Read Christmas At Timberwoods Online
Authors: Fern Michaels
Christmas At Timberwoods (24 page)
“Do me a favor and save a few so this guy can see that they’re stale.”
Cheryl rolled her eyes and continued to chew. The guy was speedy, she would give him that. Their turn came almost immediately.
“Two things,” Mary said to him firmly. “Don’t hurry me like you did that other lady. I have something to say and I’m going to say it. We bought two digital cameras. As a matter of fact, we spent almost six hundred dollars in the mall this afternoon. Actually, six hundred and seven, if you count the Jordan almonds and the peanut butter fudge, which is why I’m here. The almonds are stale. We bought these cameras after we took a couple of pictures. See these pictures? This is Cheryl,” she said, holding out the first picture, “and this is Santa Claus. We bought two cameras, so we were entitled to two free pictures. This one of Cheryl is okay, but look at this one. Isn’t it a mess? All red. Makes me think of blood.”
The complaints manager looked at the photo indifferently, saying a few noncommittal words.
Mary forged ahead. “I hope there’s nothing wrong with the cameras and they work right when we get them home. Anyway, after we put our things in the locker, we bought these almonds and candy, and they’re stale. We thought you should know. Here, taste them. We want our money back. We complained to Nanette herself and she just said, ‘I’m fresh!’ ”
“That’s the slogan for Nanette’s Nut House,” the man with the clipboard said. He glanced again at the blurred picture, but didn’t say anything about it.
“Well, aren’t you going to do something? Did you hear me? I spent seven dollars on stale candy and nuts, and I want my money back!”
“Not a problem, ma’am. If you have the receipt, I’ll initial it and give you this form to get double your money back from the proprietor. We want our customers to be happy.”
Mary calmed down immediately. “That’s more like it,” she said with satisfaction.
Chapter 15
Carol sat down next to her daughter and sighed. Her polite hello to the Santa she’d thought was theirs had seemed to startle the man. He had muttered some excuse and gotten to his feet, walking swiftly away, like someone was chasing him, for goodness’ sake. No sign of anyone who looked like a mall CEO. Dolph Richards hadn’t showed. What a jerk. She’d expected the red-carpet treatment, and now Maria would have to wait.
Joe had gone to the food court to get them all a bite to eat. Her little girl seemed happy just to look around, leaning back in her wheelchair to take in the group of angel statues, her eyes wide with wonder.
“They’re so pretty, Mommy. And look at all the little ones.”
“Yes, I see,” Carol said abstractedly, peering into the crowd to look for Joe.
“No, you don’t. You’re not looking where they are.”
Carol made an effort and snapped out of her preoccupied state. “I’m sorry, honey. Which little angels do you mean?”
Maria pointed. “Right there. Those paper angels stuck in the green stuff. Aw, one’s broken.”
“That’s easy to fix.” Her mother reached out and reattached a dangling wing with a quick fold of the paper. She smoothed her daughter’s hair. “All better.”
Maria smiled. “When is Santa coming back?” she wanted to know.
“Soon,” her mother lied, wishing she knew herself. “Very soon.”
“Can I make an angel if we have to wait?”
“Ah—sure.” Carol rummaged in the large handbag slung over the back of the wheelchair. “I usually carry your art pack—yes, I brought it.”
“You can cut it out for me,” Maria said.
“All right.” Carol was glad to have something to do. When Joe got back, she was sending him up to the main offices to raise hell. She took out a piece of white paper and folded it in half, using a crayon to draw the outline of one side of an angel. “Now, you know I’m not too good at this, sweetie,” she said. “Remember the snowflake I cut out for you?”
Maria nodded and wriggled in her chair so she could watch her mother better. “It fell apart in a million billion little pieces.”
“Exactly. But an angel is easier.” Carol found the blunt-tipped scissors in with the markers and began to cut out the angel, holding it up and making it flutter. Maria laughed happily. The sound brought tears to her mother’s eyes.
“It’s beautiful, Mommy!”
“Do you want to color it?”
“No. I like it white. But can I write a wish?”
“Of course.” She pulled out a thick magazine so Maria had a surface to work on and positioned it and the paper on her daughter’s lap. “There you go.”
Maria thought for a minute, then carefully printed in block letters.
HAPPIE HOLLIDAYS TO AL
“Who’s Al?” her mother asked, mystified.
“All. It says happy holidays to all.”
Carol laughed. “Oh, I get it. But ‘all’ has two
l
’s. Anyway, that’s a nice wish to make, honey.”
l
’s. Anyway, that’s a nice wish to make, honey.”
“Cut out another angel,” the little girl insisted. Carol obliged. Maria concentrated on her printing, then handed the angel to her mother to read.
PLEESE MAKE ME ALL BETR
“Did I spell it right?” she asked anxiously.
“Close enough,” her mother said, tears welling in her eyes again as she gave her daughter a hug.
“Put it in an empty spot where the big angels can see it,” Maria instructed.
Her mother nodded and tucked the two new angels into the surrounding greenery. Then she looked up, relieved to see that their Santa was coming back.
His face was almost expressionless. Offputting, although maybe Maria wouldn’t notice that he didn’t seem to have the holiday spirit, as far as Carol could tell. She gritted her teeth, wanting to get this over with and get her sick child safely back to the hospital.
He passed them by, to her astonishment, and vanished in the crowd. Next, not quite running but not walking either, came an intense-looking young woman—a girl, really—and a man with her who had to be her father.
The girl looked down at Maria, and Carol would have sworn you could hear a click, as if the girl instinctively knew how ill her daughter was. At least one person in this crowded, overwhelming mall cared about other people. That was something, Carol thought, straining to see where Santa had gone.
The young woman stopped by the wheelchair, over her father’s brief protest, and knelt so Maria didn’t have to look up. “Hello,” she said. “My name is Angela. I saw you make that angel. It’s pretty.”
“I’m Maria Andretti. Mommy helped.” She grinned with pride anyway.
“I’m Carol.” She smiled at the girl, grateful for her impromptu kindness toward her daughter.
The girl smiled back. “Thank you. I love the ones that the kids make.” She gestured to the largest of the silver angels, capturing Maria’s attention again. “I designed all those big ones. And people here helped me make them.”
“You did?” Maria asked with amazement.
Angela nodded. “Uh-huh.”
The delighted little girl pondered that for a moment and tugged on her mother’s hand. “Those are her angels, Mommy.”
“Whatever you say, honey.” Carol didn’t see the Santa or her husband, Joe, returning. The young woman seemed to sense her worry and rose to her feet.
“You’re very talented,” Carol said to Angela. “I think those angels are Maria’s favorite thing in the mall.” She looked down at her daughter, who seemed restless. “What do you say, honey? Should we go find Daddy?”
Maria objected, but weakly.
“You can come back another day—” Angela began, then stopped. Her eyes widened and Carol turned to see what she was looking at. The Santa again. Just as sullen as before.
“Oh, that Santa,” Carol said in a low voice. “Do you know anything about him—”
The girl’s face had changed. She had a stricken look, as if she was seeing things. If she did know the guy, it wasn’t a happy friendship.
Upset and disappointed, Carol took the handles of the wheelchair. “Never mind. I don’t know why you should know. I thought he was going to chat with my daughter. That’s why I asked.”
Angela thought fast. “Maybe I could arrange a chat with someone else. Mrs. Andretti, could you wait over here?”
“Please, Mommy, I don’t mind waiting,” Maria piped up. Her shining eyes sparkled with anticipation that just about broke Angela’s heart. She was going to make Maria’s wish come true—and get them all out in the next second.
Carol sighed. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “I wish your father would come back, though.” With a resigned shrug, Carol moved the wheelchair out of the main flow of mall shoppers.
“He will,” Maria reassured her mother, who was looking over the heads of the crowds for him. The little girl was studying the angels again and watching other children add their wishes to the greenery.
“You know, it could be that our Santas got their wires crossed,” Angela said quietly so that Maria wouldn’t hear. “You know how it is around the holidays. We must have a dozen of them walking around.”
“Isn’t that kind of confusing for the kids?” Carol asked in a low voice.
“Maybe so. But one’s never enough.”
“Look, all we need is one. My little girl is very sick—I’m sure you figured that out. Her doctor didn’t even want her to come here.”
“I understand. Just give me a minute. If you could back up the chair and come over here—”
Maria’s rapt gaze stayed on the holiday scene as her mother pulled the wheelchair back several yards, still within sight of the enchanting display.
Angela was stalling. The second she’d seen the little girl, she’d recognized her from the previous vision. Tiny. Fragile. Dark hair and delicate earrings.
She didn’t want Maria to chat with Charlie, no matter what. Angela knew that Charlie wouldn’t try to talk to anyone on his own—the distant look on his hard face told her that he had withdrawn from the world around him, into that strange, sullen resentment she’d noticed when she’d first encountered him.
Back then she hadn’t faulted him for it. She’d been in the same place, emotionally speaking, at the time.
Now—she’d snapped out of it.
Angela kept Charlie in sight. He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, swaying a little. Was he muttering to himself? She couldn’t really hear. He seemed to be gauging the random flow of people, as if looking for a way to walk out where he wouldn’t be jostled.
The trumpeting angels made a good barrier. To get out from where he was, he would have to shove through the standing statues. They were close together and most likely several angels would topple if he did. Her intuition told her that he wouldn’t go that way.
Then the crowd parted. In the near distance she saw a slow-moving float decorated with iceblue crystals and animated mechanical figures—not her designs—rotating on a glassy sheet of fake ice. Teenage girls in sequined outfits were perched around the ice, smiling at the crowds and the shoppers who poured out of the stores to see the new sight.
Seated above them all was a queen with a jeweled crown, resplendent on a throne. Angela recognized the young woman as a national figure skating champion who’d gotten her start in a small town nearby. A banner fixed over the throne read
MEET TINA TWINKLES
!
MEET TINA TWINKLES
!
Tina wasn’t wearing skates but high heels. Her long legs, crossed demurely at an angle, were clad in sparkling tights. It was hard to tell where they ended and her abbreviated skating costume began. That was covered in crystals and fit her like a second skin.
She waved graciously to one and all from her throne, and starstruck girls and boys waved back, some held on their parents’ shoulders. The crystals on her costume and the float sent off blinding flashes of light as cameras came out and pictures got snapped by the hundreds.
Angela looked at Charlie. The intense, repeated flashes were like strobe lights and seemed to bother him—he squinted against the glare and turned away.
There was really no way out now. He wasn’t likely to make himself conspicuous by walking in the wide space down which the immense float was proceeding, and he couldn’t shove his way through the eager crowds to either side of it. She happened to catch sight of her father, who shot a worried look Charlie’s way and then looked back at her. Murray had the presence of mind not to yell
What the hell?
But he mouthed the words.
What the hell?
But he mouthed the words.
She motioned to him to stay where he was. Her father didn’t budge after that, but watched her—and her quarry, Charlie—with narrowed eyes.
The float stopped and the parents and kids swarmed around it. The handlers, mostly men, who walked alongside it managed the crowd control fairly well, until Tina rose from her throne and stepped daintily toward a staircase that Angela hadn’t seen at first.
“Meet Miss Twinkles! Get her autograph!” one of the handlers called.
The parents holding their young children on their shoulders struggled to keep them there, as the older kids begged their mothers for pen and paper. It was chaos but happy chaos.
Tina signed everything that was held out to her, never losing her composure. Then she looked up and saw Maria in back of everyone, still strapped into the wheelchair, clutching the pillows that supported her frail body. Tina’s eyes got misty. She blew a kiss to the little girl, which made Maria lift her hand and wave almost frantically. The child looked absolutely dazzled.
Angela kept Charlie in her peripheral vision, wondering what to do next. He remained standing, motionless, looking at the sparkly figureskating queen with indifference.
Tina moved through the crowd to Maria. Carol looked a little dazzled as well, but her concern for her daughter kept both of them where they were.
“Hello,” Tina said when she’d reached the wheelchair. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Maria. You’re so pretty, Miss Tina. Much prettier than those angels,” the little girl chirped.
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