“This one’s mine,” Payne’s voice echoed down the stairs, trying to keep up with his little sister. They both bolted down the stairs and headed toward the door. “Look, Suse—a skating pond!”
As the children ran outside, Dora felt panic. But then she caught herself, as did Edmund. It was the one thing they’d been wishing for since Payne got sick—that their teenage boy would be a teenage boy again, even if that meant they’d likely be heading back to the hospital for other reasons, like broken bones.
They moved to each other, and hugged. “Merry Christmas, Dora.”
“Merry Christmas, Edmund,” she said with a smile … and when they looked up they found themselves standing under the mistletoe.
Susie was exploring the pond with Payne when something popped into her head. “Hey—where’d Santa go?”
Payne shrugged. “It’s Christmas morning, so he’s probably headed back to the North Pole.”
“I need to find him before he goes. We need to talk,” she said, and was already running after him before her brother could respond.
It seemed like the driveway would go on forever, with no sign of Santa, but then she spotted him. “Hey—wait up!” she yelled.
He turned around, looking surprised. He’d taken off his mask. It was the Santa from the mall—he was the real one, not one of his helpers like everybody said.
“I just wanted to say thanks for coming through on my wish,” she said, between huffs and puffs.
“Just doing my job, Susie. Do you like the house?”
“It was my second choice, but it does have the yard and tall trees I asked you for.”
He smiled. “You’re a tough audience. Just remember that it’s only a house, and it’s up to you and your family to turn it into a home.”
“What do ya mean?”
“Your parents will help you understand, I think they finally get it.”
“You gotta go, huh?”
“Been a long night—it’s time for Santa to take a vacation.”
“To the North Pole?”
“I’m thinking somewhere warmer.” He watched as the car pulled to a stop at the end of the driveway. “But first I gotta go see my children open their presents. It’s my favorite part of the day.”
“I’ll bet Santa’s kids get the most gifts ever!”
He chuckled. “They’d still want more.”
“I guess I’ll see you next year, Santa.”
“If you’re a good girl you will, Susie Woods. Enjoy your new house, but don’t feed the Wainwrights—I hear they bite.”
She ran to him and wrapped a hug around his thick midsection. “You’ve come through on big ones two years in a row Santa, so I’ll understand if you give my wish to somebody else next year.”
***
He waved at Susie Woods as they drove away. He figured she was probably wondering why he didn’t take his sleigh. He looked back at Jarren and Terrance and their big Christmas smiles, looking confident that there’d be plenty under the tree when they got home. “So how are my guys doing this morning?”
“We’ll be doing better when we get to open our presents,” Jarren whined.
“Yeah, when are we going to get our gifts, Dad?” Terrance added.
“Who do I look like—Santa Claus? Ask your mother.”
He traded a glance with Wintry, as she drove them through the empty streets of Greenwich. She just stared back, unnerving him “What?”
She smiled. “I knew it wasn’t all about the money.”
________________________________________________________________
The moment I stepped through the front door in Pound Ridge my emotions were on overload alert. My first instinct was to run away, but I was too tired to walk, much less run.
It had been five years since I’d spent Christmas morning with my family. I could smell the buffet that was heaped with sizzling breakfast foods, mixed with the heavy pine odor coming from the stout tree that was decorated in orderly, Wainwrightian fashion. I remembered that smell fondly. And it sure contrasted sharply with the aroma of Christmas morning in prison.
My entrance was greeted by a piano rendition of “Jailhouse Rock.” I looked to see a smiling Alex, sitting proudly behind a Steinway baby grand piano, that was his present from his mother.
He traded grins with Taylor, who obviously was the mastermind behind the prank. It broke the tension, and once again made me proud that I’d passed the Collins family snarkiness to another generation.
Taylor gave me a more traditional greeting—wrapping my weary body with a hug. “You shaved your goatee,” she observed, “but I see you didn’t take my advice about icing your cheek.”
The swelling in my face was the least of my worries last night. Once the Amigos finished the final house, and we made sure we removed any trace of our involvement, I returned to the barn. I showered and shaved, and then Alyson and I went out for breakfast at the greasiest diner we could find.
When we finished with our feast, which included enough coffee to flood a small city, she dropped me off here.
“But you cleaned up well,” Taylor gave her seal of approval to my simple button-down shirt that was tucked into jeans. This was much more casual than the black tie affairs at Wainwright Manor, which were Taylor’s first images of Christmas morning.
She was wearing an orange and purple Clemson sweatshirt that clashed with a pair of sky blue and gold UCLA sweatpants. I loved the outfit because it showed that she still hadn’t made up her mind, making her a typical indecisive teenager, which I hoped she would remain … at least for a couple more minutes.
The twins followed their sister to me. They were still in their Christmas dresses from last night, keeping the formal tradition alive. They listed off the numerous Christmas gifts they’d received as if they were delivering an address to their stockholders. There was no doubt that Franny & Zooey Inc. had a good year.
As I viewed the room, it was as if nothing had changed. For a moment I thought that the last few years were just one of those
It’s a Wonderful Life
glimpses into an alternate existence, and once I realized I was on the wrong road, I returned home and we all lived happily ever after. But when I heard Ned’s voice, it reminded me that things would never be the same.
He greeted me like I was his long-lost relative. There was no real downside to Ned’s sucking up, but if the goal was for me to give my approval to his relationship, it wasn’t going to happen. First of all, as he’d soon find out, Libby makes her own decisions, and if I intervened, either positively or negatively, it would make our divorce seem like eating ice cream on a summer day. So as long as Ned didn’t threaten to lock my children in a coal cellar or embezzle money from their trust funds, I would choose to remain neutral.
We made our usual small talk. What great kids I have—I agreed.
Alex is an amazing musician—I had no idea, but acted like I did.
Can’t believe how bad the Jets are—I could, I don’t think they’d made the playoffs since Duma retired.
Ned had rented a hotel room overlooking Times Square for New Year’s Eve, did I think the kids would like to go if he asked them?—I would never attempt to enter the minds of teenagers, but if it didn’t involve them hanging out with their friends, and being out of the watchful eyes of their parents, then probably not.
Once that was out of the way, we got down to the important business of the day. “How’s Operation Farmer on the Roof going?” I asked.
His face lit up, enjoying the covertness. “The fields are prepared for harvest,” he responded cryptically, not making eye contact, as if we were a couple of Cold War spies.
I couldn’t believe I actually understood what he meant. Or that I would respond with, “And the crops will be picked this afternoon?”
“I expect it to be a harvest festival,” he said with a wink, then walked away before the KGB discovered our true identities.
As I watched Ned head toward the buffet, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see Libby.
“I’m glad you decided to come,” she said and kissed me on the cheek—the one without the large red lump.
“It never feels like Christmas unless I’m here.”
“You look tired. Did you go clubbing last night?”
I was 75% sure that she was joking. “My club-hopping partner is in Afghanistan, so I spent a quiet evening at home.”
“You deserved a night of relaxation after what you did for us last night.”
“The whole running for my life, hostage rescue thing just takes more out of me since I turned forty. I need a nap,” I deflected with a smile.
“Joke all you want—you risked your life to save us, and we all will be forever indebted to you.”
“Any father would do it for his children.”
“Not every father.”
I hoped she meant Alexander, whose shadier side she was introduced to last night, but I was fairly certain that she was referring to the man she was once married to.
My attention was stolen away by my son playing an up tempo version of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” on the piano. “I had no idea he even played,” I said.
“You’ve been away the past few years, and your communication with each other leaves much to be desired. So it’s not surprising.”
That’s the literal Libby I know and love.
“He’s able to communicate better through music, and I think his true personality comes out. His gift from my parents is a top-of-the-line music studio that will be installed in the basement.”
“Soundproof?”
She smiled with a nod. “Absolutely soundproof.”
I noticed Ned heading back in our direction. “Did you have a good time last night? You know, once the hostage thing was over.”
“We did, thank you for asking. We went out to dinner at Norvell’s and then midnight mass at St. Patrick’s. By the time we got back to his place, we were all so tired that we practically passed out from exhaustion … although, Franny and Zooey were rise and shine at five.”
There were things I missed about Christmas, but the kids jumping on the bed at the crack of dawn wasn’t one of them. And while I never experienced it with the younger ones, I’d bet that Franny and Zooey were even more relentless than their older siblings.
Ned arrived, handing us glasses of orange juice. When I sipped it and tasted the heavy dose of vodka, I decided that Ned and I might get along after all.
He informed us that he’d made a few calls, and confirmed that Operation Rooftop was in motion. He expected to close the deal this afternoon.
I turned to Libby. “Are you sure about this? It’s your last chance to back out.”
Her look was unflinching. It was the one that said once Libby Wainwright makes a decision, trying to change her mind is an exercise in futility. Ned would learn that look soon enough, if he hadn’t already.
She raised her orange juice and the three of us clinked glasses. “To fresh starts,” she toasted.
My mother arrived. She presented Alex with a book on baseball that he’d wanted, and for Taylor, a case for her lacrosse equipment. They both hugged their grandmother like they didn’t want to let go, which warmed my heart. It also made me wish that the older kids had gotten to spend more time with my father, and that the twins would have gotten to meet him.
Her gift to Franny and Zooey were a couple of store-bought outfits they seemed excited about, but not as much as the pony sweaters she had knitted for them. But their mood turned melancholy—mentioning that they’d listed ponies on their extensive gift list this year, and Santa had failed to come through with that one.
Some would call my girls spoiled, but since I’m their biased father, I would say they’re two little love-letters to capitalism.
Thankfully, there was no pony sweater for Daddy. But she did bring something for me—her famous Christmas cookies. I’d lost my appetite for the oatmeal raisin ones, but still loved the snickerdoodles.
Not to be upstaged, Alexander and Beatrice’s limo rolled in a few minutes later. They looked as if they’d dressed for a White House dinner, he in his best Armani, while Grandmommy Dearest wore a designer dress, along with a hat that would have been considered over-the-top at the Kentucky Derby.
I could tell it was burning up Alexander that I’d saved his ass last night—even if nobody was able to save his pinky. He now had to live with the indignity of being just another in a long line of celebrity clients that I got off the hook. And my fee was a few favors that I called in last night.
But he regained some swagger when he escorted everyone to the front of the house to view the new Escalade sitting in the driveway, a gift for Taylor. He said he wanted her to have a “safe vehicle” for when she drove to school next year. As if her three-year-old Lexus was some sort of safety hazard.