Silhouette Christmas Stories

work and attention to detail made that quite clear. No, what he had here was commitment and dedication, a problem of epic proportions. One massive headache.

'Kris,' he said abruptly, 'you've got to do something about these lights.'

'Umm.' The older man tilted his head and nudged a tree a bit to the left. 'I know. That's why I asked you down.'

'Every time the power goes out, my computer dies. When it comes back, I've lost whole chunks of my design.'

Kris moved the tree back to its original position. 'The trouble is, I just don't have enough juice.'

'And every time it happens, I get further behind on my deadline.'

Kris prodded his glasses back up his nose. 'The power company's getting a tad upset, too.'

'I've got a lot riding on this design.'

'But I think I've figured it out.'

'Kris!' Slade scowled at the portly man's backside. 'Are you listening to me?'

'Why else would I ask you down here?' Kris turned and beamed at him.

If he says ho ho ho, I'm going to throttle him, Slade decided. 'Then what are we talking about?' he demanded instead.

'Power, juice, electricity!' Kris clapped him on the shoulder. 'You're going to show me where to put some small generators.'

'The hell I am!'

'You got a better idea?' Kris's hopeful glance would have melted Scrooge.

'Yeah. Tear all the lights down and forget the whole thing.'

'Umm.' Kris smiled absently at the joke as he shifted another tree. 'I thought maybe a generator here and another one here.' He pointed to a couple of houses. 'What do you think?'

Slade's exasperated gaze followed the pudgy finger. Kris was obviously an advocate of selective listening; he heard only what he wanted to hear. 'It all depends on how much voltage you're using,' he said reluctantly. 'Do you have any idea how many lights are out there?'

'Of course.'

'How many?'

'To the last bulb?'

Slade sighed. 'A round figure will do.'

'A little over five hundred thousand.'

'Five hurt-' He stopped, astounded. 'I don't believe it.'

Kris shrugged apologetically. 'We're still pretty small.'

'You can't have that many lights out there. It's impossible,' Slade said flatly.

Kris spun around and darted over to the desk. After slapping at several piles of paper, he muttered in satisfaction and pulled a thick binder from beneath a stack of catalogs. He thrust it into Slade's hands.

'Here. Take a look. Every house, every tree, every lamppost is accounted for-the number of lights and voltage for each.'

He pulled out two chairs and watched with barely concealed satisfaction as Slade dropped into one and turned the pages in disbelief. 'What I'm aiming for,' Kris confided, 'is to build up to a grand finale on Christmas Eve. Two weeks from tonight, I'm turning on the first batch. That's about half the lights and a few of the animated scenes. I've got enough juice for that. The following week I add another twenty-five percent. That's iffy. Then, the last week, on Christmas Eve, the whole kit and caboodle goes on! We'll outdo New York City. At least, we will if the power holds out. So the last two weeks are where I need a little help.'

Slade shot him a skeptical look. 'A little?'

Kris grinned and measured an inch of space between his thumb and finger. 'About that much.'

'Do you have a calculator?' Slade waited while Kris unearthed it from beneath another pile of paper, then flipped through the pages again, rapidly plugging in some numbers. He finally looked up, shaking his head.' You can't do it.'

'Yes I can,' Kris said calmly. 'I just have to find the way.'

Slade handed him the notebook and calculator. 'Good luck.'

'I don't need luck. I need you.'

'You can't have me,' Slade said, holding his voice even with an effort. 'I have a job. I work at it every day. If there were more than twenty-four hours in a day, I'd work longer. The reason I'm not working now is because the power went out.' He glared at Kris, who was watching him with a placid expression. 'Do you know why the power went out?'

'Of course!' Kris's smile said 'gotcha.' 'Because I don't have enough juice.'

Four hours later, Slade climbed the stairs to the cheerful kitchen. Pale yellow walls, oak cabinets and several large windows made the room light and airy. If Carroll had still been sitting at the table it would have been even brighter, he concluded after a quick look around.

Instead, Christy, a miniature edition of her mother, sat there. She was bent over a cup of milk, her face hidden by a fall of silvery hair-as she dipped a chocolate-chip cookie in the milk, then popped it in her mouth. When she saw him, she waved, pointed to her bulging cheeks and swallowed, wiping off her milk mustache with the tip of her tongue.

'Hi, Slade.' She tilted her head and waited until he closed the basement door. 'You helping Kris with the lights? He said you were going to.' Pressing the tip of her finger on a crumb, she eyed it thoughtfully before swiping at it with her tongue. 'He told Mom that even Santa Claus was gonna have a tough time delivering this package.' Unblinking blue eyes that were a genetic gift from Kris and Carroll examined him.

Her matter-of-fact tone didn't reassure Slade. Kids often said things without even a minimal understanding of the subtleties involved. At least, he thought they did. Eyeing her waiting expression, he reflected that. he'd give a lot to know her position on the existence of Santa Claus. Did she still believe? And if she did, did she think Kris was on permanent loan from the North Pole?

'He really isn't Santa Claus,' Christy said kindly.

Slade blinked. She not only looked like her mother, she sounded like her. 'He isn't?'

'Nope.' She offered him the plate of cookies and waited until he had selected one before she helped herself. Dipping it in the milk, she asked, 'Did he say he was?'

He sat next to her. 'Not exactly,' he said cautiously.

'Sometimes he does,' she confided before sucking the milk from the cookie. She seemed to enjoy the slurping sound. 'He gets people all mixed up.'

'But not you?' Slade downed his cookie and reached for another.

'Uh-uh.' Her hair cascaded around her face in a silvery curtain when she shook her head. 'Kris told me all about it a long time ago. The real Santa lives in the North Pole.' While she chewed and swallowed, she looked up to make sure Slade was listening. Apparently satisfied by his fascinated gaze, she took up the tale. 'Kris is his helper- probably his most important one, don't you think?'

Slade nodded.

'Anyway, wherever we live, that's where Kris works for him.'

'What are his, uh, duties?'

Christy finished her milk and shrugged. 'Whatever he has to do to make Christmas better. He said when we moved here he knew his job was to light up the town. He spends almost all his time downstairs making scenes for people's yards and for the park.'

Slade snagged another cookie. 'It'll take a miracle to do it the way he's got it set up.'

'Kris says that a lot of times people make miracles.' When Slade didn't answer, she said cheerfully, 'Anyway, once all the lights are on, and the snow comes-'

'Snow?'

She nodded. 'Snow.'

'I didn't know it did. Snow here, I mean.'

'I don't think it ever has.' She slid her tongue over the milky froth on her lips. 'But this year it will.'