Susan Wiggs - Candlelight Christmas

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Long story. Remind me to tell you sometime.”

“She seems really nice. She and her husband are going to help us out. Tomorrow at ten in the morning, we’ll connect, and Angelica and André will get to see their mom. It’s not the same as seeing her in person, but it’s something.”

His heart felt squeezed with emotion. “How did you get to be so awesome?”

“You think I’m awesome?”

He had a lot more thoughts about her. But that conversation would have to wait.

“I’ll see you at the house,” he said. “I’ve got a last-minute errand.”

He reached for a stack of files. She put her hand on top of them. “Uh-uh,” she said. “Christmas Eve, remember?”

“Are you going to be that girlfriend who won’t let me get my work done?”

“Who says I’m your girlfriend?”

“Me.” In a swift movement, he trapped her between his body and the desk. “I say.”

Her eyes and her lips softened. She liked him, he could tell. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He leaned down, really wanting to kiss her, but instead, he just whispered in her ear. “Tonight,” he said. “You and me, tonight.”

Skating was lame. Charlie and André both agreed on that. Aunt India told them they could take off their skates and play in the snow if they didn’t go far. They found some kids playing king of the mountain on a huge snow mound at the edge of the church parking lot, and that was way more fun.

“Hey, check it out over here,” said André, motioning him to the corner of the lot.

Charlie saw the shiny red Bobcat, with its snowplow attachment, parked in the usual spot. He and André climbed up to the scoop-shaped plastic seat, wedging themselves into the small space. They worked the levers and pedals, making motor sounds with their mouth as they fell into their favorite make-believe game, robot wars. Charlie pushed down on a pedal, and to his surprise, the big snowplow blade lifted up. He eased up on the pedal, then pushed it again, and the blade followed his movements.

“Cool,” said André. “You got it to work.”

“Way cool,” Charlie agreed.

André started monkeying with the other controls, reaching across Charlie to work both big levers. “This moves it forward,” he said. “This moves it back. I’ve watched it a million times at construction sites in the city.”

“Okay, you be the driver and I’ll watch for the enemy,” said Charlie.

This year, he decided as he played alongside his best friend, Christmas rocked. There was going to be a feast tonight, and a party and stuff, and then they were going to stay up all night watching for Santa, and in the morning, their wishes would come true. He just knew it. Christmas was like the best thing ever.

André pushed a rubbery green button overhead, and the engine coughed, and then growled, and then turned on.

The two of them looked at each other in shock. The machine vibrated beneath them like a live animal.

“You started the engine,” Charlie said, catching a whiff of exhaust.

“I started it.” André looked as amazed as Charlie felt. “I bet I can make it work.” He pushed one of the hand levers forward, and the machine lurched, then trundled ahead a few feet.

“Holy moly, you’re driving it,” Charlie said.

“This is so rad.” André worked the lever some more, bringing it out into the middle of the empty parking lot. “Look, I can make it go forward and back. And here’s how you turn it.” He worked the levers with both hands, and the Bobcat turned in a circle.

“Awesome,” Charlie said. “Let’s see if the snowplow works.” He pushed the pedals, and sure enough, the blade went up and down.

“We’re working now,” said André, his face lit up with excitement. “Let’s plow that field down there.”

“Yeah,” said Charlie. “We can make a path to the manger.” He pointed across the smooth white churchyard at the manger scene, which tonight would all be lit up for Christmas Eve.

The yard sloped downward, and the Bobcat leaned like a crazy ride. At first it was really fun, like the coolest ride on a sled, but then it felt as though they were going a little too fast.

“Hey, slow down,” Charlie said.

“I can’t.” André struggled with the levers. “It’s not slowing down.”

“Then you better turn around, because we’re heading straight for—”

“Duck!”

The manger was suddenly right in front of them. The plow blade hooked itself on something and then smashed into the manger.

André’s hand flashed up, and he punched a red button overhead. The engine died.

“Holy moly,” said Charlie. “We smashed into the manger.” He looked at the statues strewn around the snowy yard. “We ran over baby Jesus.”

“Oh man, that was not cool,” André said. “What should we—”

“What’s going on here?” asked a gruff voice.

Charlie’s stomach felt as if it had turned into a giant ball of ice. A police cruiser was parked in the lot beside the churchyard. “It’s Chief McKnight,” he whispered to André.

“We’re sunk,” André whispered back.

“You boys climb down from that thing.” Chief McKnight looked really mad. “Is anybody hurt?”

Charlie eyed the crushed fake baby head down in the snow. He and André scrambled out. “We’re okay,” Charlie said. “Chief McKnight, we’re really sorry.”

“We didn’t mean to do it,” André said.

“You kids are in big trouble,” said Chief McKnight.

As if they didn’t already know.

“Honest, we were just gonna do some plowing, you know, to help out,” André said.

“It was an accident,” Charlie said, snatching off his hat.

Chief McKnight leaned down and glared at them. Then his eyebrows shot up. “Charlie? Charlie O’Donnell?”

Chief McKnight had known him ever since Charlie was born. The police chief was married to Jenny, the bakery owner, and they lived in an old-fashioned house on King Street, and when the chief wasn’t on duty, Charlie was allowed to call him Rourke.

But right now it was Chief McKnight, all the way. “Y-yes, sir,” Charlie replied in a shaking voice. “That’s me.”

“You stole a piece of equipment. You committed vandalism...on Christmas Eve,” said the chief. “Bad timing, guys. Really bad timing.”

“We’re sorry,” Charlie said.

“Do we have to go to jail?” André asked in a very quiet, completely horrified voice.

Charlie knew exactly what André was thinking—that he would have to go to jail, like his mom. That was André’s deepest, darkest fear. Charlie nearly knocked his friend down, pushing in front of him to stand before Chief McKnight. He stood tall and squared his shoulders the way his dad told him he should do to show respect.

“It was me,” he said in a loud, clear voice. “I made André sit next to me, but I was the one who stole the snowplow and ran it into the manger. André didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Hey,” said André.

“If anybody gets in trouble,” Charlie said, “it should be me, not André.”

“Is that so?” asked the police chief.

Charlie knew his Christmas wish couldn’t possibly come true now. What boy could ever be rewarded on Christmas morning after pulling a prank like this? Santa would never bring him a dog now, not after what they’d just done. So he figured he might as well take the blame, because in one big flash, he realized there was something way more important than his Christmas wish, and that was André. His best friend.

And André’s wish—that his mom would be okay—just had to come true.

“Let’s go to my car,” said Rourke. “I need to call your dad.”

Defeated, they followed him up the slope toward the squad car. Normally they would love exploring a police car, but not now.

“Why did you say it was you?” André hissed at Charlie.

“Because we need to make sure your Christmas wish comes true.”

“What about your wish?”

Charlie’s heart sank, but he kept his chin up. “Maybe next year.” And in that moment, he felt funny, kind of light and floating. The moment he had stepped up to take the blame, he had felt this terrific sensation whooshing through him like an ocean wave or like the wind through the trees. It felt good. Really good, even though he knew he had just ruined his chances of getting a puppy. He knew why it felt good to throw himself under the bus and he knew the name of the whooshing feeling.

It was the Christmas Spirit. It was the thing all the songs and stories were about—putting somebody’s happiness ahead of your own.

Even though it felt good, he still had to deal with Chief McKnight...and with the holy family lying half-buried in the snow. He’d run over baby Jesus. How was he going to fix this?

He was going to need a Christmas miracle.

When they were a few feet from the police car, Charlie saw Darcy running toward them. “What happened here?” she asked. “Is someone hurt?”

“No visible injuries,” said the chief. “And you are?”

“Darcy Fitzgerald,” she said. “I’m friends with Charlie’s aunt. I was looking for them at the skate house, and his aunt said they came over here to play in the snow.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Looks like you had a little too much fun with the snowplow.”

“We’re sorry,” said Charlie. “We didn’t mean it.”

“I was just going to call Logan,” said Chief McKnight, taking out a phone.

Charlie wished he could freeze into an icicle and not feel so terrible. Everything that had happened was bad, but knowing his dad was about to get a call from the police was the worst.

“Wait a moment,” Darcy said. “Do you mind if I have a word with you?”

She and the police chief stepped to the other side of the car and had a quick, quiet conversation. A few minutes later, the chief said, “So here’s the deal. I’m going to move the snowplow, and you kids are going to rebuild the manger. I’m letting you off with a warning this time, but if you ever pull a stunt like this again—”

“We won’t,” Charlie said.

“Never, ever, we swear on a stack of Bibles,” André added.

The chief drove the snowplow back to its parking spot. Darcy looked at Charlie and then at André.

Charlie shook in his shoes. What if she decided to act like the stepmonster and rat him out to his dad? Oh man.

“All right, you two,” she said. “Let’s get moving. We’ve got work to do.”

* * *

Dark came early to the mountain on Christmas Eve, and outside the window, the winter sky brooded with the weight of a coming storm. The airways were filled with warnings of a lake-effect blizzard. Darcy’s phone vibrated with messages from her sisters and parents to make sure she was all right.

She was returning a text to Lydia when India handed her a mug redolent of wine and spices. “Glühwein,” she said. “Traditional in Tyrolia, I’m told. They made it over at the Powder Room for the overnight guests.”

Darcy took a sip. “Oh, that’s nice.”

India gestured at her phone. “Everything all right?”

“My sister just wanted to make sure we’re not going to freeze to death in the storm.”

“I heard it was going to hit around midnight.”

“It’s kind of exciting,” said Darcy.

“Let’s hope the power stays on.” India studied her. “You look good.”

“As opposed to...?”

“I thought you might be depressed, missing your family, that sort of thing.”

“I’m fine.”

“So, you and Logan—”

“Fine,” Darcy assured her. “Everything is fine.” She wasn’t ready to talk about her growing bond with Logan. It was very unexpected, and very fast. And if the encounter with him today was any indication, she was in for a very nice Christmas Eve. She didn’t want to spoil things by talking about them too soon. She didn’t want to talk herself out of it. He had done nothing specific to win her trust, yet she trusted him. She wanted to take a chance with him.

“I’m going to go say good-night to the kids,” she said to India.

“Okay. I think we wore them out sufficiently, and they’re exhausted enough to sleep. Charlie practically fell asleep in his Christmas Eve Frito pie.”

India had no idea. Darcy had kept the Bobcat mishap to herself on condition that the boys put the manger back in readiness for Christmas morning. She had worked the boys like a pair of rented mules. Fueled by pure repentance and helped by the incredibly understanding chief of police, they had put the manger back in order quickly. They’d managed to swaddle the broken baby Jesus so it would look brand-new. Tonight’s layer of fresh snow would cover their tracks.