On Christmas Eve Page 2

  The first floor of the house had been gutted and was now an open space, perfect for a meeting or a party. Betty saw swarms of people hanging lights and putting up decorations, including a big Christmas tree. The tables for guests were set up on one side of the room, and the buffet was set up near a passageway closer to the kitchen. All the tables had been covered with bright red cloths and decorated with centerpieces of fresh greenery.

  While Molly looked over the arrangement and gave Sonia and Joyce additional instructions, Betty returned to the van. She climbed inside and grabbed as much as she could carry. The trays of frozen hors d’oeuvres were not heavy but a bit unwieldy. Some were covered with plastic wrap and didn’t stack on top of each other evenly. Betty knew carrying them would be tricky, but she didn’t feel like walking back and forth to the kitchen a hundred times, so she piled up as much as she could and headed for the back door.

  She couldn’t quite see over the top of the pile but didn’t think that would be a problem. Until she reached the door. She quickly discovered that she couldn’t reach out and open it, or even knock, without tipping so far to one side that she risked an appetizer avalanche.

  She tried to knock with her foot and then her shoulder. But the effort was useless. Nobody heard her with all the action going on inside. She considered setting the load down, but that was risky, too. As soon as she started to bend her knees, the weight shifted and the trays threatened to avalanche in the other direction.

  “Gravity. Sometimes I could really do without it,” she muttered.

  She took a breath, tilted back, and balanced as she made a grab for the doorknob.

  Miraculously, it swung open, pulled from the inside.

  Betty was relieved for a moment. Then she shrieked as the trays began to sway, threatening to tumble out of her grasp. She had been so surprised by the door opening that she had unconsciously jumped backward. Not a good move.

  “Wait a second. . . . I’ve got it. . . . Just stay right where you are. ...”

  She heard a man’s voice call out to her. Then it felt as if the trays were suddenly stuck between her body and a wall. But she knew it was not a wall when two strong arms encircled her, appetizers and all.

  Betty stood with one cheek plastered against the pile. She was glad the food hadn’t fallen, but this was definitely awkward. She tried to get a look at her helper. He was quite a bit taller than she was, his head visible above the stack of trays. She realized that if she budged even an inch in the wrong direction, all would be lost.

  “Are you okay back there?” a deep voice asked.

  “I’m fine . . . I guess. What do we do now?”

  “Good question. Do you have a video camera handy? I think we could get some good money for this one.” She heard his quiet laughter and felt it, too, the pile between them gently shaking.

  She nearly started laughing herself, partly out of sheer embarrassment. “Don’t make me laugh. I’ll totally lose it. All this humiliation will be for naught.”

  “Yes, you’re right. We can laugh later. Right now, I think we should just both grab hold of the bottom of the pile and lower it down very slowly. . . . What do you think?”

  He was actually asking her opinion? Not the usual masculine approach to problem solving, Betty noticed.

  “Sounds good to me. On the count of three,” she said quickly. “One . . . two . . .”

  “Three,” he finished.

  Betty gripped the bottom of the pile, held the trays steady with her body, and slowly lowered them down to the ground while her partner did the same.

  Finally, the pile of hors d’oeuvres was safely settled and she slowly straightened. She felt so relieved she nearly started laughing again.

  “Wow . . . success. That was tricky. Thank you so much. That would have been such a horrible mess.” She looked up, chattering away, to find the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

  “Not at all. It was my fault for bumping into you like that.”

  Betty hardly heard a word he’d said. She took a breath and stepped back. “I was just trying to carry too much at once,” she said. “It was just . . . dumb.” She looked down at the trays and took a few off the top, a safe number to carry.

  “Here, let me help you.” He smiled and stepped over to help. Before she could reply, he leaned over and picked up the rest of the pile, lifting it easily. “Lead the way.”

  Betty maneuvered her trays through the open door and into the kitchen.

  “You can just put them down on the table. That would be great,” she told him.

  He set them down and stepped back. “Do you have anything left to bring inside?”

  Betty shook her head. “That was it. Thanks again for rescuing me.”

  “No problem.” He smiled at her again. Now she noticed dimples, too. Along with those eyes, they were a potent combination. She quickly looked away, pretending to check the fine print on a box of ravioli.

  “Looks like you’re busy in here. See you later,” he said.

  “Right, see you.” Betty glanced at him an instant, forcing a polite smile. She felt flustered and hoped he hadn’t noticed. It had to be the stunt with the trays. Definitely embarrassing, she thought as she watched him go.

  He was just about her age with thick, straight hair, dark brown with touches of gray. He wore a gray-blue sweater, faded jeans, and a pair of well-worn running shoes.

  If you had to be knocked over by someone, he had not been a bad choice, she thought.

  Molly was working at a big commercial stove with Sonia. She had barely noticed Betty’s arrival. “The oven is loaded, but I think you can squeeze a few more pans in there. I’d better go and see if the DJ got here yet.”

  Betty nodded and set to work. She slipped off her jacket, washed her hands, and put on gloves. Then she grabbed her Willoughby Fine Foods apron and tied it around her waist.

  No sense standing around flirting all afternoon. But I forgot to ask his name, she suddenly realized. Just as well. You don’t want to seem too eager, she told herself.

  He was attractive. And seemed nice. And there was definitely chemistry. Sparks even. The kind she had felt very little of last night with the intelligent, social Dr. Becker.

  Slow down, Betty. You don’t even know if he’s single.

  Yet something about him did seem single, she decided as she tore open a box of mini pizzas and placed them on cookie sheets. Next time she ran into him, she would have to check for a ring.

  With that plan in mind, Betty focused on the job at hand. There were going to be a lot of people here, she realized. The party was going to be more work than she had expected. But keeping an eye out for the mystery man was bound to make it all a little more interesting.

  While Betty worked in the kitchen, the party in the rest of the house quickly picked up speed. In the time it took to heat a few trays of appetizers, the Elks Lodge had filled with families, laughter, and music. On one side of the room, the parents and volunteers worked with the children at different tables, making ornaments to decorate the tree. There were also games going on—Pin the Red Nose on Rudolph—and a few of the older kids gathered around the DJ, who was teaching them new dance moves.

  Betty scurried in and out of the kitchen with trays of food. The music was blasting, and she could barely hear herself think. Each time she dashed outside to deliver more food and clear away the empty trays and dishes, she looked around for the man who had helped her. At one point, she thought she had spotted him, on the far side of the room near the Christmas tree. But a few minutes later, he had disappeared into the crowd again.

  It was early, Betty reminded herself. They hadn’t even served dinner yet. Everyone turns up for dinner, she told herself, and she was working behind the buffet. She would surely see him pass by.

  When it was finally time to serve dinner, Betty kept a careful watch, stationed between the salad and the pasta. As she dished out the food, she kept glancing down the line. No mystery man in sight. Maybe he had only volunteered to set up? Ma
ybe he was on a diet?

  She scanned the room again once everyone had sat down. Either he had left early or had vanished into thin air.

  Just my luck, Betty thought. She retreated to the kitchen and poured herself some ice water. No matter what the weather, catering was hard, hot work.

  Molly came in, her face flushed. “Dinner’s almost done. They’re just coming up for seconds. Have you checked the coffee? I didn’t mean to pack that percolator. It’s a little iffy.”

  Betty had already automatically checked the progress of the coffee on her last visit to the kitchen, but looked again. “It’s bubbling away. No problem.”

  “Great. We’ll clear the food in a few minutes, but we’re not supposed to serve dessert yet.”

  Betty wasn’t really happy to hear that news. Now that the mystery guest had left, the party seemed to be dragging on. She was ready to wrap it up and go home.

  “What’s next on the agenda?” she asked Molly.

  “Let’s see ...” Molly picked up some notes from the table. But before she could reply, Betty’s question was answered.

  The unmistakable sound of brass bells filled the air. The sound seemed to be coming from just outside the house, at the front of the building. The party guests grew very quiet as Molly and Betty rushed to the kitchen doorway to see what was going on.

  The DJ took up a microphone. “What was that? Who’s out there?” he asked the children.

  “Santa Claus!” they yelled back.

  “Santa Claus? Do you really think he’s out there?”

  “Yes! Yes!” they shouted.

  “Should we let him in?”

  Betty quickly covered her ears. The response was nearly deafening.

  The DJ started across the room at a brisk pace, urged on by the screaming children. A few of the more precocious guests had escaped their parents and run over to the front door to take matters into their own hands.

  But before anyone could reach the knob, the door swung open, and there he stood, in all his red-suited glory. Santa nodded and smiled, a silky white beard flowing down over a big belly, a huge black sack slung over one broad shoulder. He smiled down at the children, and they jumped back in awe. Even Betty felt her breath catch. She’d seen a lot of Santas at these holiday parties and in the shopping malls, of course, but this guy had to be the best. The most convincing and genuine-looking. He strolled in, beaming down at the kids, patting their shoulders and gently touching their heads in a warm, reassuring way.

  His costume was stunning, a rich red velvet with a thick white trim. A real leather belt and heavy black leather boots with wood soles. Just the way you imagined Santa’s boots would be. It was top-of-the-line, a theatrical-quality outfit. No question.

  But it wasn’t just his costume, Betty realized. It was something more. Something about him, a certain energy of pure benevolence, generosity, warmth . . . and a hint of mischief. From the tip of his fur-trimmed hat down to his knee-high boots, he was the very embodiment of Christmas.

  “Well, now . . . who’s been good this year?” Of course all the children answered at once, claiming perfect behavior. They circled him excitedly as he strode into the room.

  “Sit here, Santa. We have your chair all ready for you.” The DJ stepped forward and guided Santa to a large armchair near the Christmas tree at the far side of the room.

  Any of the children who still remained at the tables quickly jumped out of their seats and ran over to the tree. They surrounded him, mostly sitting on the floor. A few hung around the chair, practically climbing on top of him. But he didn’t seem to mind. He hardly appeared to notice. He was like a huge, solid mountain in the midst of a storm, solid and serene. Unshakable. His blue eyes roamed the upturned faces, and he looked at each child in turn, as if he recognized every one and was truly happy to see them all.

  “I have a present here for each of you. And later, you can tell me what you want me to bring you on Christmas.”

  “I’d like a new exhaust fan for the shop,” Molly murmured. “Think he’d bring that for me?”

  “If any party Santa could deliver, I think he’s the one.”

  “He is good,” Molly replied. “I’m going to get his card. The Santas we have on file don’t even come close.”

  While Santa entertained the children, Betty, Molly, and their crew cleared away the dinner and set out dessert, coffee, and tea on the long tables. There were platters of cookies and brownies, pecan pies, and an extra-large chocolate-frosted Christmas cake.

  For once, the kids hardly noticed the sweets coming out. Santa had them mesmerized. There was no lag of attention after they got their gifts, either. He did some magic tricks and then read them a story.

  When it was time for him to go, some of the little ones clung to his leg as if hanging on to a giant red trunk before their parents came forward and pried them loose.

  “I’d love to stay longer, but I have to get back to the North Pole and make more toys,” Santa explained. “Christmas is coming. I have to be ready to pack the sleigh.”

  He waved his big gloved hand as he headed toward the door, the empty sack draping across a broad shoulder. The adults gently held the children back, so they couldn’t follow.

  Or get close enough to a window to see Santa slip into some mundane hatchback or pickup truck, Betty realized. Unless he was so well equipped, he’d even rented some reindeer.

  “’Bye for now. Next time I see you guys, you’ll be fast asleep. It won’t be long. Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!” he called out in a booming voice as he slipped out the front door.

  “Good-bye, Santa!” the younger children called back, many of them sounding genuinely sad to see him go. Betty almost called good-bye, too, but caught herself just in time.

  She heard the sound of bells coming from the front porch. Then, suddenly, it was silent. She felt a little sad. But also as if something magical had just happened.

  Funny how she had never noticed the costumed Santas at these parties before. But this one was different. Somehow, despite her preholiday funk, his appearance had made her smile and remember what the holidays were all about. The good part, she amended. His visit had made her heart a little lighter, and she felt better about Christmas coming now.

  Molly walked past with a pyramid of brownies neatly arranged on a tray and garnished with candy canes. “He’s a hard act to follow. But at least we have plenty of sweets to console them.”

  “Good strategy,” Betty agreed with a grin.

  The abundant dessert platters were soon emptied, with barely a cookie or slice of cake left over. Some families had left early, and the rest packed up to go as the buffet tables were cleared. Luckily, Betty thought, since all the sugar had revved up the kids. A few were quite wild, chasing each other around the big room. But they would all sleep well tonight.

  While visions of sugarplums dance in their heads, she thought with a grin.

  Many of the Rotary Club members stayed to help Molly and the crew clean and pack up their equipment. This was Betty’s least favorite part of the job, but it usually didn’t take that long. They efficiently kept up with the mess in the kitchen and even the party area as the event went on. They did like to leave a space as clean as they had found it. Sometimes, even cleaner, Betty thought as she sprayed the kitchen counter and wiped it down with a paper towel.

  Molly came into the kitchen, her coat pulled over one arm and her phone in the other hand. “Betty, I nearly forgot. I promised Matt and the girls that we would go to the tree lighting in the village tonight. Matt just called. He’s on his way to pick me up. Do you mind if I run?”

  Each year on the Sunday after Thanksgiving, the town of Cape Light held a tree lighting event on the village green. Betty never missed it when her son was young but hadn’t been to one now in years. Molly and Matt had four girls altogether, two from Molly’s first marriage, one from Matt’s first, and little Betty, who was three. Betty thought it was nice that the older girls still wanted to see the tree and sing car
ols, but they probably all enjoyed watching their little sister take in the sights—especially when Santa showed up on the back of a fire engine.

  “No problem. You go ahead,” Betty told her. “We’re almost done in here.” She yanked off her plastic gloves and tossed them in the wastebasket.

  “Great, thanks.” Molly leaned over and gave her a quick hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Betty took a last look at the kitchen. Everything seemed to be in order. She grabbed her coat and bag and headed out as well.

  A few lingering Rotary Club members were still in the lodge, talking over club business, but Betty didn’t want to interrupt. She knew they would shut off the lights and lock the door, so she didn’t worry about that final detail.

  She strolled out to the van and took out her keys. It was a clear night with a few bright stars twinkling in the darkness. It had been so warm in the kitchen that the cold, brisk air was like a slap across the cheek.

  She hopped into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition. She could hardly wait to get the heater going. Where were her gloves? Her fingers already felt like ice.

  She turned the key once and heard an annoying whine. But the van was old and often temperamental. “Come on now. Stop fooling around. I’m tired. I want to go home,” Betty said out loud.

  She took a breath, then turned the key again, this time more focused on the outcome. “Come on. . . . You’re kidding, right?” she said quietly.

  Another noisy whine, this time louder and more ominous-sounding.

  “Oh, blast!”

  Betty stared out the windshield, fuming. Car trouble. Just what she needed. She got out and lifted up the hood, not even knowing what she was supposed to be looking at.

  Unless there was something really obvious going on, like a wild animal stuck in the motor, she wasn’t going to be able to diagnose this situation, she realized. Nothing to do but call roadside service and wait here for them to come, she thought glumly.