“Well, why didn’t you say so, dear? Mas tarde,” she added to Mateo. He smiled and whisked the board away. “I do hope we can avoid bloodshed this year,” she added as she followed me to the front door.
Chapter 11
The Twinmobile pulled up a few minutes later. Michael’s mother, who was quite spry for a grandmother, had crawled into the third row and was sitting between Josh and Jamie. From the exuberance of their greetings to me and Mother, I suspected Granny Waterston had been bribing them with candy and they were riding the resulting sugar high.
I took a seat in the middle row, and once we got underway, I turned around to start preparing the boys for what lay ahead.
“Did Daddy tell you where we’re going?” I asked.
“Santa!” they both exclaimed. There was a telltale whiff of chocolate and peppermint on their breaths.
“And we love Santa, don’t we?” Michael added from the front seat.
“Santa! Love Santa! Santa!”
“I seem to remember that last year someone was a little nervous when we met Santa.” Calling either boy’s reaction “a little nervous” was like calling a blizzard “a few scattered flakes.”
“Not me,” Josh said.
“Him,” Jamie countered, pointing.
“It’s okay to be nervous,” Michael said. “Santa’s a very important person. But if you feel nervous, just tell Mommy or Daddy or Grandma or Grandpa or Grammy.”
“We’ll be fine, won’t we?” Michael’s mother said.
I pretended not to notice as she slipped them each another bit of candy cane.
“So, Meg,” Dad said. “How’s the mood at the house? Is everyone upset by the—”
“James!” Mother exclaimed. “Little ears!”
“By the M-U-R-D-E-R,” Dad continued.
“Hard to say,” I said. “No one much misses Clay, but I think everyone will be on edge till they catch who did it. What’s that, Jamie?”
“M-U-R-D-E-R,” Jamie repeated.
We all looked back at him, startled.
Josh had printed the word in the condensation on his window.
“Muh … Muhr … Murd…” Josh muttered.
“Murder!” Jamie exclaimed.
“Grandpa, what’s murder?” Josh asked.
There was a brief silence.
“Adult communication suddenly becomes a lot more difficult,” Michael said.
“Grandpa,” Jamie began.
“Murder,” Michael’s mother spoke up. “Is when someone hurts someone else. It’s a very bad thing to do.”
She reached over and rubbed out the writing on the car window.
“Grammy, is murder an inappropriate word?” Josh asked.
“It’s a little inappropriate,” Michael’s mother said. “You don’t really need to use it.”
“So, it’s kind of like poopie or booger?” Jamie suggested. “And not a really bad word like—”
“Look! Is that a reindeer!” Michael exclaimed. I couldn’t see anything that even vaguely resembled a reindeer, but his remark served the double purpose of distracting the boys and almost drowning out the highly inappropriate word Jamie had brought forth to appall his grandparents.
I was relieved that the rest of the ride downtown passed without further incident. And after the ride over, the actual visit to Santa was delightfully uneventful. These days, the Caerphilly Volunteer Fire Department hosted Santa’s local stay. They had built a large Styrofoam igloo at the back of the vacant engine bay and hauled in a brightly painted red sleigh to serve as Santa’s throne. If we ever raised enough money for a much needed fourth fire engine, they might need to find Santa a new home, but in the meantime, the kids—and grown-ups—enjoyed getting tours of the fire engines while waiting their turn on Santa’s lap. And everyone seemed to enjoy the occasional days when the firemen got a call and Santa clapped on his fire hat and took off driving the ladder truck.
Michael’s fellow firemen greeted him with enthusiasm. Perhaps all the times the boys had visited their daddy during his volunteer shifts at the fire station helped keep them from being scared of Santa this time. After staring at the burly, bearded man in red for a few moments, Jamie turned to me.
“Is that a real beard?” he stage-whispered.
“Of course it is,” Santa said. “Want to give it a tug?”
Both boys were charmed by the idea, and after each had given Santa’s beard a few relatively gentle tugs, they settled down to the business of reiterating their Christmas requests—no new major demands, to my relief—and having their pictures taken. Michael and all three grandparents drained their camera and cell phone batteries taking endless pictures—Jamie with Santa. Josh with Santa. Both boys with Santa. Both boys with Santa and various configurations of parents and grandparents. The boys climbing on the fire trucks. The boys wearing firefighter hats, with and without Fireman Santa.