Page 60 of Santa of the Creek

There’s a cough, and we all look over Charlotte’s shoulder to where a couple with two kids look hopefully at us on the other side of the rope which forms a makeshift barrier.

“Is the grotto open?” Dad asks.

I glance at Charlotte who nods.

“Santa, take your throne.”

I sit, Charlotte removes the rope, and the family approach me.

“Ho! Ho! Ho!” I’m getting more enthusiastic with my ho’s as the month has progressed. “Welcome to Santa’s grotto.”

A little girl dressed in a snowsuit decorated with cheery snowmen approaches me and stands on tiptoe. I lean down to hear her.

“Where’s Mister Elf?”

“He’s at the North Pole. There was a problem with the candy canes, but he sorted it.”

She nods and sucks her thumb. Then she looks over her shoulder to her brother. “He’s at the North Pole.” She turns to me. “He was too shy to ask.”

I nod. “I can understand that. It’s a good thing he has a big sister to ask for him.”

That seems to please her, and she’s ready for her present. I let kids decide if they want to sit on my lap. Some virtually body tackle me in their haste to scramble up. Some kids will lean against me. For the shy ones I suggest we stand by Mister Elf and Rudolph to take photos. It works, and the parents are happy.

There are lots of questions from the children about the reindeer and where is Mister Elf? Why isn’t he helping Santa? I tell them all he’s at the North Pole helping the other elves, and that seems to satisfy them. I get a few knowing looks from their parents, but I ignore them.

I’m just about thinking it’s time for a hot chocolate and a cake when a girl skips toward me. I smile at her, look up and face…

Marty’s parents.

They stare at me.

I stare at them.

“Santa?”

I turn to Charlotte. “I…uh…”

“Is everything all right?” she asks worriedly, clearly concerned about the sudden tension in the grotto.

I cough. “Yes, sorry.”

I turn to the girl. “Ho! Ho! Ho! Welcome to Santa’s grotto.”

She chatters away to me, not shy at all. Just like Marty used to be. This has to be their grandchild. She’s too much like her uncle. All the while Marty’s parents stare at me like they’ve seen a ghost.

“Dean, it’s been a long time,” Marty’s mom says.

Her granddaughter tugs on her coat. “Not Dean, Mawmaw, this is Santa.”

The woman ignores her. She’s still staring at me, her expression hostile. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Where else am I going to be? I live in Collier’s Creek. It’s the Bash. Of course I’ll be here.

“Ma’am. Sir.” I nod to them both. “It’s been a long time.”

“Twenty years,” she said. “It’s good to see you’ve moved on.”

Moved on from what? Mourning their son? I want to laugh bitterly. Like I’ve ever moved on from the moment of the accident. Then I catch sight of the cut-out of Mister Elf, of Echo’s smiling face.