From Main Street was a view of the beautiful, majestic bridge that crossed the eastern bank of the Hudson River—the Tappan Zee Bridge. Okay, there was nothing even relatively attractive about the Tappan Zee. It looked like a child built it with an erector set and painted with rust. But it was our bridge, and if not for it’s horrendous daily traffic crossing to and from New Jersey, Zee would have been named Mike or Steve, and we’d have missed out on those witty
Baked ZT
tabloid headlines.
Tarrytown was a village within the town of Greenburg. We shared a school with neighboring Sleepy Hollow, which became famous for the Washington Irving classic
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,
even though the story actually took place in Tarrytown. Irving was also responsible for the modern American version of Santa Claus. Before his 1809 book
The History of New York
, Santa never had a “flying sleigh” or filled stockings that were hung by the fireplace with care. He also added the girth to his belly.
As I turned up Overland Drive, I felt like I’d traveled back in time. I could visualize the bike races, the kick-the-can games … and of course, baseball. The Reed residence was similar to the other houses on the street, four lots down from my childhood home, and on the same side of the street.
We were met there by an aging hippie named Barry, who smelled like he hadn’t showered in a week. He helped me unload what I needed out of the van, and was off. “Rock on, dude,” he told me before he left. It had been a long time since I rocked anything at this time of the morning, but I would do my best.
Alyson drove around the block, just as the Amigos would have, and I pulled on my ski mask. Before we left Pound Ridge, I’d changed into the all-black, form-fitting running gear that I had purchased with plans to continue the healthy fitness habits I’d picked up in prison. Kind of ironic that I would be wearing it when I performed the act that might get me sent back.
I took out the key and headed for the front door.
Even though nobody was home it still felt odd, and wrong, being in somebody’s house. So I unnecessarily tiptoed, and made as little noise as possible as I took care of business.
It would take me much longer than the allotted three to five minutes, and require multiple trips in and out—the Amigos had probably hit ten houses since we’d left Pound Ridge. But that was all right. I had started to feel useless in my CEO role back in Mission Control. I’d been the one plotting this for years, and had been involved in every part of the planning and execution up to this point, and when the big night came I felt like I wasn’t pulling my weight.
My work in the Reed house was just about completed, and I was about to make a move for the door, when I heard the footsteps. At first I thought I was hearing things, but they were very real. I wasn’t alone.
It sounded like the footsteps were heading for the living room, so I slipped into the kitchen. Big mistake—since the Reed house had the same circular floor-plan as my childhood home, I should have known the person could have been just as easily heading for the kitchen.
The lights came on and there stood Mary Reed. She hadn’t gone to her brother-in-law’s house. And she was holding a shotgun!
We’d thought this would be an easy in and out, with the key and nobody home, so all the assistance was with the Amigos. I was all on my own.
She looked disheveled, wearing a bathrobe with no makeup. Understandable, at this hour, but her eyes also looked wild, and I could smell the booze across the room. She was drunk.
“I knew it was you, you gutless son of a bitch!” she yelled at me. “Did you come to steal more of your own wife’s jewelry!?”
I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not that she thought I was her husband. But the way she was aiming that gun at me, I was leaning toward no.
I thought about taking off my mask and revealing my true identity, but in her irrational state, it might spark her to pump a round into my chest. So I remained silent, and still.
“I called your brother to wish you a merry Christmas, but he told me you left without telling anyone. Just like around here when you wander off. You know I followed you one day.”
I continued my strategy of silence, letting her continue, “Yeah, that day when you went down to the Hudson and just looked down at it for an hour, like you were thinking about jumping. Is that what you were doing, Stu?”
This time Mary wanted an answer. She shot over my head, the shells lodging into the wall. I instinctively jumped to the floor.
“Answer me, Stu—is that what you’re going to do … kill yourself!?”
I was about to rip the mask off and take my chances, when she shouted, “If you’re too big of a coward to do it, I’ll do it for you!” She shot again, this time the bullets pinged off pots and pans.
“Were you going to tell Bailey that you’re going to let him grow up without a father!? The poor kid bought you that baseball glove because he wants his father back. He doesn’t care about the money or our credit rating or any of that. He just wants his goddam dad!
“So go ahead, steal everything in the house, and sell it, if that’s what you need to do to live for our son. God, Stu, do you remember when we lived in that tiny apartment and ate ramen noodles for dinner every night? We didn’t need a will to live, we just lived. And that was enough.”
She waited for an answer, but none came. “Talk to me, Stu! Please talk to me,” she pleaded.
When I didn’t reply, she pointed the gun at me again. I tried to inch away across the floor. “I guess I have my answer then, Stu, don’t I? Well, here’s my solution—I’d rather have it look like you died in an accident, sneaking into the house and surprising your wife ... than have your son live with the guilt of knowing his father didn’t care enough to stick around. So that will be my final Christmas present to you—I’ll set you free.”
She cocked the gun and her finger went to the trigger. But before she could shoot, an angel grabbed me by the stretchy material of my running top, and dragged me into the living room.
Alyson flashed me her typical “what would you do without me?” look. But there was no time for relief. Mary Reed bolted into the living room, ready to fire. “Get back here you coward,” she screeched.
But when she saw it, she stopped in her tracks, and dropped the gun. A look of shock came over her face, before she fell to the floor and passed out.
I moved her into a Barcalounger and found a stool to put her feet on. I covered her with an afghan.
Alyson picked up the gun and shook her head. “How does it go from children waiting up for Santa, to mom shooting dad?”
I looked at Mary Reed, who was now soundly sleeping it off, and then at pictures on the mantle of her and Stu in happier times. I thought of the Washington Irving story that re-defined Santa Claus, and Christmas as we know it. But one element that remained in the transition was belief, and as long as it’s present, we always had the power to change the story. “Maybe they’ll have a chance to write a different ending,” I said.
Alyson looked skeptical. “I don’t know, Collins. Sometimes we get too far down the road and there’s no going back.”
Edmund Woods’ flashlight scanned the dark parking lot until he found the small bolt. “Got it,” he called out to Dora.
She looked relieved. They had come so far in building this dollhouse, and there was no way one little bolt was going to stop them.
Edmund laughed as he handed it to her. “What’s so funny?” she asked, her teeth chattering.
“I was just thinking about when it took us all night to put together that bike for Payne.”
She joined his laughter. “We‘re not doing much better on this one. I guess there was a reason we worked in publishing, and not home building.”
“What was he, like five?”
“Six, I believe. A lot has changed since then, but directions still suck.”
Edmund thought it might be more related to pilot-error, but kept that to himself. Susie wanted a house for Christmas and she was going to get one. Even though it wasn’t the type she meant.
He took another glance at Payne and Susie, sleeping in the backseat of the Range Rover. After the kids fell asleep they had found a pine tree in Tibbets Brook Park in Yonkers, where they’d stopped for the night, and decorated it with lights and tinsel. The plan was to put the few gifts they could afford around the tree before the kids woke up in the morning—a pair of skates for Payne, and this dollhouse for Susie … that is, if they ever finished putting it together. It wouldn’t be their usual Christmas, but there would be Christmas nevertheless.
Suddenly a voice boomed through the parking lot, causing Edmund to jump.
“The park closes at dark. So I don’t know what you think you’re doing here.”
It was him again. The only difference was that tonight he was wearing a “Santa hat” over his mask and red coat that he probably stole from jolly old St. Nick.
“What do you want?” Edmund said.
He smiled. “Just because you got lucky last time, doesn’t mean that lightning will strike twice, Edmund.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my family.”
The man didn’t seem to take the threat seriously. He moved to the dollhouse. “Man, I’ve been here—I think directions are a conspiracy to make us all feel like idiots.”
Edmund and Dora couldn’t disagree.
“I think I see what the problem is—you’re missing a bolt right here.”
The second he touched the dollhouse, Edmund rushed after him. “My daughter wanted a house for Christmas, and don’t you touch it.”
He bounced off the man like he’d hit a brick wall, and fell to the slushy ground.
The man just shook his head at him, as if offering pity. “I warned you, Edmund. And if I remember correctly, she asked Santa for a house, not you. Now somebody hand me the bolt, so I can help you finish this thing before morning.”
Dora grudgingly handed it to him, and after a couple twists and turns of the wrench, the house was finished. “Voilà,” he exclaimed.
Edmund didn’t know whether to thank him or make a run for it, but he didn’t have time to do either. In an instant, the man had both him and Dora pushed up against their vehicle, and was securing their hands behind their back.
“What are you doing?” Dora asked angrily.
“I told you—you’re breaking park rules. Rules are rules.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have taken that wallet back. You must have put something in it to track us.”
He laughed. “If I had those type of skills I wouldn’t be freezing my ass off in some park at the ass-crack of dawn. Now I need you to shut your trap.”
Moments later, he tossed them into the backseat, waking up the kids.
“Whoa—Santa’s here,” Susie belted out enthusiastically. “I knew there’d be Christmas!”
“That depends—did you leave me any cookies and milk?”
“Will you settle for Doritos and Sprite?”
“That’ll do—I’m starving. It’s been a long night.”
“I imagine you’re really busy on Christmas, Santa.”
As she handed him the food, he looked at Payne. “How you doing, fighter?”
“Good, thanks … except that I’m jammed in here next to my little sister.”
“Hang on—it won’t be long before we get where we’re going. How’s cancer doing today?”
“Still losing.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
Before leaving, he carried the dollhouse and loaded it into the back of the vehicle. He then drove out of the park and onto I-95. They traveled for forty minutes, and daylight began to appear in the east. It was officially Christmas morning.
He headed through the gates of the estate and up the hill, passing a large manor house. He wound around the property until they arrived at the Lake House. He then walked Edmund and Dora inside like prisoners, while the children followed, carrying the dollhouse.
“I knew Santa would come through,” Susie shouted, as Payne untied his parents.
Susie was already at the sparkling Christmas tree, going through the pile of gifts. “Look Payne—now I got skates too!”
Dora moved to the kitchen table, where a new laptop computer and power cord rested. She felt disorientated as she read the note, so she took a seat. It informed them to check out their bank account—the one that had less than two hundred dollars in it the last time she thought to look. When she signed on the account, she almost fell off the chair.
Edmund was at the kitchen counter, where he found the deed to the house. It was in their name. It was on the property of Alexander and Beatrice Wainwright, and the contract included a clause that stated that the Woods family could not be removed from this house, even if the Wainwrights sold the property. It was signed by Alexander Wainwright.
Susie was running in and out of the bedrooms. “I knew Santa would bring us a house!”
Edmund and Dora just looked at each other with amazement.
“This one is gonna be my room!” Susie shouted out.