The Santa Suit
Автор
Karen Toller Whittenburg
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Prologue
“Is too!”
“Is not!”
From the sidelines, seven-year-old Andy Harmon watched the debate between his twin sister, Abby, and an upperclassman…a second-grader named Isabelle. It was clear this was an argument Abby couldn’t win, no matter how loud she got, and he wished she hadn’t started it.
“There’s no such thing as Santa Claus.” Abby flicked one of her copper-colored braids behind her shoulder. “My mother told me and she never lies. Does she, Andy?”
He didn’t want to answer. Not with Tyler, his best friend, standing right next to him. How could he say there wasn’t a Santa, when he knew Tyler believed’ there was? But if he called Mom a liar, Abby would get him in trouble, for sure. He glared at his sister, who glared right back. “It’s almost time for the bell,” he said, stalling. “And I’m not wasting any more of my recess. Let’s go play, Tyler.”
“You believe in Santa, don’t you, Andy?” Isabelle’s soft question stopped him in his tracks, and her smile kept him there. She had long blond curls and pretty blue eyes and she could outrun every boy in second grade, plus a bunch of the third-graders. And right now, more than anything, Andy wished there was a Santa, just so that he could tell Isabelle he believed. But there wasn’t. Mom had said.
“No,” he said sadly. “I don’t.”
Abby beamed. “I told you so.”
Isabelle looked startled and terribly concerned. “But you have to believe in Santa,” she said. “Or you won’t get any presents.”
Abby put her hands on her hips. “We get lots of presents, don’t we, Andy? But not from Santa Claus, because he’s just a made-up person!”
“He is not made-up.” Isabelle smugly put her hands on her hips. “I get presents from him every year.”
“No, you don’t,” Abby insisted. “Your mom buys all the stuff and just pretends it’s from Santa Claus.”
Isabelle rolled her eyes. “Oh, she does not!”
“She does, too,” Abby insisted. “Ask her.”
“I’ll ask my daddy. He knows everything about Santa Claus and how come the reindeer can fly and the names of all the elves in the toy shop, too.” Isabelle reclaimed her upperclassman superiority with a shrug. “But you don’t have a daddy to ask, so how could you know?”
“Shut up, Issy!” Andy stepped closer to Abby, bringing them shoulder to shoulder. “We don’t want a dumb old daddy, who thinks elves make toys and reindeer can fly. That’s just more lies!”
“Yeah,” Abby added her support “Who wants a big, fat liar for a daddy?”
“Well, your mom’s a big, fat, stupid liar!”
“She is not!” Abby’s hands balled into fists. “Take that back, Issy!”
Isabelle shook her head. “She’s a liar and she must be really stupid not to believe in Santa Claus.”
Tyler elbowed his way between the girls. “My granddad told me you have to believe in Santa when you’re a little kid or you can’t when you’re a grownup. Maybe their mom just didn’t know about Santa until it was too late.”
The truth hung there in the crisp morning air, and Andy felt it all over, like a big hug. What if Santa was real and Mom just didn’t know it?
“That’s so dumb.” Issy wrinkled her nose in disdain and pushed Tyler out of the way. “You can believe any time you want to,” she said to Abby. “Your mom was stupid when she was a little kid and she’s still stupid. If she wasn’t, she’d know Santa’s a real person.”
“She’s not stupid!” Abby yelled in frustration.
“Yes, she is,” Issy said smugly.
“She is not!”
“Yes, she is, yes, she is, yes, she is, yes, she is.” Isabelle ran the words together in a mocking singsong, until Abby’s eyes glistened with angry tears, until she made one last, tear-choked protest. “She is not.”
“Oh, don’t be such a crybaby.” With a toss of her long, gold curls, Isabelle started to walk away, the winner.
So Andy tripped her.
LATELY, Katherine had been spending a good deal of time reflecting on her decision to become a single mom. It had seemed like such a great idea. All the joys of parenthood, none of the hassles of a relationship. But now, sitting in the office of a stem-faced Sister Mary Cornelia, Katherine had to wonder what in hell she’d been thinking. For all the trouble a man would create in her life, there were moments…this one being a prime example…when she wished there was someone who was obligated to sit beside her.
“If this was the first time an incident such as this had occurred,” Sister Mary Cornelia was saying, “I’d be more understanding. But your children are quite precocious, Mrs. Harmon, and they…”
“Miss Harmon,” Katherine corrected politely.
Sister acknowledged the interruption with a tart smile. “Your children do speak their minds.”
“I encourage them to have opinions,” Katherine said proudly.
“Oh, yes. Everyone here at Saint Julian’s is well aware of Abigail’s and Andrew’s opinions on a variety of topics. And while we do promote independent thinking and encourage discussion, slugging it out in the play yard cannot be considered a fair exchange of ideas.”
Katherine sighed. “What was it this time? The stork versus the sperm bank again?”
Sister Mary Cornelia shuddered, sending a faint ripple through the folds of her black habit. “Thankfully, that subject hasn’t been mentioned again. This latest fracas seems to have been caused by a disagreement over Saint Nicholas.”
That was bad news. “Abby and Andy were fighting over a saint?”
“Saint Nick,” Sister explained patiently. “Santa Claus.”
“Oh, that Saint Nick.” Katherine relaxed, feeling suddenly more hopeful that her children weren’t about to be expelled from Saint Julian’s hallowed halls. “Well, at least they didn’t pick a fight over a really important saint. Saint Peter, for instance. Or the Blessed Virgin.”
Sister’s pinched lips puckered anew. “There are always reasons to count our blessings, Mrs. Harmon.” Pressing her palms together as if she were about to pray, she observed Katherine for a moment. “At this season of the year, we do our best to emphasize the true meaning of Christmas. But the children are young and imaginative, and it’s unrealistic to think we can forbid any mention of Santa Claus.”
“You should forbid it, anyway,” Katherine stated flatly. “Santa Claus is your basic flat-out whopper. Andy and Abby can’t be faulted for refusing to believe it.”
Sister Mary Cornelia folded her hands on the desktop and leaned forward. “Life at Saint Julian’s would be much less eventful if you didn’t insist on such strict standards of truth for Abigail and Andrew.”
“I believe in giving my children straightforward, honest answers,” Katherine said firmly. “And I won’t apologize for it.”
“I’m not suggesting you should. However, when they’re at school, I insist they demonstrate compassion and tolerance for the truth as others perceive it.”
Katherine was roused to the defense of the twins’ First Amendment rights. “Are you saying Abby and Andy have no right to state their opinion in a public place? Regardless of who does or doesn’t agree with them?”
Sister Mary Cornelia didn’t even blink. “This is a private school, Mrs. Harmon, and I’m personally responsible for supervising the behavior of several hundred students. I don’t necessarily share the opinions of every parent who sits where you’re sitting now, although in this instance, I do happen to agree with you. However, I would rather bungee-jump off the Empire State Building than face a classroom full of parents whose children have been disabused of their belief in Santa Claus because of your twins’ inalienable right to speak their minds.”
Katherine couldn’t believe her ears. “You expect me to tell my children it’s okay to lie, as long as they’re only talking about a big fat guy in red velvet?”
“I expect them…and you…to keep an open mind on the subject”
Indignant words tumbled into one another on her tongue, but Katherine battled them back. Saint Julian’s was the best preparatory school in New York, the booster rocket to an education of unlimited prestige and opportunity. She wasn’t going to ruin her children’s lives over something as silly as Santa Claus. After all, she’d had to caution them about discussing sex in a first-grade open forum. Was this really all that different? “I’m not sure I can keep an open mind about Santa Claus, but I assure you the twins won’t be involved in any more fights on the subject.”
“You’re always most cooperative, Mrs. Harmon.” Sister Mary Cornelia stood, leaving Katherine to wonder how anyone with such ruler-straight posture could sit in the first place. “As a peacekeeping measure, however, I’m giving your twins a little extra holiday time. You may take them home with you when you leave.”
Katherine froze with her coat sleeves halfway up her arms. “You’re suspending them from school for not believing in Santa Claus?”
“No, indeed.” Sister Mary Cornelia walked to the door and opened it. “I certainly don’t want my name on Santa’s naughty list this close to Christmas.”
“Very funny.” Katherine shrugged on her coat and slung the strap of her handbag across her shoulder. “It isn’t nice to kid around about suspending children from school, you know.”
“Oh, I wasn’t kidding, Mrs. Harmon. There are only three more days of school before semester break, anyway, and I’m sure the time spent with you will be much more beneficial to Andrew and Abigail than any busywork the teacher might contrive for them between now and Friday.”
“But I have to work,” Katherine protested, her mind racing through the next seventy-two hours, making lists of all the things she had to do, counting up all the obstacles in her path, even before she factored in the demands of two seven-year-olds. “The day care can’t take them until next week, and Mrs. Cassidy, our housekeeper, left last night to spend the holidays with her family in Oregon and…” Panic simmered inside her and came out in a plea. “You can’t suspend them now.”
Sister Mary Cornelia patted Katherine’s shoulder. “Think of it as three extra days to enjoy long, truthful discussions with your children on a variety of subjects.”
Katherine buttoned her coat, wishing she hadn’t worked so hard to get the twins admitted to Saint Julian’s in the first place. “And all this time, Sister, I thought you lacked a sense of humor.”
“Just because I dress solemnly, doesn’t mean I make solemnity a habit, Mrs. Harmon.”
“Miss,” Katherine corrected, losing all patience with wisecracking nuns. “Miss Harmon, not Mrs.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I do keep trying to assign the twins a father, don’t I?” Sister Mary Cornelia smiled easily. “I suppose it stems from my belief that children need both a mother and a father.”
“My children need a father about as much as they need three extra days out of school.” Pulling on her gloves, Katherine snapped the leather against her wrist as she stepped through the doorway into the outer office. “And for the record, Abby and Andy do have a father. I just don’t know exactly who he is.”
Sister Mary Cornelia closed the door in a distinctly humorless and peremptory manner, leaving Katherine pleased to have gotten the last word on at least one subject. Then, with a resigned, but frustrated sigh, she prepared to retrieve her mouthy children.
“WE DON’T HAVE to go to school anymore?” Abby asked for the hundredth time, clearly delighted by the prospect. “Are we gratuated?”
“Don’t be dumb,” Andy told her.
“I’m smarter’n you,” she replied.
“You’re not neither.”
“Either,” Katherine corrected automatically as she directed the twins into the ancient elevator in the Fitzpatrick Building and pushed the button for the twelfth-floor offices of Contemporary Woman magazine. “You’ll both go back to school after the holidays. Now, remember what I told you, I expect exemplary behavior this afternoon. I have a very important deadline, and I don’t want to hear so much as a peep out of either one of you. Understand?”
“Yes, Mom,” they answered, more or less in unison, before Andy nudged his sister with an elbow and Abby reciprocated with a halfhearted punch.
“No more fighting,” Katherine said sternly. “You’ve already lost television privileges for a month. Let’s not make it two.”
“Okay, Mom.” Another unison of sorts, accompanied by a slightly more subtle poke and return punch.
Katherine tapped her toe impatiently, weary even before she could reach the stack of work on her desk. Glancing at the slowly ascending numbers on the door panel, she wondered if a bribe would help ensure the twins’ cooperation. “Tell you what…if you’re extra good this afternoon, we’ll do something fun tomorrow.”
Andy looked interested. “Will you take us to the Jekyll and Hyde restaurant?”
“No, Andy!” Abby answered first in a good, if higher-pitched, imitation of Katherine’s voice. “Mom, we can’t go there. You have to cross a bridge that moves and monsters jump out and everybody screams. Emily went there with her brother and she was scared silly. She told me.”
“Oh, yeah,” Andy sneered. “Well, Tyler went and he said it was way cool! Besides, I wouldn’t be scared. I’d leap over the bridge and into the restaurant and melt the monsters with my laser gun.” He jumped and landed in a fighting stance, legs braced, elbows jutting, eyes narrowed to slits of suspicion. “Zeeeep! Zeeeep, zeeeep! Zeeeep!” The imaginary laser gun fired repeatedly, until Katherine reached down and turned it back into a normal little-boy hand. Andy looked up at her, pleading. “I’ll protect you and Abby. Please, can we go there? Please?”
“You may go there when you’re thirty-five,” Katherine told him. “Not a moment before.”
“But, Mom…” Andy’s protest had barely begun when Abby cut him off. “I told you so.”
Andy would have elbowed her again, but Katherine separated them. “We’ll visit the library,” she said. “Or one of the museums.”
“Whee…” Andy muttered under his breath, but Katherine ignored him and Abby’s sullen expression. Okay, so she was better at editing magazines than at creating fun learning experiences for her kids. But she was a damn good mother, and these two adorable hoodlums should be thanking their lucky stars they had her.
“How about a carriage ride in Central Park?” she offered as a compromise.
“Ice-skating,” Abby countered.
“Jekyll and Hyde,” Andy insisted stubbornly.
Reluctantly Katherine topped them both. “FAO Schwarz.”
“Really?”
“You mean it?”
Katherine nodded. “You may each buy one toy for yourself and one to give to someone less fortunate.”
“Yes! Cool! I’m buying Jet Jupiter, Laser Ranger!” The laser gun fired again. “Zeeeep! Zeeeep!”
Abby wrinkled her nose to show her superior taste in toys. “I want Bookworm Barbie. She comes with glasses and her own bookstore.”
Barbie in bifocals. “Wonderful,” Katherine said.
“Zeeeep! Zeeeep! Jet Jupiter blasts Bookworm Barbie into orbit!”
“You better keep your stupid toy away from my Barbie doll, Andy!”
Katherine had never been so glad to reach her floor. They weren’t even inside her office yet, and already she’d used up her best bribe and her last aspirin. When the elevator doors finally lumbered apart, she grasped each child by the hand and led them firmly to the receptionist’s desk. Janeen looked up, her expression changing from surprise to pleasure in an instant. “Hiya, kiddies,” she said with a smile. “Why aren’t you in school today?”
“We got kicked out,” Abby informed her brightly. “We’re dink-quints.”
“Delinquents,” Katherine interpreted as she sorted through a sizable stack of message slips.
“Uh-oh,” Janeen said, her voice smiling even though she wasn’t. “It isn’t good to be delinquents this close to Christmas. What’s Santa Claus going to think?”
Katherine tossed the phone slips onto the desk with a severe frown. “Santa Claus doesn’t think, because he isn’t real. Abby and Andy know that.”
Janeen looked shocked. “Santa’s not real?”
Andy looked at her, hopefully. “Do you believe in Santa Claus?”
“Well, of course.” Janeen lowered her aesthetically perfect eyebrows in Katherine’s direction. “Only an old Scrooge doesn’t believe in Santa Claus.”
“Don’t encourage them, please.” Katherine planted a hand on each of the twin red heads and tipped them up to look at her. “Janeen doesn’t believe in Santa Claus. No one over the age of eight believes in Santa Claus. And that’s the truth.” With a scowl for her receptionist, she urged the children toward her office.
“I do, too, believe,” Janeen called after them. “I do believe in Santa.”
ANDY DUMPED the box of crayons on the table and scattered them, looking for green. He glanced over at Abby to see if she had it, but she was huddled over a yellow pad of paper, drawing carefully with the red crayon. “What’re you drawin’?” he asked. “I’m drawing a monster with slime comin’ out his nose.”
“That’s gross,” she said without looking up.
He tried to see what she was drawing, but she kept her arm around the pad, so he couldn’t. She was probably just drawing the same old thing she always drew…a house with a dog, a cat, a mom and two kids. But he wanted to talk to her about Santa Claus, and now, while nobody was paying them any attention, was the perfect time. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, letting the words rush toward Abby. “What if the kids at school are right? What if Mom never knew about Santa Claus, when she was a kid? What if he is real and she just doesn’t know?”
Abby looked at him across the table. “You think Mom is a liar?”
He wiggled uncomfortably. “It wouldn’t be a lie if she didn’t know.”
“She says the reindeer and the elves and the North Pole are all just made-up. They’re not real.”
“I know she says that, Abby, but what if she just doesn’t know? Janeen believes in Santa Claus. What if she’s right and Mom’s wrong?”
Abby looked at her drawing, then turned it around to show Andy. “I was trying to write a letter to Santa, but I couldn’t spell all the words, so I’m drawing a picture of what I want for Christmas.”
Andy stared at the drawing, feeling that funny feeling that happened when he and Abby started thinking the same thing at the same time. She’d drawn a house with a dog, a cat, a mom and two kids…only there was a fat man in a red suit standing on the roof, and reindeer flying in the sky, and a lot of trees, and a bunch of other stuff. Andy pointed to a brown blob. “What’s that?”
“A turkey.”
“You want a turkey for Christmas?”
“I want a turkey dinner on Christmas,” she clarified. “I don’t want to eat spaghetti at a restaurant like we did last year. I want Mom to cook.”
Andy wasn’t sure even Santa could make that happen. He pointed at something else. “What’s that?”
“A real pond, so we can ice-skate. And that’s the forest, with real Christmas trees growing in it. And those are decorations for the tree.” Her finger moved faster across the paper. “And those are the cookies Mom and I baked for Santa. And that’s a real dog and a real cat and the house is yellow like that one in the magazine, and Mom’s happy and the cat is purring, and it’s a real Christmas.” She bit her lower lip. “That’s what I want. If Santa’s real, he can give me everything in the picture. Can’t he, Andy?”
Andy picked up a crayon—the blue one—and drew in another stick figure. “There,” he said, angling the pad toward Abby. “That’s our dad. If Santa is really real, then he can bring us a daddy, too.”
“I don’t think Mom will let us keep him.”
Andy nodded, certain she was right. “For a week, then. One week with a daddy and all the stuff in the picture. Santa has to be able to do that…if he’s real.”
Abby took back the drawing and studied it with a frown. “But how do we find out, Andy? How do we find Santa Claus?”
“I got an idea,” he said. “I got a good idea.” He leaned closer to Abby, so excited he could barely whisper. “We’ll hire a detective! They find stuff all the time.”
Abby frowned. “But we don’t know any detectives.”
“Mom does. I heard her talking about him one day on the phone. She said he was just a gory-fried house detective and she said he found the person she was lookin’ for and she said that’s what everyone in the building pays the Jack Kass to do, anyway.”
“Is that his name? Jack Kass?”
“Nah. I think it’s another word for detective. But, see, Abby, if everyone in the building pays him to look for people, he must work here somewhere. So it’ll be easy to find him.” Andy’s mind raced with possibilities as he jumped up from the table. “Come on. Janeen will help us.”
Abby was slower getting to her feet. “You don’t think she’ll tell Mom, do you? If Mom finds out, she’s gonna be awful mad.”
“She won’t find out, Abby,” he told her confidently. “Not until the detective shows her the real Santa. Then she can’t be mad. She’ll be too happy.”
Abby tore her Christmas picture from the pad, folded it into careful fourths and tucked it into her pocket. “Santa better be real,” she said. “Or I’m gonna be mad.”
“He’s real.” Andy was already planning all the things he wanted to do once Santa brought him a daddy. “He’s real, all right, and this is gonna be the best Christmas ever!”
