Page 18 of Cocoa Kisses
“So is Dean okay?”
“He’s fine.” She sighs. “I know this doesn’t make any sense, and I know I should be grateful that we have the technology to keep in touch so we’re not waiting every week for letters. But those calls . . . the boys live for them, but then after, they’re always worse. They both get so sad, and they don’t know how to deal with that, and it comes out in . . . well, let me put it this way: I spent most of last night cleaning crayon graffiti off the walls in the upstairs hall, and that’s been one of the easier disasters.”
“Makes sense to me,” I said. “I spend enough time around soldiers to get it. They look forward to each call with their families so much, but they’re always in a funk after. But at least they have an outlet for their feelings. Guaranteed, whichever guy you see going hardest on his workout is the guy who most recently got off a call with his wife or kids.”
She nods. “Thanks for that side of it. It helps.”
“Sure. For what it’s worth, it’s still those calls that keep most of those guys going.”
Another nod. “Yeah. I know he’s in an area that’s safe. I know he’ll wrap up his tour in three months, totally safe and sound, but those three months feel even longer than the nine he’s already been gone.”
“I’m sure it’s even harder at Christmas.”
She doesn’t speak for a minute, and I sense that she’s getting her feelings under control. “For me, it is. I miss him. I wish he didn’t have to miss a Christmas with the boys, ever. But for them, all the holiday stuff is exciting, so it’s been good to help keep their minds off stuff. And it’s been so great for them to have Christmas Town to look forward to.”
“Any luck getting Rome’s wish out of him?”
“No.” She makes the turn into the parking lot behind the café. “I really, really hope I can pull off whatever it is he wants.”
“Mall warrior.” I thump my chest. “We got you.”
She gives another small laugh, but it does sound less stressed. “Thank you, Levi. You’re the real MVP.”
We park and walk into the café, and I’m guessing the over/under on how long it will take Taylor to give me a job that sends me out of the café. I’m betting on just over a minute. She’s sent me on at least four different tasks that she could have handled with an email, but I haven’t called her on it.
That changes today.
But when I walk through the café door, she’s not behind the counter. Celia is. “Hey, y’all. Christmas Town drama started early today. She’s in her office on a call.”
“Poor Taylor,” Sara says. “This is crunch week. Let’s go see what’s up.” She waves for me to follow her. “Probably the band director complaining about the weather this weekend.”
“It’s definitely chilly today,” I say. It’s at least ten degrees colder than when I got into town Thursday.
“There’s a cold front moving down from Canada or something,” she says. “I haven’t paid as much attention because I’m already in Creekville, not trying to figure out if the weather conditions will keep me from getting here in time for Christmas.”
I can hear Taylor through the partially open office door, and Sara and I trade looks. Taylor’s speaking at a normal volume, but her tone is . . . off. Pleading, maybe?
“Mr. Earl, I understand why you’d want to be cautious, but the town has never been so excited for Christmas Town, and it’s all because of your reindeer. They loved having two, but eight? It’s literally been the talk of Creekville.”
Sara’s eyes grow wider, and she hurries forward to open the office door all the way. Taylor holds up a finger to tell her to wait, her face a wreath of frowns as she listens.
“I get that, sir. I really do. And I don’t want you to put your health at risk. I’m hoping there may be an employee you trust to bring the reindeer down and oversee everything. We’d be happy to pay a bonus for his trouble since this is last-minute.”
There’s an unmistakable emphasis on the last two words. It’s obvious what the problem is, and I’m only surprised she’s notmorestressed. She listens again, worry lines showing up around her eyes now.
“But Mr. Earl, there is so much riding on this.” She darts a look at Sara, but I have a feeling it’s her little nephew on her mind. “Please, isn’t there anything that we can do to make this happen?” Another long listening pause. “A reindeer handler. Right.” She slumps. “No, I understand. I respect that you want to keep your animals safe.” More listening. “Can’t say as I do understand gout, no.” Listening. “I understand, sir.”
She rests her elbow on her desk and massages her temples. “I understand,” she repeats. “But I hope you also understand that I’ll be requiring the return of the fee we’ve already paid you.” She listens. “No, sorry. You get to keep the deposit if we fail to meetourend of the contract. I really do sympathize with being sick, but I can’t let you keep the town’s money because I feel bad. Good. Glad we’re clear on that.” Another pause. “Yeah, you too. Merry Christmas.”
She hangs up the phone and her head droops until her forehead rests on the desk.
“I’ve never heard such a sad ‘Merry Christmas,’” I tell her.
“You too can sound this pathetic if you imagine the looks on the faces of your twin nephews when they find out there are no reindeer coming this Friday. Then you try saying 'Merry Christmas.’ Super effective.”
“So there’s a problem with the reindeer?” Sara asks. It’s that tone that says she’s trying to fake calm when she’s very anxious about the answer.
Taylor doesn’t even look up. “Yes. The reindeer man has the flu. Came down with it yesterday. Says sixty-five isn’t too old to survive the flu, but it’s too old to handle the reindeer while getting over it.”
