* * * *
Throughout the rest of his shift, he tried totalk himself out of it. The girl really was too old forSanta. What would her parents say? Her father in particular…if wordgot around the garage that Vic had used the suit to play Santa onhis own, how would Morrison react? What would the other guys say?The whole thing was stupid really. He should just turn the suitback in and go home.
Only he’d already made up his mind, whetherhe knew it or not. After work he clocked out and headed for hiscar, but instead of taking the Santa suit back in to his boss, Vicsank behind the wheel and started his engine. It wasn’t too late—alittle after eight in the evening, plenty of time to swing by adepartment store for a few gifts. Something with horses on it,that’s what her brother had said. And maybe a handful of othertoys, too, in case he chanced across any other kids spending theholiday in under a doctor’s care.
Hell, it was Christmas. Vic couldremember all too well the way his sister’s eyes used to light upwhen she found the presents he’d put under the tree for her. Itwouldn’t take much time out of his day and it’d brighten someoneelse’s. How could he not do it?
The Target at Libbie was still open when hepulled into the parking lot. Horses must’ve been popular with thekids—every aisle in the toy section carried somethinghorse-related. Vic picked out a few items he thought children wouldlike, Legos and Barbie dolls, a few comic book action figures. Thenhe found it, the gift, the one any twelve year old girlwould love. A stuffed pony easily two feet in length, with a yarnmane and tail that could be braided, its legs tucked beneath it sothe animal could sit on a bed beside its new owner. They came inseveral colors, but Vic liked the russet pony with the white maneand the star-shaped spot on its forehead. Tucking it under his arm,he hefted the handcart full of toys and candy and headed to theregisters.
On the way to the hospital, it occurred tohim he didn’t know what room she was in. Carlson, that washer father’s last name; Vic just hoped it was hers, as well. Heparked in the hospital deck and, in a shadowy corner where he couldkeep an eye on the stairs, Vic changed from his work clothes intothe Santa suit. He didn’t have a pillow to pad himself with thistime, so he balled up his work shirt and pants, shoved them intohis belt, and pulled his Santa jacket down over the bulge.
This is stupid, he told himself.
Stupid or not, he was already doing it. Toolate to turn back now.
The things he’d bought filled several largeshopping bags. Throwing them over his shoulder, he locked his carand hurried down the stairs before he could change his mind.
He’d hoped by this hour of the evening, fewpeople would see him. But the garage exit was near the emergencyroom area, and a small crowd milled around outside the waitingarea, smoking or waiting for their rides. Vic hoisted the bags hecarried and pulled his face into the tough guy expression he worewhen he didn’t want to be bothered. Don’t say a word, heprayed as he trouped past a half-dozen stares. The first personwho laughs or says anything inappropriate…
He never got to finish that thought. Achild’s voice cried out into the night, “Santa! Mommy, it’s SantaClaus!”
Someone else took up the cry. Vic heard thesound of sneakers running on the pavement and turned to find ahandful of children racing behind him. Their eyes shone as theygrinned wildly at Vic. “Santa, Santa,” they chanted. When Vicstopped, they plowed into his legs and almost toppled him to theground in their excitement.
Reaching into one of his shopping bags, Vicbegan pulling out the toys he’d bought. Little hands stretched upto grab anything he offered—candy, dolls, stuffed animals, puzzlebooks. Each item he held out was snatched away as soon as itcleared the bag.
When one bag emptied, Vic backed up towardthe sliding glass doors leading to the hospital’s lobby. “Ho hoho,” he cried, still feeling a little silly. No one seemed tonotice—the kids were opening their toys, already playing with them.“Merry Christmas!”
A shout resounded through the night as thekids, their parents, and the other adults waiting outside joinedin. “Merry Christmas, Santa!”
Inside the hospital lobby, Vic was greetedwith more smiles and laughter. The receptionist beamed at him as heapproached. “Hello Santa,” she tittered. “Aren’t you a littleearly?”
She was older than Vic, with kind eyes and agrandmotherly air about her. Leaning onto the counter, Vic heftedthe remaining bags of toys. “Can you help me? I’m looking for aTammy Carlson…I work with her father.”
“Oh, is he an elf?” The receptionist laughedat her own joke.
Luckily, she didn’t seem to expect aresponse. Before Vic could answer, she started typing on thekeyboard on the desk in front of her, turning to peer at a computermonitor hidden beneath the countertop on which Vic leaned. “Ah,there she is. Room 612. It isn’t the children’s ward…”
Vic caught the look she threw at his bags. Hestill had plenty of toys inside. “I’ll stop in there first. Can youdirect me?”
Her smile widened. “I’d take you myself if Iwasn’t chained to this desk. Third floor, take a right when youexit the elevator. Ms. Carlson’s up on six.”
* * * *
It was still early enough that most of thechildren were out of their rooms, playing or watching television ina large common area at one end of the hall. When Vic stepped out ofthe elevators, he caught sight of a little boy inTransformers pajamas who’d just stepped out of his room. Hestared at Vic in surprise, mouth open, eyes as round assaucers.
“Merry Christmas,” Vic said. He was exhaustedfrom a long day of work and the suit he wore itched. He didn’texactly sound jolly to his own ears—the best he hoped for was nothis usual gruff self.
It must’ve worked. Like a spell, his wordsfreed the little boy from where he stood rooted in
