Susan Wiggs - Candlelight Christmas

“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “This way.”

He took her to the local toy store. It was nice, the way her face lit up when she saw the window display—a model train circling its figure-eight route through the fake snow and trees, and a lit village in the background. There was a robot endlessly lifting hand weights, dolls and boxing gloves, bikes and musketeer swords.

“It’s fantastic,” Darcy said. “Every kid’s dream toy shop.”

“Yep.” He nodded at the manager, a woman named Guinevere who had been working here since she was a teenager. He drew Darcy over to a display of the latest and greatest. “I’d like to get your help,” he said. “We’ve got a bumper crop of kids this year, and my ever-efficient older sister China sent me a text message with suggestions.”

They spent the next hour channeling the kids. What would light them up on Christmas morning? What would make them laugh, excite them, give them warm memories of their Christmas at Saddle Mountain?

“We have to try stuff out,” said Darcy.

“That’s right, you’re all about testing gear, aren’t you? Let’s steer clear of the things that need to be plugged in,” he suggested.

“Are you expecting a power outage?”

“No, but up on the mountain, it happens. Nonelectric toys are more fun, anyway.”

“Agreed. Remember Battleship?” She pulled out the classic board game.

“Good one. Everyone’s going to want that.”

“Then let’s get it for the pickle prize.”

He scratched his head. “The pickle prize?”

“You don’t do the pickle tradition?”

“Never heard of it. But if it involves a pickle, I’m game.”

“You need a pickle ornament and you have to hang it in some very arbitrary spot on the tree. And whoever finds the pickle first on Christmas morning gets a prize.”

“Gives new meaning to hide the pickle.”

She sniffed. “I can’t believe you never heard of it. The tradition goes way back. According to Wikipedia, anyway.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Look, they’ve even got pickles for sale.”

They were displayed with the stocking stuffers. They chose one that had eyes and a mouth, a sprinkling of glitter, and a movement activated switch that caused it to yodel.

“How have I managed to live my life without a yodeling pickle?” asked Logan.

“It’s a new world order,” she said.

Toy-shopping with Darcy, just like cooking with her, snowshoeing with her, surfing with her, did not suck. She was very serious in her deliberations, weighing the merits of the slingshot versus the potato catapult, a xylophone versus a recorder. He couldn’t remember laughing with a woman so much. He’d just come from a stressful work meeting and he needed this, needed a change or some shift in perspective.

In the middle of doing a yo-yo trick—an impressive one at that—she looked up at him and grinned.

“What?” he asked, liking the grin.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. For what?”

She gestured at the toys they picked out. “I thought I’d have to miss out on this.”

He paused. “You don’t have to miss out on a thing.”

“Picking out toys is one of the best things about Christmas. It’s part of the magic.”

“For somebody who doesn’t like kids,” he said, “you sure like kids.”

“You’ve got it wrong,” she said. “I do like kids—a lot. The whole nieces-and-nephews thing is right up my alley. I’m just not into parenting.”

“Aunting, then.”

“Yep.”

“Sounds good.” He changed the subject. “Okay, there’s one gift we haven’t nailed down yet.”

“Angelica,” she said. “She’s adorable. What should we get her?”

He thought about the conversation at breakfast. Great big round eyes, soft lisping voice. I want to see my mom. “The only thing she wants is the one thing we can’t give her.”

Logan O’Donnell was dangerous. Darcy concluded this halfway through the toy store spree. Whenever she was with him, she felt herself getting way too interested in him. That was the dangerous part. Interest led to a deeper crush, which led to passion, which in turn would lead to an emotional entanglement she wasn’t ready for.

She said as much to India when they all met for the Christmas parade later that day. It was hugely fun for the kids, waiting for the hometown processional to pass by. Everyone was bundled up, faces aglow in the twinkling lights.

Darcy kept sneaking glances at Logan, who was like a human jungle gym crawling with nieces and nephews. He looked impossibly sexy to her, even covered in small children. At his side, Charlie was a smaller, cherub-faced version of him, reveling in the excitement of the holidays. In his own way, Charlie was as dangerous to her heart as his father, because when she looked at him, something happened inside her. She yearned to reach out to him, to make him laugh, to gather him into her arms—just as she had done with her ex’s kids.

“Remember the definition of insanity?” she asked India, who was taking pictures on her smartphone. “Doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results.”

“Your point being?” asked India, framing a shot of the glittering pillars of the Avalon Free Library.

“Look, I really like your brother—I think you knew I would. But being with him...it’s got disaster written all over it.”

“You guys are great together. I’m not seeing how that’s crazy.”

“He’s a single dad—like Huntley. He wants more kids—like Huntley. It’s crazy of me to think going down that road again will lead to anywhere but disaster.”

“It’s not the same. Huntley is a tool,” she said simply. “Logan isn’t.”

“Why does it not make me feel better to know I was married to a tool? I think I was right to swear off any kind of relationship. I’m simply not any good at it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is not like you, Darce. You don’t shy away from things just because they might be difficult.”

“I do now.” She wondered if she would ever get over the searing pain of betrayal, the sense of loss.

“Look, if you refuse to let yourself go with a guy—a good guy, like my brother—then guess what you’re doing?”

“Protecting myself. India, I’m doing the best I can.”

“But if you hold back, then you’re letting Huntley win. You’re letting him walk away with everything he got in the divorce, and he’s taking the most vital part of you. He’s taking your heart, your soul, your sense of joy and optimism, your belief in love. So ask yourself—do you really want to give him that? Do you really want to surrender and give up on things that used to be so important to you?”

“Jeez, when you put it that way...”

“Don’t let him win this one. Don’t let him spoil something special.”

This, thought Darcy, was what a best friend was for. She told you the truth, even when you didn’t want to hear it.

“You know what?” said Darcy. “It’s Christmas. I love Christmas. I’m going to enjoy every minute of it, and then I’m going back to the city and to the real world and...”

“And what?”

“And everything will be as it should be,” she concluded.

“It’s coming,” piped Bernie. “The Christmas parade is coming.”

A small parade moved down the road. It was headed by a group of carolers—the Heart of the Mountains Church choir, followed by a few community groups and of course, Santa Claus, bringing up the rear.

The short processional was over soon enough. They all walked together to the Heart of the Mountains Church, where they were parked.

It was a cute little traditional church with a brilliantly lit steeple, its slender silhouette looking perfect against the purple sky. In the snowy yard was an elaborate manger scene illuminated by floodlights, and a sign that read O Come All Ye Faithful.

“It’s beautiful,” India said to Logan, taking more pictures. “The whole day was beautiful—skiing and lunch and Santa. You are one hundred percent forgiven for talking us out of going to Florida.”

Darcy was drawn to the PAWS contingent—the town’s animal rescue league. Volunteers walked with rescue dogs wearing little jackets with the phrase Rescue Me on the side. Some of the volunteers were passing out brochures about pet adoptions.

“Oh my gosh, I wish I could take one home,” Darcy said, watching a beagle bounding through the snow.

“That can be arranged.” Logan came to stand next to her. “I have it on good authority that Santa loves giving away puppies at Christmas.”

“My building doesn’t allow dogs.”

“Maybe you’re living in the wrong building, then.”

Why did everything he said have a double meaning? It seemed that way to Darcy. “I love my building,” she said. “I was on a waiting list forever to live there. It has everything I need.”

As the parade disassembled, Santa climbed down from his throne in the back of a fire department utility truck.

Logan gave him a wave. “That’s my buddy Adam, behind the beard.”

“Aha. So he’s telling you what the kids asked for.”

“Yep.”

“Sneaky.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Yes. Tell me everything. “Sure,” she said.

“Charlie and André wouldn’t tell Santa their Christmas wishes. They wrote letters instead.”

“Uh-oh. So, what’s your best guess?”

“Bad news—I think he wants a dog. He had a dog named Blake, but she was old and passed away.”

She gave a low whistle. “That’s a tough one.”

He nodded. “Not the best timing for me. And of course, when Charlie’s with his mom, the dog is all my responsibility.”

“So what are you going to do?” she asked.

“I hope he wants something else. I’m considering my options. Like giving him a toy dog. Or making a donation in his name to the animal shelter.”

“Dude.”

“What?”

“Do you know how lame that sounds? A dog is a dog. Not a toy. Not a donation.” She indicated the noisy mess in the parking lot as the PAWS volunteers loaded up the animals to take back to the shelter.

He nodded. “I know you’re right. Maybe in the summer, then.”

“Does Santa give rain checks for summer?”

He laughed. “You’re harsh.”

“Being the youngest of five, I learned to play hardball at Christmas at an early age.”

“I’ve got a week to figure this out.”

She wondered if she should tell him about the Santa trap. Charlie and André were right on the cusp of disbelief. One wrong move, and the myth would be busted.

“Good news,” Adam reported, now in his street clothes. “I pried the truth out of Charlie—his Christmas wish. I got him to sing like a canary.”

“Yeah?” Logan grinned. “Good work. So, what am I in for?”

“A new snowboard. The kind with flames painted on the bottom. Boots, too.”

“Excellent. Much easier than a live animal. I can make that happen.”

Darcy felt a twinge of suspicion. That was just too easy. She thought about the conversation she’d overheard between the boys. “What about André?”

Adam shook his head. “That kid’s tough as a Kevlar vest. He wouldn’t talk. You’ll have to figure it out another way.”

“Okay,” said Logan. “I’m on it.”

Adam clapped him on the shoulder. “See you around, buddy. And Darcy.”

After he’d gone, Darcy pondered about whether or not to disclose her suspicions. Not now, she decided. “Can I tell you a secret?” she asked.

“What’s that?”

“I still believe in Santa Claus.”

“You probably just like sitting in guys’ laps.”

“Depends on the guy. Depends on the lap. And how do you know what I like? You don’t even know me.”

“Then maybe we should work on that some more.” He lowered his voice and leaned down toward her. “I know you like kissing me.”

“You do, do you?” Kiss me now, she thought crazily. Kiss me now.

“Yeah, so—sorry, I need to...” He didn’t finish, but sprinted across the road toward a tall pile of packed snow. Charlie, André and some other kids were playing on a Bobcat snow mover, which looked like a toy version of a snowplow. The equipment was clearly marked “keep off,” but the kids were either blind to that or just ignoring it.

“Hey,” Logan called. “Get down off that Bobcat.”

“It’s cool, Dad,” said Charlie. “Check it out.”

André was working the levers and making motor sounds with his mouth.