Killer Christmas Tips (11 page)

“Dog biscuits. Come on already, they’re a couple of big pussies.” He shrugs. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m dropping off gifts for my kids.”

I look around. There are three new packages under our unadorned tree, with large floppy red ribbons. iPad Minis for both Mary and Jeff, and a Voodoo Purple Furby for Trisha.

Forget sugarplums. The thoughts that dance through my head are about the hours I’ll save by not standing in lines, or shoving aside other moms for the last coveted Furby, let alone being outbid for one on eBay.

But no. I’m not letting Carl’s gifts be his Trojan horse into my heart.

I shake my head. “You can’t do this, Carl! Have you forgotten you’re wanted as an international terrorist who’s aiming to blow up a plane on US soil in a few days?”

“Honey, get real. You know how those things go. We threaten, your government buckles to our demands, yada yada. So, a MANPAD or two slipped out of their forty million dollar safety net. Boo hoo hoo. I’ll cry for them. 
Not.
 We’re only asking a few hundred million to fugetaboutit. They’ll pay up before Christmas, and all’s well that ends well. You know, peace on Earth, good will toward men, not to mention the airline industry.”

“
No, Carl!
” The words stick in my throat, but just for a moment before they come out in a flood of pain and heartache. “You disappeared for five years. You can’t just come waltzing in here, drop off a few gifts, and inch your way back into their lives. That’s not going to happen!”

“You’re such a Grinch! Come on, have a heart.” The look in his eyes stops me cold.

It’s one I’ve never seen before. It’s as if the corneas have been hollowed out, and replaced by…

By what? Shame? Sadness?

No, it’s loneliness.

“Please, Donna. I’m… begging you.” His plea is barely above a whisper.

The last time Carl spent Christmas with our children, I was pregnant with Trisha, Mary was six, and Jeff was barely four. They woke us at the crack of dawn because they couldn’t wait to open their presents.

Yes, they believed in Santa then.

And I believed wholeheartedly in my husband.

I watched with joy as he unwrapped his new video camera and recorded each squeal of delight. My own gasp of excitement came when I opened the tiny jewel box holding the heart-shaped pendant I wear around my neck now. It was a gift from Carl, an antique heirloom from his mother’s side of the family. On one side of the heart holds a tiny picture of him.

I now know why he never let me record him, too. When he vanished, every picture of him disappeared as well.

Every picture, except for the one in the pendant I wear around my neck.

This Christmas, it will be Jack, not Carl, sitting beside me as I revel in my children’s happiness.

On that day, Carl’s loneliness will throb within him, like a never-healed wound.

But this injury was self-inflicted. We both know that. And we’ll both carry the scars of his actions until our dying days.

Carl has never begged me for anything. Until now.

I wave toward the tree. “Okay, the gifts can stay. But the children don’t know you, let alone know 
about
 you
,
 so don’t even presume you’ll be here when they open them.”

He shrugs. “You never know what tomorrow holds.”

“I know one thing. You’re not part of their future.”

“Oh, no?” The next thing I know, he’s holding my face between his hands and we’re staring straight into each other’s eyes.

Feelings churn within me as the memories of the Carl I loved rise from the deep, dark depths of my subconscious. I remember how my heart leapt into my throat the first time I saw him, how my nerve endings tingled at his very first touch. Our first kiss promised excitement, fun, and passion.

And the first time he entered me more than delivered the bliss I’d hoped for.

As if reading my mind, his lips linger on mine, tempting me to forget all that has happened since he left us.

Since he left 
me
.

I think that deserves a punch in the face.

My fist against his nose takes him by surprise. The pain makes him roar like a speared boar. But a sidekick to his gut makes sure he got my message loud and clear. It lays him flat on his back. 

I grab my gun from where he kicked it under the couch, but before I can finish him off, I hear Trish shout out, “Mommy, no! 
Don’t kill Santa Claus!
”

I freeze when I see the look of horror on her face.

This gives Carl just enough time to roll out from under my heel and onto his feet. When he catches his breath, he gasps, “Trisha, don’t grow up to be naughty like your mother.”

As I shove him out the great room French doors, I hiss in his ear, “Hey, I’m not the one planning to blow up a plane, remember?”

“How do you think Santa earns the big bucks for all those presents?” 

Before I can answer him, he kisses me hard then disappears into the evening’s shadows.

I turn back around to find Trisha staring at me. “Will Daddy be mad because Santa kissed you?”

“He… I…” Okay, how do I explain to a five-year-old that the man she thinks is her father isn’t, but that Santa is, and he’s a killer, not to mention a complete asshole?

I don’t. I just smile and hope that, when she wakes up tomorrow she will have forgotten all about this.

She’s yawning when I pick her up and carry her up the staircase.

She’s too drowsy to fight me when I tuck her in.

She murmurs, “That’s okay, Mommy. He kissed me, too. Right here, on my cheek.”

She touches it softly with her hand as she drifts off to sleep.

Carl took away my innocence. I’ll be damned if I let him take hers, too.

When Jack gets home, he finds me curled up in her bed with her and nudges me away. “Nightmares?” he asks.

“You could say that.” I don’t think now is the time to tell him about Carl.

Is there ever a good time? Not if it leaves him angry and disgusted.

At me.

I look over at Trisha’s Disney Princess wall clock. “It’s only three o’clock in the morning! What are you doing home so early?”

“Acme got some new reconnaissance. Turns out the MANPAD isn’t being smuggled in via a cargo container.”

“So, how are they getting it into the country?”

“Ryan wants us in the office tomorrow, so he can tell us in person. But he wanted me to warn you. You’ll need to pack a bikini and suntan lotion.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Beats a burka.”

“You’re telling me.” His kiss starts out gentle, but ends up leaving me breathless.

I love when he lifts me in his arms. The stroll between Trisha’s room and ours may be only twenty seconds, but it’s filled with an eternity of anticipation.

Maybe he doesn’t need to know about Santa’s visit after all.

Chapter 10

Christmas Vacation

Want to get away for the holidays?

Hey, maybe that’s not such a bad idea! Just think: No rushing around to hang lights outside. No decorating a tree. No worries about getting out Christmas cards. You don’t have to open the door to off-key carolers and listen politely when you’d rather take a gun to your head (or to theirs). And you’ve got the perfect excuse to pass on your boring neighbors’ holiday parties. You certainly won’t have to reciprocate and have them over, too. 

So, where should you go? Perhaps take in a madcap Manhattan week? Nah. Too many holiday shoppers and store windows dressed up for Christmas. Not to mention a Salvation Army Santa ringing his bell on every corner.

Same goes for Chicago, Atlanta, Raleigh, Houston, Seattle, San Francisco, even Los Angeles. It also leaves out London, Paris, Rome, Madrid, Berlin, Rio de Janeiro, and Amsterdam.

In other words, you might as well embrace the inevitable. There is no running away from Christmas.

So take it head on.

If you’re wearing a helmet and a FLAK jacket, you’ll survive, and it will never know what hit it.

I’m in the middle of mixing vanilla into a second batch of waffle batter when Trisha breaks her big news to the whole family, “Last night, I saw Santa kissing Mommy!”

Mary and Jeff’s jaws fall open, revealing partially chewed Belgian waffle squares.

Jack chokes on his coffee.

I’m saved by the beep of the Mickey Mouse waffle iron.

Jeff is first in line for seconds. Too bad! Its bounty is Trisha’s. At this point, I’ll do anything to shut her up.

Maybe because Mary is still suspicious of Trevor’s infatuation with me, she scoots her chair closer to Trisha’s. “Oh, yeah? When was this?” Her smile seems friendly enough, but she’s drilling her little sister with a voice as determined as any homicide detective’s.

“Last night, after everyone went to bed.”

I plop Trisha’s plate down in front of her. “Eat it now, Trisha, before it gets cold.” I’m using my sweetest voice, but now that Trisha’s onstage, I might as well be outside with Rin Tin Tin and Lassie, who are scratching at the sliding door, hoping for leftovers.

Mary shoves Trisha’s plate to the side. “Think really hard, Trisha. Was he young or old?”

“Old. Well, ‘daddy’ old.” She looks apologetically at Jack. “And he’s built like daddy, too. I mean, he wasn’t fat like Santa is supposed to be.”

Mary relaxes at this. Trevor is in the clear. On the other hand, Jeff mutters, “She’s full of it.”

“No, I’m not! He left presents and everything! See?” Her hand sweeps out toward our naked tree.

Aw, heck. I was going to hide the gifts first thing this morning, but I forgot they were there.

Mary and Jeff run over and grab the ones with their names on them. Because idiot Carl didn’t bother to wrap them up, they can see instantly that they’ve got new iPad Minis.

“Wow, Mom! Can we take these now?”

I snatch them from the children. “No, you can’t! They’re Christmas presents, remember? Now, go upstairs and get dressed for school.”

Mary and Jeff high-five each other. “Best Christmas ever!” Mary proclaims as she gives Jack a kiss and floats upstairs.

Trisha frowns. “Why did she kiss Daddy? It was Santa who brung them.”

“Go brush your teeth and get ready too, Trisha. 
Right now
. Scoot!”

She’s heard that tone in my voice before and follows the others upstairs.

Jack waits until she’s long gone before he turns to me. “I don’t remember you saying you were going to get the kids new iPads.”

“I… it… what can I say? It was a great deal.”

But nothing in life is free. There are always strings attached.

Three of them bind me to Carl, for the rest of my life.

Time to fess up. “Truth is, Carl stopped by last night. I mean, he 
broke
 in. He wanted to leave presents for the kids. Trisha heard him and came downstairs. When she saw he was dressed as Santa, he played along. She was so excited she woke me up.”

“Carl?” Jack’s hand slams the table. “You’re kidding, right?”

I shake my head.

“Oh, great! And how convenient that he just so happened to know I’d be gone for the evening.”

I can’t believe my ears. “Are you implying that I called him up and invited him over? Are you crazy?”

“No. Not crazy, just… just fed up.” He shrugs. “He always finds a way around you, doesn’t he?”

“I guess I could have shot him in cold blood—
in front of Trisha
. I thought killing Santa might scar the poor kid for the rest of her life. Sorry, my bad.” Oh, who am I kidding? Between catching Santa in an affair and seeing him die once already, it doesn’t look like we’ll be avoiding any shrink bills.

Jack shakes his head with a smirk. “You didn’t shoot him because you didn’t want to.”

I grab his arm and spin him around so that that he’s forced to look at me. “I would have, if I could! Why don’t you believe me?”

Jack’s laugh is devoid of any humor. “Seriously? You want to go 
there
 again?”

“Yes, let’s ‘go’ there.”

“Okay, doll, you asked for it.” His face is so close to mine that his hot breath hits me in waves. “First off, despite the fact that you’re one of Acme’s best shooters, somehow every time he’s in range, you just so happen to let him walk! It’s been, what, four times already, right? And that’s just the times I know about! If the douche comes sniffing around every time I walk out of the house, I’m guessing your odds are much, much worse.”