he’d see Ebenezer Scrooge and the ghost of Marley, not to mention Tiny Tim hobbling down the sidewalk, complete with his crutch, and crying out, “God bless us everyone.”
Once he’d donned his long wool coat and draped a scarf around his neck, he dashed out the door. He locked it behind him, although he wondered why he bothered. According to the kid next door, the entire town knew where Emily kept the key. Still, Charles wanted it understood that he wasn’t receiving company.
Walking to his rental car, he hurriedly unlocked it and climbed inside before anyone could stop him. With a sense of accomplishment, he drove until he discovered a large chain grocery store. The lot was full, and there appeared to be some sort of activity taking place in front of the store.
Ducking his head against the wind, he walked rapidly across the parking lot toward the entrance.
A crowd had gathered, and Charles glanced over, wondering at all the commotion. He blinked several times as the scene unfolded before him. Apparently the local church was putting on a Nativity pageant, complete with livestock—a donkey, a goat and several sheep.
Just as he scurried by, the goat raised its head and grabbed the hem of his overcoat. Charles took two steps and was jerked back.
The goat was eating his coat. Apparently no one noticed because the three wise men had decided to make an appearance at the same time. Charles tried to jerk his hem free, but the goat had taken a liking to it and refused to let go. Not wanting to call attention to himself, he decided to ignore the goat and proceed into the store, tugging at his coat as he walked. Unfortunately the goat walked right along behind him, chewing contentedly.
Charles had hoped to dash in, collect his groceries and get out, all in fifteen minutes or less. Instead, everyone in the entire store turned to stare at him as he stumbled in, towing the goat.
“Mister, you’ve got a goat following you.” Some kid, about five or six, was kind enough to point this out, as if Charles hadn’t been aware of it.
“Go away.” Charles attempted to shoo the goat, but the creature was clearly more interested in its evening meal than in listening to him.
“Oh, sorry.” A teenage boy raced after him and took hold of the goat by the collar. After several embarrassing seconds, the boy managed to get the goat to release Charles’s coat.
Before he drew even more attention, Charles grabbed a cart and galloped down the aisles, throwing in what he needed. He paused to gather up the back of his expensive wool coat, which was damp at the hem and looking decidedly nibbled, then with a sigh dropped it again. As he went on his way, he noticed several shoppers who stopped and stared at him, but he ignored them.
He approached the dairy case. As he reached for a quart of milk a barbershop quartet strolled up to serenade him with Christmas carols. Charles listened politely for all of five seconds, then zoomed into a check-out line.
Was there no escape?
By the time he’d loaded his groceries in the car and returned to Emily’s home, he felt as if he’d completed the Boston marathon. Now he had to make it from the car to the house undetected.
He looked around to see if any of the neighborhood kids were in sight. He was out of luck, because he immediately caught sight of six or seven of the little darlings, building a snowman in the yard directly next to his.
They all gaped at him.
Charles figured he had only a fifty-fifty chance of making it to the house minus an entourage.
“Hello, mister.”
They were already greeting him and he didn’t even have the car door completely open. He pretended not to hear them.
“Want to build a snowman with us?”
“No.” He scooped up as many of the grocery bags as he could carry and headed toward the house.
“Need help with that?” All the kids raced to his vehicle, eager to offer assistance.
“No.”
“You sure?”
“What I want is to be left alone.” Charles didn’t mean to be rude, but all this Christmas stuff had put him on edge.
The children stared up at him, openmouthed, as if no one had ever said that to them in their entire lives. The little girl blinked back tears.
“Oh, all right,” he muttered, surrendering to guilt. He hadn’t intended to be unfriendly—it was just that he’d had about as much of this peace and goodwill business as a man could swallow.
The children gleefully tracked through the house, bringing in his groceries and placing them in the kitchen. They looked pleased when they’d finished. Everyone, that is, except the youngest—Sarah, wasn’t it?
“I think someone tried to eat your coat,” the little girl said.
“A goat did.”
“Must’ve been Clara Belle,” her oldest brother put in. “She’s Ronny’s 4-H project. He said that goat would latch on to anything. I guess he was right.”
Charles grunted agreement and got out his wallet to pay the youngsters.
“You don’t have to pay us,” the boy said. “We were just being neighborly.”
That “neighborly” nonsense again. Charles wanted to argue, but they were out the door before he had a chance to object.
Once Charles had a chance to unpack his groceries and eat, he felt almost human again. He opened the curtains and looked out the window, chuckling at the Kennedy kids’ anatomically correct snowman. He wondered what his mother would’ve said had he used the carrot for anything other than the nose.
It was dark now, and the lights were fast appearing, so Charles shut the curtains again. He considered returning to work. Instead he yawned and decided to take a shower in the downstairs bathroom. He thought he heard something when he got under the spray, but when he listened intently, everything was silent.
Then the sound came again. Troubled now, he turned off the water and yanked a towel from the rack. Wrapping it around his waist, he opened the bathroom door and peered out. He was just about to ask if anyone was there when he heard a female voice.
“Emily? Where are you?” the voice shouted.
Charles gasped and quickly closed the door. He dressed as fast as possible, which was difficult because he was still wet. Zipping up his pants, he stepped out of the bathroom, hair dripping, and came face to face with—Santa Claus.
Both men shouted in alarm.
“Who the hell are you?” Santa cried.
“What are you doing in my house?” Charles demanded.
“Faith!” Santa shouted.
A woman rounded the corner and dashed into the hallway—then stopped dead in her tracks. Her mouth fell open.
“Who are you?” Charles shrieked.
