The Sergeant's Christmas Gift
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Shelley Shepard Gray
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CHAPTER ONE
“HEY, SERGEANT, ARE YOU doing okay? Need a break?” Brad, the American airman Graham was sharing a table with, asked.
Graham Hopkins glanced up from his phone’s screen. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
A line formed between Brad’s brows. “Are you sure? Some of the Santa Tracker calls can get kind of stressful. I had a kid start crying on me last year. I didn’t know what to do.”
Graham had signed up to be a Santa Tracker for NORAD—the North American Aerospace Defense Command—on Christmas Eve. Every year, dozens of volunteers gave up hours of their time to post information about Santa Claus’s route—and answer calls from excited children around the world.
Kids weren’t really his thing, but helping out his colleagues when he could was. Since Graham was single and in town, he’d signed up so everyone who had family nearby could spend time with them.
He hadn’t exactly been dreading the evening, but he had thought that he was going to be watching the clock the whole time. He couldn’t have been more wrong. It had turned out to be one of the most enjoyable Christmas Eves he’d ever had. The kids were cute, and their questions and eagerness about Santa’s visit kept a permanent grin on his face. His scheduled time was flying by.
The whole experience was a whole lot better than moping around his apartment wishing he was sitting in front of a roaring fire in his parents’ living room back in Windsor, Ontario. “I’ll let you know if I need anything, Brad.”
“I hear ya, but there’s no shame in taking breaks. You ought to go grab something to eat, too.” He held up a fried chicken wing. “These things are great.”
Graham chuckled. So far, Brad had eaten two plates of wings, a huge slice of chocolate cake, a bunch of chips and salsa, and a plate of barbecued ribs. The guy either had an iron stomach or was going to be sick as a dog in about four hours. “I’ll get some food in a while. Promise.”
“Okay. If you need anything, just let me know.”
“Will do.”
Brad looked doubtful but wandered back toward the huge spread of food that the bigwigs at NORAD had put out for the volunteers.
Graham chuckled to himself. This was only Brad’s second year volunteering, but all night long he’d been happy to mentor Graham through the ins and outs of answering the phones. Graham had been grateful for all the tips, too. Being a Santa Tracker was a pretty big deal.
Every Christmas Eve for over sixty years, volunteers with the North American Aerospace Defense Command had taken a break from their normally stressful jobs monitoring the skies of the continent to track Santa’s progress across the globe.
Though this was the fourth year Graham had been stationed at the Cheyenne Mountain base with other members of the RCAF—the Royal Canadian Air Force—he’d been fortunate to always get to go home at Christmas.
Feeling like some of the others needed a trip home more than he did this year, Graham had volunteered to stick around. He was glad he had, but that wasn’t to say he didn’t miss Christmastime in Canada. It had been an unusually warm December in Colorado Springs, and there had been little to no snow so far. For some reason, the sunny days made his longing for all things Canadian even more pronounced. He’d give a couple of toonies for a bag of all-dressed Ruffles chips right now.
When Graham’s phone rang again, he shook off his doldrums. “Hello, you’ve reached the NORAD Santa Tracker.”
“Hi,” a young boy’s voice replied. “Are you really watching Santa’s sleigh?”
Graham relaxed in his chair and glanced at the large lit screen that took up at least half the wall in front of him. “Yep. He’s over Newfoundland right now.”
“Where’s that?”
“Newfoundland is in Canada. Above Maine. Do you know where Maine is?”
“Kind of. I don’t think it’s very close to me. Canada’s real far away, right?”
“That depends on where you’re calling from. And, maybe, who you’re talking to.”
“Oh.” After a pause, the boy added, “What do you think?”
Graham grinned. He was getting a kick out of this little guy. “Well, I think Newfoundland isn’t all that close to most people in the world. Where do you live?”
“In Colorado Springs. Do you know where that is?”
Graham’s grin widened. “I sure do. I live there, too.”
“Really?”
“Really. What’s your name?”
“Will. What’s yours?”
“Graham.”
“Oh.”
Since Will didn’t seem in a big hurry to get off the phone, Graham leaned back in his chair. “What have you been doing tonight, Will? Getting excited for Santa’s visit?”
The little boy sighed. “We’re not doing too much. We don’t have any guests this year. It’s just my mom and me, and she’s always too tired to do anything.”
Graham could practically feel the little guy’s disappointment over the phone line. Thinking about the large family gathering he was missing back home, he said, “I’m sorry about that. Do you usually have a bunch of family over?”
“We live in a B&B. My mom runs it.” He paused. “Do you know what that is, Graham?”
“I do. I bet living in a bed-and-breakfast is fun.”
“Sometimes,” Will replied. “It all depends on who’s staying with us. Some people are nicer than others, you know.”
“I guess that would be the case.”
“Uh-huh. When they aren’t so nice, it’s not that fun living here.” Will lowered his voice. “I used to ask my mom to make them leave. It never happened, though.”
It was all Graham could do not to start laughing. “I don’t think your mom would be a very good innkeeper if she asked her guests to leave.”
“My mom says the same thing. She says that we have to be nice to everyone staying here. You know, treat others like you want to be treated and all that.”
“The Golden Rule.”
“Yeah. Do you have to do that, Graham?”
Trying to keep up, he asked, “Do what? Be nice to people, or treat others how I want to be treated?”
“Both, I guess.”
Graham chuckled. “I try my best. I’m a sergeant in the air force. It’s kind of expected that we don’t smile too much, and some people confuse that with meanness.” Beside him, Brad grinned.
“Oh.”
Realizing that they’d been talking awhile, Graham figured it was time to wrap things up. “So, I bet you can’t wait to open your presents tomorrow.”
“Yeah.”
“What do you hope you’ll get?”
“I don’t know. Just some toys, I guess.”
There was a wistfulness in the boy’s voice that got to him. “You don’t sound too excited.”
“It’s not like Santa can bring miracles or anything. Only Jesus does that.”
Graham swallowed back the lump that had just formed in his throat. “That is true. Miracles are hard to come by.”
“I know. My mom always says that when I tell her I wish my dad was still alive. She says I should just be grateful that he was such a good man and that I had him for a little while. But I don’t know about that. I mean, I was only three when he died, and I’m six now.” Lowering his voice again, he added, “I don’t see why I’m supposed to be real grateful for him going to heaven before I could even ride a bike. I mean, I’d rather he lived a lot longer.”
Graham felt as if he had been kicked in the gut. “I’m sorry about your dad, buddy.”
“Me, too. He died in a car accident.”
“I’m sure you miss him.”
“My mom does.” He paused, and then said, “I don’t really remember him, though. Sometimes I even forget what he looked like. Do you think that’s bad?”
Graham was beginning to realize that there was a whole lot more to being a decent Santa Tracker than simply telling callers where the flashing Santa icon was in the world. “I don’t think that’s bad at all,” he replied, taking care to make sure every word was from his heart. “I think forgetting some things about someone who’s gone is normal. Time makes a lot of things fade.”
“I have a picture of Dad in my room so I never have to tell my mom that I don’t remember much about him. I just pretend I do.”
“I’m sure your dad loved you a whole lot.”
“That’s what my mom says. Oh, hold on. Hey, mister, what’s your name again?”
“Graham.”
“Graham, my mom wants to talk to you. ’Bye.”
After a couple of whispered words, a woman came on the line. “Hello?”
Her voice sounded stressed and distracted. Imagining her home alone with her son, and how different their evening was from the loud, chaotic Christmas Eves of his childhood, Graham felt his heart ache. “Hello, ma’am. This is Graham over at the Santa Tracker headquarters.”
“Graham, yes. I—I just wanted to apologize. I had no idea that Will called you. I also just realized that he’s been talking your ear off for ten minutes. I’m so sorry that he kept you on the line so long.”
“That’s why I’m here, ma’am. To chat with people who call.” Realizing that she still might feel like he was annoyed, he added, “I enjoyed talking to your boy. He’s a very nice young man.”
“Thank you. I don’t want to keep you. I just...well, I overheard you talking to Will about missing his father—” she lowered her voice “—and I just wanted to thank you for being so nice and patient with him. This has been kind of a tough December for us.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.”
“It was three years ago, but thank you. And thank you again for giving up your time and being on the phones tonight. I think you helped him.”
“I’m glad to do it. Like I said, he seems like a good boy. You should be proud.”
Her voice warmed. “He is a good boy. I’m blessed.” She took a breath. “So, I know a little bit about the Santa Trackers, and I know most are in the military. Are you in the service?”
“I am. I’m in the RCAF, ma’am. Royal Canadian Air Force.”
“You’re Canadian! You’re far away from home, aren’t you?”
“I am, but that’s all right.” And for the first time all night, Graham realized that was the truth. Somehow, talking to a little boy about his late father had made up for the emptiness he’d been battling for days.
“Oh, gosh. Here I was apologizing for my son keeping you on the line, and now I’m doing the same thing. I’ll let you go. Thank you for your service, Graham. And merry Christmas.”
“Happy Christmas—I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
Her voice warmed. “It’s Vivian.”
“Happy Christmas, Vivian.”
“You, too, Graham.”
After hanging up, Graham felt like he needed to move around a bit. He glanced over at Brad, who was talking on the phone next to him, then stood up and walked to the back tables. There were four of them pushed together, covered with white tablecloths. A variety of sandwiches were heaped on platters. There were also Crockpots filled with soup, chili and Brad’s favorite fried chicken wings. It all looked amazing.
Piling a couple of sandwiches on his plate, he took a bite of ham and looked through the glass at the snow that had just started to fall. The flakes were thick and fluffy. It was beautiful. Almost like home.
“Look, it’s finally snowing,” a woman wearing lieutenant’s bars said. “We’ll have a white Christmas after all.”
“That’s good.”
Taking notice of his Canadian uniform, the woman said, “It will almost be like home for you, huh?”
“Almost.” He smiled.
Staring out the window at the snow blowing, he knew that his barracks weren’t anything like being in his parents’ cozy home in Windsor, and the spread of food nothing like his mother’s traditional Christmas Eve tourtière.
But, as he thought of that little boy and his mom, he realized that was okay. For some reason, he felt like he’d needed to be the one to speak to Will and his mother tonight. Each of them had sounded a bit lost. He hoped that, in some small way, he had helped them to feel a little less alone.
Graham closed his eyes and said a quick prayer for them. Then he popped a couple of chicken wings on his plate and headed back to his chair.
Santa Claus’s sleigh was now over Pennsylvania. It wouldn’t be much longer before the big guy would be alighting in Colorado Springs.
