Do You Believe in Santa? (13 page)

“It isn't just a story,” she said.

She waited, breathing slowly, for the look on his face she'd never wanted to see.

Jake's reaction was just what she'd always imagined.

She watched his smile fade as his expression shifted from a hesitant,
You're-kidding-right?
to a shell-shocked,
Oh-my-God-you're-serious.

Her stomach clenched.

“Wait a minute,” Jake said. “You don't really mean . . .”

“I saw Santa Claus,” she said, summoning up her last shred of calm.

“You mean—like a dream, right? You said you fell asleep on the couch. . . .”

“No. I pinched myself. Hard. I still had a red mark the next day.”

For the first time since grade school, she was actually trying to get someone to believe her. She'd given up arguing long ago. At least Jake wasn't making fun of her.

This was worse.

He closed his eyes, as if trying to concentrate. “Okay. Let's break this down.”

No. No. No.
She didn't need the practical, logical Jake. She needed the playful, monster-movie-loving Jake.

Why should he be different from anyone else?

He looked at her as if he'd just come up with an original argument. “If it was really Santa Claus, why didn't he give you a present?”

“It's not like that.” Her heart was going like a jackhammer. Discussion and logic had never done any good before, but for Jake, she'd try. “I'm not saying he goes around from house to house, handing out presents to everyone. It's like what my mother told me once: Santa Claus is the spirit of Christmas. I don't understand all of it, or why it doesn't happen to more people. I think maybe sometimes if someone really believes in him—or really needs to see him—”

“You
needed
to see him.” Jake nodded vigorously. “That's it. Don't you see? It was a rough year for you and your mom. It was the year your dad left. You waited on the couch to watch for Santa Claus, and you were probably half asleep—”

Mandy shook her head. Not vigorously. Slowly, with conviction. It was all she really had.

“You really believe it,” he said.

Her shake of the head turned into a nod.

“I know what I saw,” she said.

Jake studied her, his eyes quiet and serious. He lifted a hand to her cheek, and Mandy held perfectly still. She didn't know what she was hoping for. But the affection in Jake's eyes looked so honest, so undisguised—

He said, “I guess if it's gotten you through, it can't be all bad.”

Not
what she needed to hear. Mandy's heart fell with a thud.

Before she knew what she was doing, she was out of the truck, back in the cold air. Her eyes burned, and her mind had room for only two words.

Of course it couldn't be that easy.

In an instant Jake was on the sidewalk in front of her, his hands on her shoulders. He looked blurry, because God forbid, she felt her eyes brimming with tears.

She tried to pull back, to escape back into the shop, but firm hands held her in place. His voice cut through. She didn't know if he'd spoken before or not.

“Mandy,
wait.”

Her heart was past pounding now. She was sure it was going to burst out and land on the sidewalk between them. She swallowed hard, twice, remembering that she'd heard somewhere that it could keep you from crying. And suddenly, she had words again. They rushed out of her mouth.

“Jake, I've been through this since I was a kid. People humor me. I get it. But they're people I've known all my life. They know me, even if they think I'm a nut. ‘Nice girl. Too bad she's a fruitcake.' If you'll pardon the expression. But
you—”

Out of air, she sucked in a deep breath. She tried to turn away again, but Jake held on.

“Okay,” he said. “I said the wrong thing. But you caught me off guard. Can you cut me a little slack? I never saw this coming. You're not giving me any time to process this.”

Jake's mind struggled to catch up. This morning he'd been in Pennsylvania. Half an hour ago he'd been ecstatic just to be here. Now everything felt unreal, as if someone had told him the sun was going to set in the east tonight instead of the west. Except it felt like it might not have to set at all. The late afternoon was prematurely gray, bitter cold and devoid of color, except for Mandy's bright red jacket and deep blue eyes, glistening with tears she wouldn't let fall.

He wanted to hold her, to backtrack just ten or fifteen minutes, to put everything on pause until he could figure out how to fix this.

Mandy was waiting for him, and he was scrabbling for words that would turn this around instead of digging him deeper. He had nothing.

Mandy stepped back, her shoulders slipping from his grasp.

“Jake, I can take it from everyone else. ‘Mandy Claus.' I've been hearing it since I was nine. I can live with it because I know what I saw. But from you . . .”

Her breath came out in clouds in front of her, as if she were winded.

“I hoped . . . I hoped you'd be different.”

Her words died away, and the tears brimmed huge. “But
that's
crazy.” Her voice was a ragged whisper as she turned away.

The words wrenched his heart. Jake caught her by the elbow.

“Wait,” he said. That futile, useless word again. “Where are you going?”

“Home. My car is parked in back.” She kept her face turned away.

He flailed for time. “It's cold. At least let me take you to it.”

“I can cut through the store.”

Her arm slipped again from his grasp, and she walked away, unlocking the store. Jake tried to think of a way to stop her, but every word he'd said so far had only made things worse. He couldn't come up with anything new. The word that kept coming back to him, uselessly, was
wait.

But he didn't know what came after that. He needed to think, to sort this out, to regroup.

As Mandy closed the shop door behind her, Jake climbed back into the truck. He rounded the block to the exit of the alley in time to see Mandy's little red car back out safely and head toward the side street up into the hills that would take her home.

He wanted to follow her, to make sure she got there all right. But that probably bordered on creepy stalker behavior. In her current state of mind, he didn't think she'd appreciate it.

So, Jake turned up the heat in the truck and drove off through the premature gray.

Chapter 13

When she got home, Mandy gave in and cried like the child she'd once been.

She didn't cry often, unless you counted movies. It felt as if she'd been saving this one up ever since she met Jake. She'd spent so much time wondering what would happen when this moment finally came. She thought she'd prepared herself for the worst. But deep down, all along, she'd hoped for better.

So she curled in a ball at the far end of the sofa and sobbed into a handy red cushion, wishing she'd remembered to grab a box of tissues first.

After ten or fifteen minutes, the cry-fest lost some of its steam. She slumped against the corner of the couch, weak and played out. As she raised her head, the cushion wadded up in her arms, her eyes went to the spot in front of the fireplace where all this had started sixteen years ago. Night was falling, and the only light came from the lamp on the table beside the couch, so the half-lit room didn't look too different from the way it had looked that Christmas Eve.

Tonight, that moment was hard to picture.

It had been a fact of life for so long, and she'd told the story so many times, maybe it was the story she remembered more than the event.

Tears threatened again. Mandy bit her lip.

Sixteen years of believing in a man in a crimson suit when everyone else thought she'd imagined it. Sixteen years of trying to hold on to the magic. Maybe by now, it was more stubbornness than belief. Maybe it had been for a long time.

Maybe it was time to let it go.

She remembered another night when she'd felt this way. Mandy shoved the thought aside. She was depressed enough already.

She pushed herself off the couch. No more thinking tonight. She headed to the kitchen for something to eat or drink.

Feeling like the world's biggest cliché, she dug a carton of ice cream out of the freezer and carried it back to the living room, preparing to pick out a movie from the top shelf of her cabinet.

 

 

If this were a Humphrey Bogart film, Jake thought, he would have been sitting at a bar, knocking back shots of whiskey.

Instead, he sat huddled at a table in the Pine 'n' Dine, his hands clutched around a cup of coffee. His mind swirled.

Jake took another swig of coffee and wished the world made sense again. On the one hand, Mandy's revelation explained a lot of things. The secretive behavior. The weird conversation about ghosts in the kitchen.

He should be saying,
Is that all?

As secrets went, it could be so much worse. She didn't have a husband lurking around, or a baby he didn't know about. She could have been a felon. Or there were people who thought they'd been abducted by aliens.

She just believed in Santa Claus.

In a way, it made sense. It fit Mandy, with her air of innocence, her love for Christmas, her sweet disposition. But it might suggest a pretty shaky grip on reality.

And he was sitting here because
she
didn't want to talk to
him.

“I haven't seen you in a while.”

The red-haired waitress named Sherry stood in front of him, order pad in hand, an unspoken question on her face. Maybe she just wanted to know his order, but he didn't think so.

He'd driven around for over an hour, hoping in vain for everything to come clear for him. He supposed it was no accident he'd ended up at this particular restaurant. It was Sherry who'd first popped off with the nickname “Mandy Claus.” Sherry must know all about this.

Jake flipped open his menu as if it held the answer to some trick question. “Uh—ham and cheese on rye.”

Sherry sidled away.

Jake looked at his watch. Seven-thirty here, ten-thirty on the East Coast. He should be hungry, but he wasn't. He shouldn't be exhausted, but he was.

He'd only taken one semester of psychology, but he kept searching for explanations, and the amateur Freud in him whispered insistently about abandonment issues. The fact that her father had left that same year just seemed too significant. Maybe Santa Claus represented the ultimate father figure—kind, all-knowing, and with one heck of a good excuse for being gone all the time.

Before Jake could stretch his lame attempt at a theory any further, Sherry brought his sandwich, with a big side order of curiosity visible on her face. Maybe he could indulge her curiosity and get some answers in the bargain. The restaurant was busy, but judging from her expression, Jake had a feeling she'd make time for a few questions.

He cut to the chase. “So,” he said, “you know about Mandy and Santa Claus?”

Her eyes flickered. “Do you?”

Give me a break.
“You're the one who called her Mandy Claus.”

“A lot of people do. It's just a nickname.”

He sighed. The dinner crowd wouldn't allow for beating around the bush. “Sherry, she told me all about it. Why the tap dance?”

Sherry blinked. “What did she tell you?”

“That she saw Santa Claus when she was eight. Isn't that what she told you?”

“Sure. But she told me not to tell you.”

He didn't want to put his foot in his mouth again, so he proceeded with caution. “Do you believe it?” he asked. Maybe there was something in the water here.

“That she saw Santa?” She stared at him. “Of course not. That's crazy.”

Jake flinched. At least he hadn't used
that
word. But still, his reaction must have hit Mandy like a slap in the face. As he opened his mouth to speak in her defense, Sherry turned toward the kitchen. “Be back in a minute.”

Jake tried to eat, but the sandwich held about as much interest as a bowl of wax fruit.

When Sherry returned, he didn't waste any time. “You know she's not crazy.”

“I didn't say
Mandy
was crazy. Believing in Santa Claus is crazy. As far as I know she's totally normal in every other way.”

“And everybody knows about this but me?”

“Well, you're new around here,” Sherry said. “And it was summer when you came. And she asked me not to tell.” She shrugged. “I don't know if she asked anybody else.”

“Why would she try so hard to keep it from me if everybody knows about it?”

He knew the answer before Sherry spoke. She asked, “How did you take it?”

“Never mind.” He swiped his hand through his hair. “I'm still trying to get my head around it. I heard how she saw Santa Claus. How'd everyone else find out?”

“It was a big deal,” Sherry said. “Big for Tall Pine, anyway. She talked to a TV reporter, got her picture in the paper, all that stuff. And the kids at school made fun of her.”

“Including you?”

“Well . . . yes.” Sherry reddened. “But that was a long time ago. Remember, I was a kid, too.”

Kids could be awful. Jake remembered that from trying to fit in at new schools while his family moved around. But adults should know better. “This Mandy Claus nickname,” he said. “You know it hurts her feelings, right?”

Sherry gave him what looked like an honest-to-goodness double take. “No. Everybody loves Mandy. We've always kidded her about it, but it doesn't bother her. Not since she was little, anyway.”

They stared at each other. One of them was way off.

Jake heard Mandy's voice in his head:
I can take it from everyone else.
His stomach twisted.

“See, what happened was . . .” Sherry looked upward in thought. “At first, when the kids teased her, she argued and cried. But then, it was funny—she just stopped arguing. She'd shrug her shoulders, or she'd laugh it off. She was like Teflon. A lot of backbone, that girl.”

Sherry glanced toward the waiting area as a new set of customers walked in. “The thing is, she tells that story to any kid who walks in the store if they ask. The other store owners all know about it, and they send the kids over. It's like a tradition.” Her eyes zeroed in on him. “Why would she do all that—why would she go to work in a Christmas store—if it still bothered her?”

Good question,
he thought.
I'll have to ask her. If she'll speak to me.

“She doesn't make a big deal of it,” Sherry went on. “She doesn't take out a billboard. But everybody knows this town wouldn't be the same without her.”

She tore off Jake's ticket and laid it on the table, although he'd barely touched his food. She started to walk away. Then she took a step back.

“If she was worried about you knowing, it's a big deal to her,” Sherry said. “So don't
you
hurt her feelings. Or else.”

 

 

When Mandy heard the footsteps on her front porch, something loosened in her chest, and she knew she'd been waiting for the sound.

She reached for the remote control in the dark living room and paused the movie to listen. The steps came again, followed by a knock, and her insides tightened once more. She wasn't ready. She didn't know if she'd ever be ready.

She opened the door. Jake stood outside, wearing the blue jacket she'd bought him. Part of her wanted to launch into his arms, and that part terrified her. She was weak tonight. Weak enough that earlier, she'd been thinking of giving up everything she'd believed since she was a little girl.

She didn't trust herself, so she didn't open the door all the way.

Jake inclined his head to peer past her at the glow from the television screen. “What are you watching?”

He gave a faint smile. “That sounds ominous.”

At that smile, something caught in her throat. She didn't answer.

Jake huddled deeper in his jacket, and Mandy felt the bite of the air coming through the gap in the door. “Mind if I come in?” he asked.

She clutched the doorjamb. “I'm sorry, Jake. But I don't know if I'm ready to talk.”

“I think we ought to.” He passed a hand roughly through his hair, a familiar gesture that made him look rumpled and vulnerable. Mandy tightened her grip on the doorjamb.

Candid brown eyes met hers under the porch light. She was shaking.
Have some guts,
she told herself.
It can't be any worse than sitting alone in the dark having Häagen-Dazs for dinner.

“Okay.” Rather than let him in, she grabbed the sweater she'd thrown on the back of the couch and slipped through the door into the cold air outside.

He stared at her. “You really like to have an exit strategy, don't you?”

“What?” She pulled on the sweater. It didn't do much to guard against the chill.

“Never mind.”

So now she had both of them standing outside in the bitter October night. Her knees were knocking. Let Jake think it was just from the cold. Mandy wrapped her arms around herself, under the sweater, and waited, afraid to speak.

Jake plunged ahead. “Mandy, I know I said everything wrong earlier tonight. I stepped on something really important to you. I hurt your feelings. And I'm sorry.” He toed a board on the porch, his eyes still on hers. “What I want more than anything is just to get back to where we were.”

“You mean, before I told you?” Her heart was in her throat. “I don't know if we can.”

“Why not? I'm trying to tell you
it doesn't matter.”

She stiffened. “It matters to me.”

“I know it does. What I mean is, I don't have a problem with it.”

She knew he intended for that to be good news. It might be the best she could hope for. But her heart sank at the thought.
Stand your ground,
something deep inside her insisted.

“Mandy, I'm lost. What can I do to make this better?”

“I don't want you to
overlook
it.” She looked down. “I guess I hoped you'd believe me.”

“I believe
you
believe it. Isn't that enough? It's not like it's a religious difference.”

“Isn't it?” she said. “Faith is evidence of things unseen.”

“Right. But . . .” He raked a hand through his hair again. “This is the deal-breaker? Really? Because I don't have an answer for that. Except that I've always told you the truth. I'm telling you the truth right now. If you expect me to turn around and say I believe in Santa Claus . . .”

She clutched her arms tighter around herself. “I've always hoped there was someone else who believed it. Maybe even someone else who saw him, too.”

Jake gave a heavy sigh. “Now,
that
would be some fierce competition. But if there
is
a guy like that out there, I don't know where he is. Maybe he's ninety years old. Maybe he's in Denmark. Or maybe he's already married with eight tiny reindeer. I don't know.” Jake leveled his direct gaze at her. “Here's what I
do
know. He didn't fly out here today to see you. He didn't drive to your store without stopping. He's not standing out here on your front porch, freezing. Doesn't any of that tell you anything?”

His words seemed to hang in the cold air between them. He was angry, he was impatient, but he was
here.

Mandy gulped. “It means a lot.”

He was right. She wasn't being fair. And, she realized, she still wasn't being honest. She owed him that much. She pulled in a deep breath and willed tears back.