switchboard is set up for the holiday."

"I can't do this, Suzanne."

"Your voicemail will pick it up, I promise," she said, laughing.

"Look, I don't give a goddamn about the phone!"

He stood and faced her, saw the shock on her face. A sharp stab of pain shot down between his eyes, slightly nauseating him. He had to get some distance from her. Moving behind the safety of his desk, he sat down, cradling his head in his hands.

"I can't be involved with you, Suzanne," he said, still holding his head.

Suzanne said nothing for a moment, and Jack lifted his head. She was staring out the window, her expression blank.

"Why?" she asked, still not looking at him.

"Because I'm your boss, honey. I can't take advantage of my position."

She turned her face toward him then, her lips curling up at the edges.

"Is that all?" she asked, but went on without waiting for an answer. "You're right, Jack. You are the boss. That means you can do whatever you want to do. You can be with whoever you want to be with."

Jack shook his head. "I'm old enough to be your father."

Laughter bubbled up from Suzanne's chest.

"What? You're only fifty. I'm thirty-six. I mean, yeah, I guess you could technically be my father, but jeez, Jack, you must've been some kid."

When he said nothing, she continued, "Look, you still have a lot of good years left."

"Yeah, thanks," replied Jack.

"I didn't mean that the way it sounded. It's not like I'm some innocent young girl. I'm all grown up, Jack. I'm old enough to know what I want. I'd never accuse you of taking advantage of me. You know that."

Jack folded his arms across his chest and stared down at his desk.

"There's more to it, isn't there?" Suzanne asked. "Is this about Maggie?"

"Don't," whispered Jack, holding up his hands as if to ward off an attack.

"I loved her too, Jack. She was almost like a mother to me."

"Please. Don't." Jack closed his eyes and leaned his head against the tall back of his chair.

"I'm sorry," Suzanne said in a soft voice. "It needs to be said."

"God damn it!" Jack was angry now.

What was it about women that they just couldn't leave things alone? He stood and paced to the window and leaned against the sill, looking out.

"It's been two years, Jack," Suzanne said. "It's time to move on."

Jack turned around, eyes blazing.

"Who the hell are you to tell me when it's time to move on?" he yelled. "I was married to the woman for twenty-five years. We had children together. We went through everything together."

"I know that," said Suzanne.

"So, what do you think I should do? Just forget about all that?"

"Of course not," Suzanne replied. "You need to get on with your life though."

"That's none of your business," Jack snapped. "Stay out of it."

"Fine." Suzanne was angry now as well. "Excuse the hell out of me for caring about you."

She stood up as if to leave, but then turned around.

"Tell me, Jack, what's the real reason you don't want me? Because I don't believe that crap about 'not taking advantage of your position.' It's bullshit. Tell me the real reason."

"I told you the real reasons."

"Well, I don't believe you, Jack."

"Well, that's too goddamn bad, Suzanne."

Suzanne crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. Jack thought she looked mad as hell and about to burst into tears. He was not too far from that himself and did not know what to do about it.

"You don't think I'm attractive, do you?" Suzanne asked.

"Oh, Jesus Christ!" Jack slumped back into his chair, rubbing both eyes with the tips of his fingers.

"Just say it, Jack. I can take it."

Tears were threatening to spill over her lower lids, but she stood her ground, her jaw clenched, her mouth an angry, trembling line.

"Look, I told you. I'm too old for you. I'm your boss."

"Yeah, right, Jack. Keep talking."

"Suzanne, you have young children. I'm done with all that. I don't know if I'd want to be a father again."

Suzanne's tears spilled over and ran in twin rivulets down her cheeks.

"Oh, my God!" she sputtered, wiping her face with the palms of her hands. "It's because of my kids? Did I ask you to be a father to my kids? You aren't even a father to your own kids, Jack. My kids have a father, thank you very much!"

Jack's mouth dropped open in shock. "Wait. Just what the fuck do you know about my kids?"

Jack stood up again with his hands on his hips, the color drained from his face.

"Quite a lot, actually," Suzanne retorted.

"What does that mean?"

"Becky and I have become good friends. We talk on the phone at least once a week. If you weren't so self-absorbed you'd know that."

"You've been talking to my daughter behind my back?" Jack was shaking. He couldn't remember when he'd been so angry.

Suzanne laughed bitterly. "No, not behind your back. You haven't been there for her since Maggie died. She needed to talk to someone. You're always too busy wallowing in self-pity to—"

"That's enough." Jack sat down, leaning his elbows on his desk and covered his face with his hands.

"You know, Maggie would hate what you've become, Jack. She'd hate that nobody can reach you, not even your own children. She'd hate that you died with her."

She had just run a dagger into his heart, Jack thought. The anger bled out of him and was replaced by an overwhelming, weary sadness. He could not let Suzanne see that. He looked up at her. Tears were coursing down her cheeks.

"Get out," he said through clenched teeth.

He covered his face with his hands again and heard her run sobbing down the hallway.

"Fuck," he breathed.

Jack ended up clearing the party detritus himself, the congealed cold cuts and potato salad amplifying his queasiness momentarily. The physical activity was good though, he thought, as his mind cleared. Knowing what needed to be done and doing it, even something small, was somehow satisfying.

Afterward, at home in the shower, he let it all come back. He tried to make sense of it, to process it in some logical way. He was a logical man, not an emotional one. He could figure this all out, make some kind of plan, take some action, make things right again. Avoiding his reflection in the mirror as he toweled off, not quite ready to face himself, Jack realized that he would have to talk with Suzanne, apologize, try to somehow undo the hurt. He thought that might best be handled after they'd both had time to cool down. Truthfully, he didn't feel ready to face the whirlwind of emotions she seemed to churn up in him.

First, he would deal with his children. He knew what Suzanne had said was true. He'd always been somewhat emotionally distant, but even more so after Maggie died. Jack, Jr. was like him, not demonstrative, but not uncaring or unfeeling. He just held all his cards very close. Becky, on the other hand, was very like her mother, always with her heart on her sleeve, and a big heart it was.

Jack remembered how easily Becky's feelings had been hurt as a child, how sensitive she had been, how close she had been with her mother. How could he have forgotten that? How could he have let her lose her mother and then essentially lose her father, as well? They had been a close, happy family, he thought. Not perfect, but really happy. He wondered if he could make them one again. He did not know how to be a father without Maggie, but, he decided, he was going to give it one hell of a try.

He dialed Jack, Jr.'s cell number first and got his voice mail. Jack hesitated, as he'd been hoping to actually speak with his son, but then left a message before he lost his nerve. First, he apologized for not being in touch, then wished Jack Jr. and his wife, Amy, a happy holiday season, saying he loved and missed them both very much.

Then he dialed his daughter's number. Becky answered on the second ring.

"Dad?"

"Hey, sweetie. I miss you."

"You do?"

"Yeah, I do. I hope you have a good Christmas. I'll be thinking of you."

"Really." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, really."

"I'm kind of surprised to hear from you, Dad."

Becky's voice had a hard edge to it that was unfamiliar to Jack.

"I know, honey. I'm sorry," he said.

"Oh, you are? For what, exactly?"

Jack sighed. She was not going to make this easy for him, apparently.

"Baby, I'm sorry for a lot of things, but mostly for withdrawing from you and your brother. For not being there for you when you needed me most." Jack swallowed around the lump in his throat. "But mostly, for hurting you. I love you, Rebecca."

"Oh, Daddy." She was crying.

"Beck, please don't," Jack whispered. He didn't think he could take it.

"I was just sitting here thinking about Mom and you, and missing you both so much. I think I made a mistake staying here."

"Come home then," he said.

"I didn't think you wanted me," she said. "You've been so, I don't know, different since Mom died."

"I know, sweetie. I'm sorry. It was never because of you." His voice quavered. "Come home."

Becky sniffled and cleared her throat, trying, Jack thought, to get herself under control.

"Um, okay. I've already committed to a thing tonight, and then I'm going to church for a midnight service with some friends," she said. "So, how about if I drive home in the morning?"

Jack smiled. "Perfect. Do you have money for gas and all that?"

Just then his phone beeped, signaling another call—Jack, Jr.

"Dad?"

"Jackson! It's good to hear from you. Thanks for calling me back."

"Uh, sure. I was kind of surprised you called. Are you okay, Dad?"

"That's the same thing your sister said. I'm fine. I just wanted to say Merry Christmas and to, um, you know, it's been tough with your mother gone, and I just wanted to apologize..."

"Oh! Hey, it's cool, Dad. Seriously. I know it's hard and, so...uh...you talked to Beck?"

"Yeah, she's on the other line, as a matter of fact. Hold on."

He conferenced the two lines together so they could all talk.

"Merry Christmas, butthead." Jack, Jr. laughed.

"Hey, shit-for-brains," Becky said. "Same to you."

"Alright, you two," Jack said, chuckling. "So, what's going on with you and Amy, Jackson? Family stuff tonight?"

"Yeah, uh, grandparents coming or something? I don't remember. And I think we're going somewhere tomorrow afternoon," Jack, Jr. replied.

"What about you, Dad?" Becky asked.

"Well, we had the Christmas party at work last night, and the Ritters are having their open house tonight," Jack said. "I thought I might go over there for a bit."

"Oh, really? Are you taking a date?"

"Aw, jeez, Beck," Jack, Jr. said. "Nice one."

"What?" Becky demanded. "He could have a date."

"Uh, no, I don't have a date," Jack said. However, he decided to take advantage of this line of questioning. "What if I did, though? Would you two be okay with that?"

"I think it'd be fine, Dad. Maybe a little weird at first, but just fine. We want you to be happy, right Beck?" Jack, Jr. said.

"Yeah, of course," Becky said. "Oh my God! Dad, is it Suzanne?"

"Huh?" Jack was stunned.

"Are you going out with Suzanne, Dad?" Becky asked.

"Now, why would you think that, Rebecca?"

"Oh, Daddy, she's got a thing for you," Becky said. "Don't act like you've never noticed."

"I think you must be mistaken. I've never noticed anything," Jack mumbled.

"Su-u-u-r-r-re," Jack, Jr. and Becky chorused in unison, and they all laughed.

Jack thought it might be prudent to change the subject at this point, so they discussed Becky's plans to drive home the next day. Jack, Jr. and Amy would fly home two days after that, and they'd all bring in the New Year together.

All along, Jack had assumed that his children no longer needed him because they were adults. He'd been wrong. He knew that now. He wished he could call Suzanne and tell her all about the phone call. He wanted to tell her she'd been right and to thank her.

Instead, he climbed the steps to the attic and dragged the old artificial Christmas tree downstairs and set it up. Margaret had always insisted that it be placed in the corner beside the fireplace so that the lights would reflect in the mirror at the opposite end of the room. Jack put it in front of the window instead and spent the rest of the afternoon stringing lights and hanging ornaments on it. Then he found a large pine wreath with a big red bow and hung it on the front door.

When it got dark, he went outside and stood in the front yard to admire his handiwork. The house looked warm and friendly, as if someone actually lived there instead of just existing from day to day. It didn't look as good as when Maggie had decorated for the holidays, but still very nice.

The party at the Ritters' was in full swing when Jack arrived. Patty grabbed him right away and ushered him off to meet her unattached friends. There were two of them, both attractive middle-aged ladies. Just as Jack was being introduced to the second one, he caught sight of Suzanne across the room, and his heart skipped a beat. He had not known she'd be there. She looked beautiful in an ankle-length, dark blue skirt that hugged her hips but flared out at the knee and a creamy white ruffled blouse and high-heeled boots. Her golden curls were swept back from her face with wispy ringlets curling forward here and there, framing her face.

She was standing in a corner engaged in conversation with Dave Harris, one of Jack's sales reps, a good-looking guy in his thirties. Suzanne held a glass of wine in one hand and was grasping Dave's arm with the other and smiling. He was leaning close and speaking into Suzanne's ear with his hand at the small of her back. Jack bristled at the intimate scene. He wondered what the hell they could be talking about that required them to stand so close. He couldn't concentrate on what Patty or her friends were saying and excused himself as soon as he could.

As he approached, Dave looked up and smiled broadly, his white teeth gleaming. He looked tanned and healthy, having just returned from a trip to the Cayman Islands. He extended his hand to Jack.

"Jack! Merry Christmas, man."

"Same to you, buddy," Jack said as the men shook hands. "Hello, Suzanne."

"Jack." Suzanne's voice was flat, and she did not smile.

"Uh, could I talk to you for a minute?" Jack asked her.

"Oh, you know, I think we've done quite enough talking for one day, don't you?" Suzanne turned her attention back to Dave.

Dave, looking decidedly uncomfortable said, "Um, excuse me. I think I'll get a drink," and scurried away.

"What do you want, Jack?" Suzanne asked in a defeated tone.

"I just want to talk to you for a minute," Jack replied. "Can't we find somewhere quiet?"

"Fine."

Suzanne swept past him, and Jack followed in her sweetly perfumed wake.

They walked through the kitchen, and Jack opened a door leading to a chilly sunroom that contained a lighted Christmas tree and some plastic-covered deck furniture.