Page 6 of Holly Jolly Heresy
“I think so,” Caleb said. “Bruce said this town is known for its Christmas spirit.”
“Is it Christmas spirit if it’s moderately disturbing?”
Caleb bit back a grin, allowing his more conflicted thoughts to drift away on the tide of Molly’s cynicism. “Are you not a fan of Christmas?”
“Who doesn’t love Christmas? I’m not a fan of whatever that is,” she said, pointing again.
On top of a fish market, another manger scene had been erected consisting entirely of giant inflatable lobsters wearing Santa hats. This time, Caleb couldn’t contain his laughter, the sound flowing through him. “I think Nativity may be taking their namesake a little too literally.”
“You think? Lobster baby Jesus was wearing a Santa hat. The lobster wisemen were carrying tubs of butter.”
He glanced in the rearview mirror to catch another glimpse of the display. “They were not.”
“Oh, they absolutely were. Is it sacrilege to imply the wisemen are going to eat baby Jesus?”
“Well, it’s certainly not approved doctrine.”
“Do you think it’s like this all year, or only at Christmas?”
“With a name like Nativity, who knows.” Caleb tilted his chin towards a toy shop proudly proclaiming itself as the North Pole South. “But I’m inclined to think this is a year-round obsession.”
“It probably bodes well for the costumes. A town this invested in their nativity scenes likely didn’t skimp on the Christmas pageant.”
Up ahead, a rail car stood in a half-empty parking lot, the exterior strung with colorful blinking Christmas lights, a beaconshining through the beginnings of a passing flurry. A giant Christmas tree was strapped to the roof beneath an elevated, illuminated sign reading ‘Railway Diner.’
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“I could eat. Do we have time?”
“We’re not meeting Father David for another hour. We have time.”
Caleb pulled his coat tightly around himself as he climbed out of the car, but snowflakes slid down his open collar and stung his neck anyway. Molly didn’t seem to mind the snow, however. She tilted her face up to the sky and caught a snowflake on her tongue, the tip of her nose already turning pink in the chill air. His gaze lingered on the long line of her throat, the snowflakes falling in her hair and glistening as though she’d been sprinkled with glitter. He wanted to press his nose to her hair, breathe in her scent and feel her laughter vibrate through him.
He spun away, clearing his throat, and led her up the metal steps to the door of the rail car. No good could come from indulging those fantasies.
Inside, the diner was cramped, made more so by the track suspended from the ceiling, a bright red toy train with Santa in the front car making a constant, slow circuit around the space. Where train seats had originally been on each side of the narrow aisle, booths had been installed, each one aligned with one of the rounded windows overlooking the parking lot, bundles of silver balloons tied to the coat hooks at the end of each booth. At the back of the car, a modest, open kitchen stood behind a half wall, the top of which was strung with garland and more of those blinking Christmas lights. From some unseen speaker, Burl Ives’ rich baritone sang holiday classics extolling the virtues of snow and reindeer.
A petite woman with graying hair piled in a messy bun held together by multiple pens stood at the other end of the car, herarms loaded down with plates of steaming food. She tilted her chin in their direction and gestured towards one of the open booths with a bowl of soup, broth sloshing dangerously close to the edge of the bowl. “Afternoon, folks. Make yourselves at home. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
They chose a booth not far from the door, Caleb shrugging out of his jacket and Molly unwinding her scarf as they took their seats. “If I’d known it was going to snow, I would have worn a thicker coat,” he said.
Molly’s eyes lingered on his frame as he hung their things on the hook beside their table. His shoulders and biceps tingled with awareness as her gaze swept over him. The last time she’d looked at him like that…
Her voice was soft when she spoke. “I have to confess something.”
He held up his hands. “Uh uh, I’m off duty.”
“You’re wearing your collar,” she pointed out.
“I’m pretty much always wearing the collar.”
“Don’t worry. It’s not that type of confession. I’m not really a Catholic anyway.”
“You’re not?” he asked, unable to hide his surprise.
“I mean, I made my First Communion, but I haven’t considered myself a practicing Catholic in years. Don’t tell Bruce. He’d fire me so fast.”
Something irrational and wild thrummed through Caleb’s blood. “I wouldn’t let him.”
