St. Nick Read online

Pent-up breath was expelled. Tortured hands fell limp. There was a momentary radio silence that seemed to last forever as announcer and fans took in the trajectory of the deflected ball.

  “It’s caught at the four! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  Hammell screamed over the noise of the crowd. “On a broken play the Sea Lions come away with two points! Danny Brown’s pass, meant for Matthews on a slant pattern, was deflected by Toby Cornell into the hands of big number ninety-two, Sherman Tank Mobley. And Tank was not to be denied. Three Broncos tried to stop his charge, but the Sherman Tank bulled through to the end zone. Oh my, the Tank just delivered a wonderful early Christmas present to all of San Diego! The Sea Lions wish you a Merry Christmas! Final score: Sea Lions twenty-two, Denver twenty-one!”

  Angie caught Nick’s eye and winked. “I’ll have the tailor working on those uniforms first thing in the morning.”

  So many toys had continued to come in that Angie arranged for a fifth truck to go out that night. When Nick heard the name assigned to that fifth truck, he claimed it for his own. He and Charlotte would be going out on Cupid.

  Charlotte was waiting for him inside the truck. When Nick opened the door she gave him a smile, but he could tell she was masking her true feelings.

  “We’ll ice up that champagne for another night,” he said.

  “I was so sure,” she said. “Pride goeth before a fall, I guess.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up.”

  “The girl had the right name,” said Charlotte. “She lives nearby, enjoys the same favorite books, and only has a mother. Last year the mother was hospitalized, and the family was in financial straits. The teacher even told me what a good writer she is.”

  “I can see why you thought you found her,” said Nick.

  Charlotte nodded. It looked to Nick as if she didn’t trust her own voice.

  “Hey,” Nick said, “You got to believe. After the Sea Lions win today I think I now believe in Santa Claus.”

  Charlotte said, “You know what Angie calls someone who doesn’t believe in Santa Claus?”

  “I give up,” said Nick.

  “A rebel without a Claus,” said Charlotte.

  Nick groaned and shook his head. “You have got to stop hanging around with Angie.”

  “If it weren’t for Angie, I wouldn’t know where you were half the time. And speaking of improving our lines of communication, I got something for you: Merry Christmas.”

  Charlotte handed him a wrapped present.

  “You shouldn’t have,” said Nick.

  “Don’t get excited,” she said. “It’s what you call a practical present.”

  Nick shook the package, puzzling over what it could be. “It’s not a tie,” he finally said.

  “That’s the best guess you can come up with?”

  Nick shook the package again. “Clock radio?”

  “Not even warm.”

  “I don’t know. A toaster?”

  “I thought you were supposed to be a detective.”

  Nick shook the package a little more, and then shrugged.

  “Go ahead then,” she said. “Open it up.”

  As he started pulling off the wrapping Charlotte said, “These gifts are probably more for me than you. I mean they’re not exactly exciting.”

  “Gifts?” he asked, “As in more than one?”

  “They’re sort of the same general theme.”

  Nick finished with the wrapping. In one hand was an answering machine, and in the other was a cell phone. “I’m overwhelmed,” he said.

  “Now you have no more excuses not to take my calls.”

  He leaned over and squeezed her shoulder. “Thanks for waking Rip Van Winkle up. Thanks for everything.”

  Their first stop was at a church in San Diego where they were greeted as conquering heroes. Nick and Charlotte joined hands with the elders while the pastor offered up a prayer of Thanksgiving. Half the gifts were quickly unloaded, and a chorus of blessings was called out to them as they were leaving.

  As Cupid took to the road again Charlotte said, “It almost feels as if we are flying.”

  Around them, though, were neighborhoods where the gravity pulled hard on the human spirit. Even flying reindeer couldn’t escape the tug. Nick reached over and locked Charlotte’s door, and then his. He explained his actions by saying, “I’ve been a cop a lot longer than I’ve been Santa Claus.”

  Charlotte turned onto Imperial Avenue. Nick continued in his cop mode, his head moving from side to side. The view on both sides of the road was bleak, the rare beacon in the darkness usually turning out to be a well-lit liquor store. And yet every so often they came upon a string of Christmas lights. Hope’s candle still flickered.

  Nick continued to be vigilant. The change of uniform hadn’t changed what he was. When they finished with their last delivery, Nick directed Charlotte on a roundabout route that took them over to Mission Bay. Out in the water they saw a flotilla of blinking lights. All the boats sailing the waters were dressed in Christmas colors.

  “I thought the Parade of Lights was last weekend,” Charlotte said.

  “It was,” said Nick, “but most of the sailors like to keep the lights on all during the holiday season.”

  He motioned to her to pull off the freeway so they could get closer to the ships. They found an overlook near the water and parked. Ship after ship passed; sailors had decked out their ships in traditional and not-so-traditional holiday displays. Many of the captains were sailing around the Bay wearing aloha shirts and Santa caps. There was a range of ships, from million-dollar yachts to floating bathtubs, with the only thing in common their Christmas lights.

  Some of the boats were even wired for sound. Nick and Charlotte watched as a yacht passed by, and they heard the familiar lyrics of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.”

  Nick wondered if he should push the moment, but he was so out of practice in the romance game that he felt like a beginner again. He had thought Charlotte was way out of his league, and was sure she couldn’t be interested in a beaten-down old cop. Nick was only four years older than she was, but Charlotte was what Nick’s friends would have called “classy.” She knew how to look, and act, and dress. Nick felt deficient on all those fronts. But somehow they still clicked.

  He cleared his throat. “You know,” he said, “I had to pull some strings to get this particular reindeer tonight.”

  “Did you?” asked Charlotte.

  “I even added an accessory.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “It’s hanging overhead between us.”

  Charlotte looked up and spotted the mistletoe. Nick wasn’t breathing. In his heart he knew this was the moment of truth. She could pretend the mistletoe was a joke and laugh, or she could offer him her lips. His whole world seemed to be holding in the balance; it was all there, Christmas past, Christmas present, and Christmas future.

  And then Charlotte was leaning towards him. Her eyes were closed, but her lips were open. Nick met her halfway and they kissed.

  Chapter 27

  We Wish You a Merry Christmas

  December 16

  When Nick awakened in the morning something felt different. At first he didn’t know what it was, but then it came to him: he was actually looking forward to the day. It had been a long time since he’d awakened feeling like that. It was almost like he had rid himself of weights pulling him down. Some purpose—and hope—had returned to his life.

  Charlotte had something to do with his new outlook. She was planning to bring takeout over for dinner, which prompted Nick to start in on some overdue cleaning of his apartment. He opened windows that had been closed too long, and tried to make the living room look presentable. There wasn’t time enough for a deep cleaning, but he could at least tidy things.

  Nick looked for the right spot for his answering machine gift, and decided on the end table in the living room. He thought about what message he should leave, and on his first try said, “This is Nick, leave
a message.”

  When he played it back, Nick didn’t like what he heard. He sounded too abrupt, so he attempted a more casual tone.

  “Hi, you’ve reached Nick’s machine,” he said, “please leave a message.”

  He played back the recording and again wasn’t happy. People didn’t need to be told they were talking to a machine. He needed to think of something that didn’t sound so stupid. Maybe he could do something funny. Nick considered a few lines, and then came up with the idea of doing a riff on giving a suspect his Miranda rights. Aloud he said, “This is Nick, you have the right to remain silent, but I’d prefer it if you left a message.”

  Too cute, Nick decided. It would probably be better just to identify his telephone number, and ask for a message to be left at the beep. But did his new machine even beep? He was trying to investigate the beep when the phone rang. Nick was glad for the reprieve.

  He heard a by-now familiar voice identify herself, and Nick held his breath for a moment, but he needn’t have worried. Easy was calling with good news.

  “I wouldn’t be calling so early,” she said, “except a friend of yours insisted that I ring you up. He wanted you to know he was out of intensive care.”

  “You tell that friend,” said Nick, “that I’m coming to visit him tonight.”

  “I’ll do that,” said Easy.

  Nick placed the phone down on its cradle and faced his answering machine with a smile he couldn’t contain. He didn’t need to think about a message anymore; it had arrived with the phone call. He pressed a button and spoke into the microphone: “This is Nick. Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas! Leave a message at the jingle!”

  The team meeting was held in the overcrowded locker room. The room was big enough for about a dozen normal-sized people to dress, but it was in no way big enough to handle eight football players in their new uniforms.

  The cramped quarters had been reason enough to keep media waiting outside. Nick was glad of that. The morning newspaper had picked up on the Laura story, and printed her letter to Santa on the front page of its local section. As if that wasn’t enough of a spotlight, a radio station had also taken up residence at the mall and was broadcasting from Santa’s Workshop for the entire week. They were touting their shows as the “Seven Days of Christmas,” and were using promotions to bring in more toys. All of the added publicity had made for a busy day, and now the evening’s spectacle had brought out all the local media.

  The participating football players were being called the Santa Diego Sea Lions, and everyone in town seemed to be getting on the bandwagon—or the sleigh. Danny Brown and his offensive line were making good on their promise, and would be delivering toys all week. Nick was doing his best to transform the players into Santa Clauses. Like a general inspecting his troops, Nick navigated through the crowded locker room going from player to player to make sure each looked the part.

  As big as his Santa suit was, Tank Mobley could barely squeeze into it. He was one Santa who didn’t need padding. Nick paused to touch up the man’s eyebrows with some of the white stick, and noticed that Tank was nervously wringing his hands. They hadn’t been able to find white gloves big enough for Tank’s hands, but Angie had altered some white stretch hosiery so that he could have gloves.

  “How do I look?” asked Tank.

  The big man’s nervousness surprised Nick, but then he remembered his own fright the first day he’d put on the suit.

  “You look great,” said Nick.

  He looked around the locker room, and saw that Tank wasn’t the only one experiencing stage fright. Nick had the feeling that the players were approaching their Santa stints as if they were preparing for a big game. If that was the case, Nick knew they needed a coach to guide them. He stood up on one of the benches so that all the players could see him.

  “You all look great,” said Nick.

  His announcement resulted in clapping and nodding.

  “I expect that some of you are a little nervous right now,” said Nick. “That’s understandable. It’s not every day you step into the shoes of a legend. But you’ll all do fine if you just remember that Santa Claus is about caring. It doesn’t matter if you forget your workshop is in the North Pole, or you blank on the names of your reindeer. The only thing you have to remember is to care about that child you’re talking to.”

  There was more clapping and shouting. Over their encouragement, Nick shouted, “Tonight you are not the San Diego Sea Lions! You are the Santa Diego Sea Lions! Now go out there and win!”

  The huge Santa Clauses stormed out of the locker room, and ran to their waiting reindeer trucks.

  Nick opened the door to the dark hospital room. There was enough light coming from the window that he could make out the head turning towards him. Raymond was awake.

  “Hey,” Nick said.

  “Hey.”

  The football had traveled with Raymond. It was on his bed, right next to him. Nick walked over and touched the ball, patting it like he would a loved one. For Nick, it was easier to show affection to an object.

  Raymond said, “You left me the football, didn’t you?”

  Nick nodded. “There you were, wide open, so I tossed it to you. You ran it in for a touchdown.”

  Raymond smiled.

  “You look like a future prospect to me. I’ve been telling the Sea Lions they should add you to their roster.”

  The two favorite words of all skeptical children are: “Yeah, right.” Raymond said them.

  “I’ve got something to prove it.”

  Nick pulled a jersey from a sack, and began to unfold it. The process was akin to unfolding a bedspread. The jersey was huge, tentlike. Raymond’s mouth dropped when he saw it spread to its full expanse.

  “Wow.”

  “Number ninety-two,” said Nick. “Tank Mobley’s number. I told him I was visiting a sick friend tonight and he wanted you to have this. Tank is the biggest man I’ve ever seen. Thing is, he looks even bigger in his Santa suit than he does in a football uniform.”

  “Santa suit?” said Raymond. “What’s he doing in a Santa suit?”

  “He’s helping out with a toy drive to bring presents to children who might not otherwise get them.”

  “Like that girl who wrote you the letter?”

  “Like Laura and others like her.”

  “Have you found her?”

  “Not yet. We’re still looking, though.”

  Nick placed the jersey in the boy’s hands. “Take a close look,” he said. “See all the signatures? He got his teammates to sign it for you.”

  “Can I wear it?” asked Raymond.

  Nick looked skeptical. “Wear this? You might as well wear a bedspread.”

  “I like big shirts,” said Raymond.

  “This isn’t a big shirt. This is a circus big top.”

  “Come on, Nick.”

  Nick knew when he was beaten. “I’ll go check with Easy,” he said.

  Easy moved the IV stand to the side and helped Raymond put on the jersey. “You sure you want this shirt?” she said. “I think it would look great on me.”

  “It’s Tank Mobley’s jersey,” said Raymond. “Nick says he’s the biggest man he’s ever seen.”

  The shirt went over the boy’s shoulders, and it looked as if he was wearing a tent. The jersey swam on Raymond, hanging below his feet. He looked like a beaming blue and gold ornament. The boy turned to the adults to gauge their reactions.

  With a catch in his voice Nick said, “Perfect fit.”

  Neither Nick nor Easy knew whether to laugh or cry, so they both coughed and looked away from one another.

  When Nick got into his car and saw the time, he pushed hard on the accelerator. He hadn’t forgotten about Charlotte coming over, at least not exactly. He had been preoccupied, though, with the Sea Lions and Raymond, and somehow the time had gotten away from him.

  He was almost an hour late by the time he reached his apartment. He anxiously scanned the courtyard in front of his complex,
but didn’t see Charlotte waiting at the gate. His stomach muscles tightened involuntarily. Her car wasn’t in visitor parking either. She had left. Nick didn’t blame her. He doubted whether he would have stayed around waiting in vain for an hour.

  It was a dark December night. Nick didn’t like the winter months because it was always dark too early. By five o’clock it seemed like midnight. It was almost eight o’clock now. Maybe he could still make this up to Charlotte. He would find a way for her to accept his apology, and then take her out to a fancy restaurant.

  As he approached his doorstep a shadow moved and Nick instinctively raised his fists in a defensive posture.

  “I come in peace.” Charlotte stood up and stretched. “I wondered when you were going to show up.”

  Nick realized his fists were still raised. He dropped them. “I am so sorry I am late.”

  Charlotte smiled. “I probably shouldn’t admit this, but that’s what I was going to say to you. In fact I did say it to you, or at least to your message machine. I just got here ten minutes ago, but I called your cell a few times to tell you I was running late.”

  Nick offered up a second apology as he unlocked the front door. “I’m afraid I left the phone in the charger. It’s going to take me a few days before I get used to carrying it.”

  As he opened the door, he remembered yet something else to apologize about. “I didn’t have as much time to clean this morning as I would have liked.”

  Nick turned on the hallway light. “I probably shouldn’t admit this, but when my ex and I split five years ago I moved in here thinking it was temporary, and I furnished the whole place with garage-sale decor. I always figured one day I would go hunting for a place where I really wanted to live, but that never happened.”

  Charlotte stepped inside and Nick went around turning on other lights. Each new, shining bulb spotlighted how barren his apartment was. There were no pictures, or photos, or memorabilia. Those were all in boxes in the guest room.

  This isn’t me, Nick wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure if it was or not. At least the place was relatively clean.

  Charlotte followed Nick into the kitchen. His microwave was an old boxy model that didn’t have a working turntable. Charlotte tried to figure out how to work it, but then stepped back and motioned for Nick’s help.