Lakeshore Chronicles [10] Candlelight Christmas (18 page)

“What about you?” Charlie asked. “What did you ask for?”

André’s smile sank into a line of seriousness. “Remember the promise.”

“I remember. I could never forget.”

“Good. Because the dog is the biggest thing you ever asked Santa for. My wish is the most
serious
thing I ever asked Santa for.”

Charlie tried to imagine what kind of serious thing André was talking about.

“You know how we had to come stay with your dad because my mom went away for work?”

“Yep. That’s tough. I miss my mom when I’m away from her.”

“Yeah, but you have your dad. It’s different. I don’t have my dad. And I wouldn’t want him. He’s mean and he does bad stuff. So it’s nice how your dad is letting us come here. But my wish is about my mom.”

“You can’t ask Santa to bring your mom for Christmas. It doesn’t work that way.”

“I know. That’s not what I asked.”

“Then what?”

André drew his knees up to his chest and stared at the flashlight beam. “My mom didn’t go away for work,” he said in a very quiet voice.

“Then where did she go?” Charlie felt clueless, but he could tell André was building up to something big. Like last summer at Camp Kioga, in the cabin when Leroy Stumpf admitted he was scared of the dark.

Only this was bigger. Charlie could tell.

“She’s in jail.”

Charlie frowned. “Nuh-uh. You’re lying.”

“I wish I was.”

“Why is she in jail?”

“She got in trouble. My dad was doing something bad, and they both got caught. The judge sent her to a place called Bedford Hills Women’s Correctional Facility.” André repeated the big words as though he’d memorized them. “She has to stay there until February. It’s a jail. Prison. I looked it up online at the library. Angelica doesn’t know. No one is supposed to know. But I snooped. I heard her crying at night and I heard her talking on the phone, and I figured it out.”

“Oh man. That’s bad, André. That’s really bad.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Sure you do. And I know it, too.”

“I just wish my mom will be okay on Christmas. That’s all I wish.” André’s voice broke then, and he screwed up his face as though he was trying not to cry, and then he just let go and he cried hard, shaking all over.

“It’s okay, buddy,” said Charlie, patting him on the shoulder the way his dad sometimes did when Charlie was sad. “Maybe it sucks now, but it’s going to be okay.” The news made his stomach hurt. He wondered if he should send Santa another letter
—Forget the dog. I want the same thing André wants.

“Do you think Santa will grant my wish?” André asked, dragging a mittened hand across his face.

“If he doesn’t, then there really is no Santa.”

“But he’s really real, right?”

“He’s real. So all we gotta do now is not screw up, and we’ll get our Christmas wishes.”

“Okay, let’s make a pact. We have to be good. We have to not screw up.”

“So, are we still going to stay up all night on Christmas Eve and wait for Santa?”

“Sure.”

“What if he doesn’t come?”

Charlie punched a window into the wall of snow. “Then we’ll know.”

Chapter Sixteen

O
n Christmas Eve, Logan was in his office in town, brooding over the resort accounts. The office was adjacent to the local radio station, and through the wall he could hear the relentlessly cheerful voice of the DJ, Eddie Haven, talking about the town festivities, which would culminate in the Christmas morning pageant at Heart of the Mountains Church.

Logan wished he could scrub the worries out of his brain. He had always been good at numbers. He had always been good at business. That was why the current situation was so frustrating. A looming loan payment and a year-end tax filing weighted the balance sheet heavily into the red. Despite taking a surgeon’s scalpel to the budget, he wasn’t able to stop the bleeding, not completely.

He glared at the screen and brooded some more, until his eyes glazed over.

The front door opened and shut. His father came in, looking around the small space, the shelves crammed with files and work product.

“So this is where it all happens,” said Al.

Logan pushed back from his computer screen, which displayed a spreadsheet with its depressing numbers. “Not exactly O’Donnell Industries,” he said.

“How’s it going?” asked his father.

There was a world of meaning in the question. What his father really wanted to know was whether or not Logan’s crazy enterprise was panning out. Was he making money or losing his shirt?

“I know that look,” said Al. “I realize you think I spent your entire boyhood with my nose in a business ledger, but believe it or not, I knew where you were, every minute. Still do.”

Logan was startled. “If that’s the case, then why did you just stand by and watch me go off the rails?”

“I didn’t stand by, and you didn’t go off the rails. The things that happened, yeah, some of it was hard, but I watched you turn yourself into a man, same as you’re doing for Charlie. A person can get crippled if he doesn’t figure things out on his own.”

Logan thought about all the dumb mistakes he’d made, the way he’d bumbled through the rough years. But looking back, he realized that despite the trouble and the hurt he’d endured, he wouldn’t change a thing. “Tough love?” he asked.

“That’s what I’ve heard it called. Then again, there’s no shame in asking for help. Sometimes,” said his father, “all you have to do is ask.”

* * *

“It’s Christmas Eve.” Darcy came bustling into the office. Her cheeks were bright from the cold, and she looked amazing, outfitted for skating on the lake. “You can’t sit here laboring over the books like Bob Marley.”

He grinned and pushed back from his desk. She was like a breath of fresh air, especially in the wake of his surprising conversation with his father. “Don’t you mean Jacob Marley?”

“Whatever. The point is, it’s Christmas Eve and you’re working.”

He stood up and reached for his jacket. “You’re a good influence on me. Where’s everybody else?”

“India took the four boys skating on Willow Lake.”

“Hope they’re staying out of trouble.”

“I’m meeting them at the skate house and then we’re all heading up the mountain before dark.”

“I’ve got more than work problems,” he said, shutting down his computer. “I’ve got a Santa problem. What the hell are we going to say to Angelica tomorrow when she sings her solo in the Christmas pageant, and her mom’s not there to see? I’m planning to film the whole thing, but it’s not the same.”

Darcy leaned against his desk. “I had an idea about that. I wanted to run it by you.”

“You figured out a way to pull off a Christmas miracle?”

“Not quite, but I thought of something that might help. Er, if you don’t mind me stepping in.”

“Mind? I love that you’re stepping in.”

She smiled. “You know how I’m a rabid Jezebel fan, right?”

Jezebel, the hip-hop star who had filmed a reality show in Avalon the year before, had become an unlikely local hero. “You and about a million others.”

“I watched every episode of
Big Girl, Small Town.
Do you recall that she was doing community service as part of her conditions of parole?”

“I didn’t tune in to the series, but yeah, I remember the backstory. The show followed her community service project with inner-city kids at Camp Kioga. That’s how the summer program got started.”

“Prior to her release, she did time at Bedford Hills.”

Now a glimmer of light came on in his work-fogged brain. “The same facility where Maya is.”

“Jezebel’s filming a Christmas special there, starting tonight and going through tomorrow. I read about it online. I asked if someone could help us set up a video call so Angelica’s mom can watch her sing tomorrow.” She pulled a tablet device from her bag. “Jezebel is going to provide a device just like this one. There’s an app called RealTime. Her friend in Avalon—a woman named Sonnet—do you know her?”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Long story. Remind me to tell you sometime.”

“She seems really nice. She and her husband are going to help us out. Tomorrow at ten in the morning, we’ll connect, and Angelica and André will get to see their mom. It’s not the same as seeing her in person, but it’s something.”

His heart felt squeezed with emotion. “How did you get to be so awesome?”

“You think I’m awesome?”

He had a lot more thoughts about her. But that conversation would have to wait.

“I’ll see you at the house,” he said. “I’ve got a last-minute errand.”

He reached for a stack of files. She put her hand on top of them. “Uh-uh,” she said. “Christmas Eve, remember?”

“Are you going to be that girlfriend who won’t let me get my work done?”

“Who says I’m your girlfriend?”

“Me.” In a swift movement, he trapped her between his body and the desk. “I say.”

Her eyes and her lips softened. She liked him, he could tell. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He leaned down, really wanting to kiss her, but instead, he just whispered in her ear. “Tonight,” he said. “You and me, tonight.”

Chapter Seventeen

S
kating was lame. Charlie and André both agreed on that. Aunt India told them they could take off their skates and play in the snow if they didn’t go far. They found some kids playing king of the mountain on a huge snow mound at the edge of the church parking lot, and that was way more fun.

“Hey, check it out over here,” said André, motioning him to the corner of the lot.

Charlie saw the shiny red Bobcat, with its snowplow attachment, parked in the usual spot. He and André climbed up to the scoop-shaped plastic seat, wedging themselves into the small space. They worked the levers and pedals, making motor sounds with their mouth as they fell into their favorite make-believe game, robot wars. Charlie pushed down on a pedal, and to his surprise, the big snowplow blade lifted up. He eased up on the pedal, then pushed it again, and the blade followed his movements.

“Cool,” said André. “You got it to work.”

“Way cool,” Charlie agreed.

André started monkeying with the other controls, reaching across Charlie to work both big levers. “This moves it forward,” he said. “This moves it back. I’ve watched it a million times at construction sites in the city.”

“Okay, you be the driver and I’ll watch for the enemy,” said Charlie.

This year, he decided as he played alongside his best friend, Christmas rocked. There was going to be a feast tonight, and a party and stuff, and then they were going to stay up all night watching for Santa, and in the morning, their wishes would come true. He just knew it. Christmas was like the best thing ever.

André pushed a rubbery green button overhead, and the engine coughed, and then growled, and then turned on.

The two of them looked at each other in shock. The machine vibrated beneath them like a live animal.

“You started the engine,” Charlie said, catching a whiff of exhaust.

“I started it.” André looked as amazed as Charlie felt. “I bet I can make it work.” He pushed one of the hand levers forward, and the machine lurched, then trundled ahead a few feet.

“Holy moly, you’re driving it,” Charlie said.

“This is so rad.” André worked the lever some more, bringing it out into the middle of the empty parking lot. “Look, I can make it go forward and back. And here’s how you turn it.” He worked the levers with both hands, and the Bobcat turned in a circle.

“Awesome,” Charlie said. “Let’s see if the snowplow works.” He pushed the pedals, and sure enough, the blade went up and down.

“We’re working now,” said André, his face lit up with excitement. “Let’s plow that field down there.”

“Yeah,” said Charlie. “We can make a path to the manger.” He pointed across the smooth white churchyard at the manger scene, which tonight would all be lit up for Christmas Eve.

The yard sloped downward, and the Bobcat leaned like a crazy ride. At first it was really fun, like the coolest ride on a sled, but then it felt as though they were going a little too fast.

“Hey, slow down,” Charlie said.

“I can’t.” André struggled with the levers. “It’s not slowing down.”

“Then you better turn around, because we’re heading straight for—”

“Duck!”

The manger was suddenly right in front of them. The plow blade hooked itself on something and then smashed into the manger.

André’s hand flashed up, and he punched a red button overhead. The engine died.

“Holy moly,” said Charlie. “We smashed into the manger.” He looked at the statues strewn around the snowy yard. “We ran over baby Jesus.”

“Oh man, that was not cool,” André said. “What should we—”

“What’s going on here?” asked a gruff voice.

Charlie’s stomach felt as if it had turned into a giant ball of ice. A police cruiser was parked in the lot beside the churchyard. “It’s Chief McKnight,” he whispered to André.

“We’re sunk,” André whispered back.

“You boys climb down from that thing.” Chief McKnight looked really mad. “Is anybody hurt?”

Charlie eyed the crushed fake baby head down in the snow. He and André scrambled out. “We’re okay,” Charlie said. “Chief McKnight, we’re really sorry.”

“We didn’t mean to do it,” André said.

“You kids are in big trouble,” said Chief McKnight.

As if they didn’t already know.

“Honest, we were just gonna do some plowing, you know, to help out,” André said.

“It was an accident,” Charlie said, snatching off his hat.

Chief McKnight leaned down and glared at them. Then his eyebrows shot up. “Charlie? Charlie O’Donnell?”

Chief McKnight had known him ever since Charlie was born. The police chief was married to Jenny, the bakery owner, and they lived in an old-fashioned house on King Street, and when the chief wasn’t on duty, Charlie was allowed to call him Rourke.

But right now it was Chief McKnight, all the way. “Y-yes, sir,” Charlie replied in a shaking voice. “That’s me.”

“You stole a piece of equipment. You committed vandalism...on Christmas Eve,” said the chief. “Bad timing, guys.
Really
bad timing.”

“We’re sorry,” Charlie said.

“Do we have to go to jail?” André asked in a very quiet, completely horrified voice.

Charlie knew exactly what André was thinking—that he would have to go to jail, like his mom. That was André’s deepest, darkest fear. Charlie nearly knocked his friend down, pushing in front of him to stand before Chief McKnight. He stood tall and squared his shoulders the way his dad told him he should do to show respect.

“It was me,” he said in a loud, clear voice. “I made André sit next to me, but I was the one who stole the snowplow and ran it into the manger. André didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Hey,” said André.

“If anybody gets in trouble,” Charlie said, “it should be me, not André.”

“Is that so?” asked the police chief.

Charlie knew his Christmas wish couldn’t possibly come true now. What boy could ever be rewarded on Christmas morning after pulling a prank like this? Santa would never bring him a dog now, not after what they’d just done. So he figured he might as well take the blame, because in one big flash, he realized there was something way more important than his Christmas wish, and that was André. His best friend.

And André’s wish—that his mom would be okay—just had to come true.

“Let’s go to my car,” said Rourke. “I need to call your dad.”

Defeated, they followed him up the slope toward the squad car. Normally they would love exploring a police car, but not now.

“Why did you say it was you?” André hissed at Charlie.

“Because we need to make sure your Christmas wish comes true.”

“What about
your
wish?”

Charlie’s heart sank, but he kept his chin up. “Maybe next year.” And in that moment, he felt funny, kind of light and floating. The moment he had stepped up to take the blame, he had felt this terrific sensation whooshing through him like an ocean wave or like the wind through the trees. It felt good. Really good, even though he knew he had just ruined his chances of getting a puppy. He knew why it felt good to throw himself under the bus and he knew the name of the whooshing feeling.

It was the Christmas Spirit. It was the thing all the songs and stories were about—putting somebody’s happiness ahead of your own.

Even though it felt good, he still had to deal with Chief McKnight...and with the holy family lying half-buried in the snow. He’d run over baby Jesus. How was he going to fix this?

He was going to need a Christmas miracle.

When they were a few feet from the police car, Charlie saw Darcy running toward them. “What happened here?” she asked. “Is someone hurt?”

“No visible injuries,” said the chief. “And you are?”

“Darcy Fitzgerald,” she said. “I’m friends with Charlie’s aunt. I was looking for them at the skate house, and his aunt said they came over here to play in the snow.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Looks like you had a little too much fun with the snowplow.”

“We’re sorry,” said Charlie. “We didn’t mean it.”

“I was just going to call Logan,” said Chief McKnight, taking out a phone.

Charlie wished he could freeze into an icicle and not feel so terrible. Everything that had happened was bad, but knowing his dad was about to get a call from the police was the worst.

“Wait a moment,” Darcy said. “Do you mind if I have a word with you?”

She and the police chief stepped to the other side of the car and had a quick, quiet conversation. A few minutes later, the chief said, “So here’s the deal. I’m going to move the snowplow, and you kids are going to rebuild the manger. I’m letting you off with a warning this time, but if you ever pull a stunt like this again—”

“We won’t,” Charlie said.

“Never, ever, we swear on a stack of Bibles,” André added.

The chief drove the snowplow back to its parking spot. Darcy looked at Charlie and then at André.

Charlie shook in his shoes. What if she decided to act like the stepmonster and rat him out to his dad?
Oh man.

“All right, you two,” she said. “Let’s get moving. We’ve got work to do.”

* * *

Dark came early to the mountain on Christmas Eve, and outside the window, the winter sky brooded with the weight of a coming storm. The airways were filled with warnings of a lake-effect blizzard. Darcy’s phone vibrated with messages from her sisters and parents to make sure she was all right.

She was returning a text to Lydia when India handed her a mug redolent of wine and spices. “Glühwein,” she said. “Traditional in Tyrolia, I’m told. They made it over at the Powder Room for the overnight guests.”

Darcy took a sip. “Oh, that’s nice.”

India gestured at her phone. “Everything all right?”

“My sister just wanted to make sure we’re not going to freeze to death in the storm.”

“I heard it was going to hit around midnight.”

“It’s kind of exciting,” said Darcy.

“Let’s hope the power stays on.” India studied her. “You look good.”

“As opposed to...?”

“I thought you might be depressed, missing your family, that sort of thing.”

“I’m fine.”

“So, you and Logan—”

“Fine,” Darcy assured her. “Everything is fine.” She wasn’t ready to talk about her growing bond with Logan. It was very unexpected, and very fast. And if the encounter with him today was any indication, she was in for a very nice Christmas Eve. She didn’t want to spoil things by talking about them too soon. She didn’t want to talk herself out of it. He had done nothing specific to win her trust, yet she trusted him. She wanted to take a chance with him.

“I’m going to go say good-night to the kids,” she said to India.

“Okay. I think we wore them out sufficiently, and they’re exhausted enough to sleep. Charlie practically fell asleep in his Christmas Eve Frito pie.”

India had no idea. Darcy had kept the Bobcat mishap to herself on condition that the boys put the manger back in readiness for Christmas morning. She had worked the boys like a pair of rented mules. Fueled by pure repentance and helped by the incredibly understanding chief of police, they had put the manger back in order quickly. They’d managed to swaddle the broken baby Jesus so it would look brand-new. Tonight’s layer of fresh snow would cover their tracks.

In the course of repairing the damage with Charlie, she had made two discoveries. Number one, she was falling for the little boy as hard as she was falling for his father. And number two, telling Santa he wanted a snowboard for Christmas was merely a diversion Charlie had set up. As they were finishing up with the manger, André had pulled her aside and whispered the truth. She only hoped there was enough time to do what had to be done.

The process of getting the kids off to bed began with a chorus of groans from the kids. “The sooner you get to bed, the sooner Santa comes,” China reminded them.

“And the pickle prize,” Darcy reminded them. “Don’t forget that.” She explained the game to them, and eventually they were all rounded up and sent to bed. Darcy went in to tell them good-night.

“Thank you,” said Charlie, “for, um, helping us out today.”

“You’re welcome.” She didn’t lecture him. She knew he’d learned his lesson. She’d seen it on his face at the scene of the crime.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why did you help us?”

“I have four older sisters. I know all about doing something dumb, and getting in trouble, and trying to make it right, and then moving on. And by the way, that’s a nugget, Charlie.”

“A what?”

“A nugget. Like a nugget of wisdom. Something to remember as you go through life.”

“What, like there’s a rule that I should never do something dumb?”

“No. Just assume you’re going to because you’re only human. The important thing is to make it right and move on.”