Substitute Santa

Rattled, I smacked one of the few unoccupied spots on the dashboard. "Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"

"No spanking!" The sleigh sounded annoyed. "Santa is very clear on that. Bad children get coal, not spankings."

"What about bad sleighs?" I asked, miffed.

"No such thing," came the lofty reply. "All sleighs are designed and programmed to execute the mission with utmost efficiency and professionalism."

"Hmmph."

"Let's face it -- you're just the errand boy. I'm the mastermind here."

I didn't like my sudden relegation to peon, but I had to admit, I couldn't do a thing without the sleigh. A wise man would stay on its good side.

"I'm sorry for smacking you."

"Bless your heart," and the sleigh's voice modulated to one of such kindness, I could hardly believe it. "Forgiven. It is your first time, after all."

"Every Christmas needs a virgin, I guess."

To my surprise, the sleigh laughed heartily as it landed behind a cottage with a postage stamp-sized yard. Rising, I grabbed the sack and stepped into the circle. "You got that right! Now, off you go!"

This house had no lights on and I groped my way through its dark living room to a small tree. Shivering in the chilly air, I hoped my pack had at least one electric blanket for whoever lived here. A large, slightly squishy package made me think I might be right, and I gave it an extra pat as I set it down.

Just one stocking hung by the cold fireplace, and I filled it extra high. No sooner had I done so than I found myself back in the sleigh.

Thinking of the squishy package, I asked if my thoughts had any influence on what people received.

"That's a good question," the sleigh mused. "Nobody's ever asked before." It hummed for a couple of seconds. "I have the impression that the gifts are chosen in advance, but it's possible that a Santa's input could change it, based on circumstances. The way the economy's been fluctuating, we may not always have the latest intel on people's lives."

"So that line about seeing you when you're sleeping and knowing when you're awake?"

"Sounds rather Orwellian to me," the sleigh said disapprovingly. "Santa's not about surveillance. Santa's about love. And giving. And faith."

I nodded. "I can get behind that."

"You wouldn't have been chosen if you couldn't."

I laughed. "I wasn't chosen! I'm a last-second substitute. Four hours ago, I didn't know any of this existed."

The sleigh remained silent. Just then, we dived abruptly and made a short stop on another small lawn.

"Off you go!" the sleigh repeated. And off I went.

After a while, the houses started blurring together. I felt a little like an Amazon deliveryman, rushing around to drop the packages in the right place, filling the stockings, stroking the occasional wakeful cat. I never saw a person, though, and relaxed as I flitted in and out of dozens of homes.

By now, the sleigh and I had become good friends. It had heard all about how Nick and I grew up together, and Dee and our kids, my granddaughter and even Kerry. For an introvert, I did a lot of talking, but something about the sleigh invited confidences.

"This isn't so hard after all," I remarked after yet another routine drop.

"I understand there's an art to it," the sleigh replied. "Some Santas never get it right, bless their hearts."

The implied compliment made me feel good.

The next house had a single light on, even at two in the morning.

"Don't worry about it. Some people leave lights on all the time to dissuade burglars."

Nodding, I stepped into the circle. "Makes sen..."

In the house, I chuckled over my aborted word, then got down to business. Lots of presents this time, and I had a job getting them arranged properly. At a small sound behind me, I reached down, expecting to find another cat to pet.

A child in footed pajamas gazed up at me. Feeling an urge to reassure this little human, I opened my arms wide and the youngster leaped into them and buried her face in my shoulder.

"I knew you'd come! I knew it! They all laughed at me and said you weren't real and only babies believe in Santa Claus, but I was right!"

Her words came in gasps and I couldn't tell if she was happy or upset. Patting her back, I parked us on the couch and waited until she sat up and looked right onto my eyes.

Her tear-streaked face gave me my answer.

"Tell me all about it, my dear." The words came without thought, and the child -- she could not have been more than five -- nodded as if I had said exactly what she expected.

"It's Daddy. He's always mad, and Mommy cries a lot." Her eyes filled with tears. "They say it's not my fault, but sometimes you can't tell with grownups. But I knew you would know."

"Know what, my dear?"

"If it's my fault. I know you have a list -- the song says so. Am I a bad girl, Santa?"

So help me, I nearly started crying with her. Instead, I took a deep breath and pulled myself together.

"My child, I have a long list of naughty girls and boys. I checked that list twice today, and your name isn't on it."

The look of relief on her face nearly made me lose my composure, but I forged on.

"You're one of the nicest girls I've ever met," I continued, meaning every word of it. "I like you just the way you are. You may do silly or naughty things sometimes, but those don't make you a silly or naughty person inside. It just makes you a normal kid."

"Then why do Mommy and Daddy fight?" she whispered.

"Sometimes, grownups make mistakes and they don't know how to fix them. So they fight about it."

"But they always tell me not to fight with my brother."

Considering this, I hugged her closer. "My dear, there's more things in heaven and earth than ..." I paused, trying to simplify Shakespeare to a five-year-old's level, "...than anyone can imagine. Even your parents. Even me."

Her big brown eyes widened. "But you're Santa!"

I nodded. "I am Santa. And even I don't know why certain things happen. But I do know this: you are one very loved little girl. And you will be loved till you're an old lady, and beyond. Promise."

Looking at me doubtfully, she nodded. I reached in my pocket with my free hand and pulled out a small flat package that hadn't been there a moment ago.

"This is just for you, Felicia. Take it with you when you go upstairs and put it under your pillow. Open it when you wake up, and remember: Love always finds a way. And you are so very loved."

Plucking it from my hand, she wriggled off my lap and ran to the staircase in one of those complete changes of moods kids sometimes have. She started up the stairs and looked back at me.

I decided to go lighthearted and waggled my finger at her. "Wait till morning, young lady, or I'll come back with a piece of coal!"

Giggling, she clutched the gift to her tiny ribcage and ran up the stairs.

I sat there for a moment, then slowly rose. I hadn't expected that punch to my heart. I just hoped I had helped Felicia.

Picking up my empty sack, I wondered how I had known her name.

**

"Here we are," the sleigh announced, touching down outside a pretty bungalow with icicle lights hanging from the eaves. "The last house of the night -- finally."

I caressed the dash fondly. "About time. I'm tired. In and out, and I'm done!"

"Well, rub your eyes and shake it off," the sleigh advised. "You need to bring the same energy and joy to the last house as the first. It's like singing. You don't slack off for the last song in a concert, right?"

We had talked music earlier, but I hadn't realized the sleigh knew much about performing.

"True," I mused, stretching and inhaling deeply. "Generally, you want to finish big."

The sleigh snorted. "That's the spirit! Something tells me you want to bring your best to this house."

I slung the empty bag over my shoulder and closed my eyes. My insides fluttered pleasantly and then I could detect the change in the air. This house smelled of chocolate, peppermint and evergreen, the holy trinity of holiday fragrances. The Vince Guaraldi trio played "Christmas Time Is Here," the wire brushes sounding like snow and childhood.

Inhaling happily as I reached for my pack, I smiled, opened my eyes -- and dropped my sack.

Clad in a lavender and silver silk robe, Kerry King stood before me, holding two mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

"Shit!" The hot chocolate sloshed in its mug, but she recovered before dropping it altogether or staining her robe. "Where'd you come from? I didn't hear you come in."

"Kerry?" Not the most original thing to say, but she had me at a disadvantage.

"Of course. You've known me since I was a little girl. Who else did you expect?"

"Don't you recognize me?"

Looking far lovelier than I remembered, Kerry rolled her eyes. "Of course. You're Santa."

Nick's airy assurances that all would go well echoed in my head as I considered this awkward situation. Bending over to retrieve the bag, I did my best to rally despite my racing heart.

"Uh, OK. Right you are. Well, I have some things for you, my dear."

But my sack had nothing in it. As I pondered that development and felt panic gallop through my system, she spoke again.

"Don't you want to hear about what I want?"

"Of course I do," I said, a little too heartily as I tried to regroup.

She waved a graceful hand at the loveseat. "You know the drill. Have a seat, then we'll drink some cocoa and I'll tell you everything."

Drinking in those silver-blue eyes, I sank onto the indicated cushion. Placing the cocoa and cookies on the table beside it, she sat down next to me, close enough for an intimate conversation between lifelong friends, but not close enough to give ol' Santa any ideas.

She looked at me expectantly. I coughed, then reached for a mug of chocolate, hoping for inspiration.

"Well, my dear -- tell me all about it," I found myself saying.

Giving me a nod of approval, she reached for a mug and tucked her feet under her haunch like a little child. I envied her range of motion.

"Well," and she sounded more like a teen than the mature woman who sat next to me, "it's been a pretty good year. I got through the divorce just like you promised I would, and now I can't imagine why I stayed with him so long."

"He never deserved you, dear Kerry."

Reaching out, she patted my hand. "You always know just what to say."

That was news to me, but I did my best to twinkle appropriately anyway.

"I guess we're all fools when it comes to love," she continued. "I shouldn't have stayed with him so long, but I really hoped he would change his behavior when he saw how much it hurt me. I guess I wanted so much to believe it would get better that it never occurred to me to make a Plan B."

"Very human of you."

She took a sip of cocoa. "I guess. Everything's always so clear when you look back on it."

We both chuckled ruefully.

"But now we're divorced and I wake up in the mornings looking forward to my future instead of back at the smoking wreckage behind me. Or at least I did until a couple of weeks ago. Whoops! You almost splashed yourself there. You OK?"

Placing my shaking mug back on the table, I took a cookie. "Sure. Clumsy tonight. Guess my fingers are still cold."

Cocking her head at me, she gave me a sharp look. Again, I had the feeling that she could see right through me with those extraordinary eyes.

"So what happened two weeks ago?" I asked, mostly to forestall any awkward questions but also because I desperately wanted to know.

She sat back. "Oh. Well -- I met someone."

"A male someone?" Inwardly, I cringed. I sounded like my own mother.

Kerry laughed. "Yes, Dad. A male someone. A very nice man, actually. At a party, of all places. Can you believe it? Shy little Kerry met a man at the party?"

I did my best to look caring and supportive. "Well, stranger things have happened. Tell me about him."

"His name's Chris... Hey, your cookie broke. Don't get up, I can get it from here."

Reaching down, she plucked the errant cookie off the floor and put it on a napkin. She offered a replacement, but I shook my head. Holding things didn't seem wise at the moment.

"Sorry to be Santa Klutz tonight. I don't know what's wrong with me."

She peered at me again. "You do seem different this year. You look the same, of course, but you're definitely not your usual self."

I pleaded fatigue and asked her more about this Chris fellow.

"Oh, he was adorable. So nice and smart and funny. And musical! He has that kind of baritone voice I've always loved, and plays the piano. We sang a few songs together, and it was just heaven."

"You've always been a music lover." It seemed like a safe thing to say.

Laughing, she gave my shoulder a light slap. "You know that better than anyone! How many instruments and recordings have you given me over the years?"

"I couldn't begin to guess," I replied truthfully.

"You gave me my first forty-five -- "Heartbeat, It's a Lovebeat."

"What a memory! But you changed the subject, my dear. Tell me more about Chris. Nice, smart, funny and musical. Anything else you liked?"

OK, I was pumping her shamelessly. But how often does a guy get a chance like this?

"He was cute, too. About your height, stocky just like I prefer in a man, with deep blue eyes like the sea after a storm."

I started at that, but she didn't seem to notice. "We had one of those conversations that you hope won't end because you're enjoying yourself so much."

"Sounds like a great night, my dear. Have you seen him again?"

At my question, she leaned back and groaned. "Like a fool, I didn't get his number. The next day, I was on a plane to Dayton to deal with a work crisis and by the time I got back, it felt too awkward to call Adele, so -- here I am."

She sighed. "I've done a dozen internet searches, but he seems to be the one guy in the city who doesn't have any kind of social media. I'm stumped. And frustrated."

She looked so mournful, it took everything I had not to hug her. A compulsion to dig into the sack swept over me then, and I rose so suddenly that I nearly toppled over from the momentum.

"Just a moment, my dear. I need to check something."

A card lay in the formerly empty sack, beautifully engraved with her name in the same silvery script the sleigh outside sported. Under it, I found a perfectly wrapped thin square, probably a CD. Striding back to the loveseat, I handed them to her and smiled.

"Open them."

Sliding her thumb carefully under the flap, she slowly worked the envelope open and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

Even from here, I could see what it said. I casually picked up my mug of cocoa to hide my grin.

"It's a phone number," she said, her eyes bright with sudden hope.

"You should call it."

"Not now. I have to open my present, too."

Tearing the paper off, she turned it over and gasped before holding it up to show me.

"The Best of Gordon Lightfoot," I read aloud. Warmth suffused my body and I felt my face redden. That damn sleigh! It could read my mind.

She hugged them both to her pretty chest.

"I'll call him first thing in the morning."

"Why not now?"

She stared at me. "At this hour?"

"Santa wouldn't steer you wrong. Give it a try."

Padding to the kitchen, she found her mobile phone and unlocked it. She beamed at me and I smiled back, anticipating the next few minutes with great pleasure.

From my pocket, chimes rang. Her eyes widened as her mouth formed a perfect O. Waggling my phone at her, I answered it.

"Santa speaking."

The next thing I knew, I was dabbing her tears and holding her close, delighting in the feel of her in my arms.

"I thought I'd lost you," she cried.

"Love always finds a way," I replied, tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear. "And so does Santa."

**

Happiest of holiday seasons to you! Please remember to vote and enjoy the other stories in this contest. Hugs, Van