Declan, er…Santa just smiles.
“But, um, I’ll ask anyway.” He goes still, his face falling. I swallow, my mouth dry, and all the ambient sounds of the mall fade to a series of whispers, like time slows down.
“I don’t need any of those video games or systems or points. I don’t even need the robot. What I really want is my dad.”
Tears prick at my eyes, and Carol’s hand floats to her mouth, trembling.
“Can you tell the real Santa I just want my dad for Christmas? Or, maybe”—Jeffrey’s eyebrows connect in concentration—“maybe if he’s too busy, like Mom says, maybe just a dad?”
Declan’s eyes register so many emotions—surprise, anger, compassion, confusion, befuddlement—but he manages to stay composed as Mom, Amy, Dad, and I try to secretly wipe tears away. Dad’s spare hand is in a fist, the other one still taping the scene. He’s angry not at Jeffrey (of course), but at Todd, my older sister’s ex-husband who took off and who hasn’t seen his sons in far too long.
Casting his eyes about, Declan catches mine and I shrug in solidarity. I don’t know what to say, either. Whatever Declan says is fine, because no one can do the right thing here.
Other than Jeffrey and Tyler’s father, and he isn’t exactly in the running to provide a Christmas miracle.
“Tell you what, buddy,” Declan says quietly. Carol is furiously wiping tears away and turns her back on the scene. Mom’s standing there, sniffling. Amy is looking at me, our exchange one that doesn’t need words.
“What?” Jeffrey says, eyes down. A rumble of dog sounds builds around us as big dogs and little dogs, hairy dogs and shaved dogs, all line up for their chance at Santa.
“I’ll tell Santa what you want, just like you asked me to.”
“You will?” Jeffrey’s eyes light up, his face completely changing to one of pure joy. “Do you think he’ll help bring my dad home?”
Declan widens his eyes, the fake white eyebrows covering for a multitude of emotions no eight-year-old could understand. Hell, the twenty-nine-year-old man in the costume is clearly struggling to comprehend.
“Um, well, Jeffrey, I don’t know. Santa isn’t all-powerful, but I know—I know—he’ll try.”
Jeffrey nods somberly. “Okay.”
“But I know something else.”
“What?”
“Even if your dad doesn’t come for Christmas, I can’t be a dad for you, but I can be an uncle.”
Chapter Seven
Mom gasps and shoots her eyes my way. I drop the candy cane in my hand. Everyone stops breathing. Declan’s eyes are only on Jeffrey, whose head is bent so close their foreheads are touching.
“Uncleth are great! I’ve never had one before! My dad only has sisterth. Mom only has sisterth. I have a ton of aunts so I don’t need any more, but an uncle is wicked cool!” His lisp comes out when he’s excited.
Declan envelops Jeffrey in an enormous bear hug. His eyes are glistening with undropped tears as he says to the boy, “Be good for your mother, and nice to your brother.”
Jeffrey whispers something in Declan’s ear. It makes them both smile, and Declan says, “You bet.”
And then my little nephew scampers off, leaving the rest of us with shattered hearts. Declan looks at me and winks, then addresses the crowd.
“Ho, ho, ho, merry Christmas,” Declan bellows as he sees the crowd of dog owners lined up. If we weren’t so crushed for time I’d try to talk to him—
Uncle?
—but we can’t. The new Santa is coming in fifteen minutes, but we have to do this last bit.
Mommy Masochist comes running over with a yappy Bichon Frisé in her hands, perfectly white (of course), uncreased, and wearing green and red bows.
Dad drops Chuckles to the floor and I realize the poor cat is on a leash. No wonder he’s plotting more violent deaths for us.
“I reserved my time for my family picture with our dog, Mr. Puffinschmitz Snowfighter III at exactly 4:55 p.m., which is in exactly one minute, and I expect—”
“Is she wearing ankle laces?” Dad asks under his breath, just as—
“AAAAIIYYYYYYYY,” Mommy Masochist screams as Chuckles pees all over one ankle. She kicks Chuckles across the room, where he lands right in Santa’s lap. Declan shouts and Chuckles hisses, back arched to the full in a complete and utter feline imitation of Mommy Masochist, who is screaming in a pitch made only by dog whistles.
Two giant German Shepherds break free from their owners and descend on Chuckles and Declan, one of the dogs encasing the cat’s head entirely with its mouth, though Chuckles maneuvers just so, leaving the dog with a mouth full of antlers, clinging to Declan’s lap.
“Off! Down! Ho ho ho!” Declan shouts. Chuckles sprints to a giant water fountain and springs into the air, landing with a furtive grace on the very edge of the top marble tier of a five-layer water cascade. He pauses to lick a paw as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Chuckles!” Mom screams, racing to the fountain. “Get down!”
SPLASH! A Great Pyr jumps into the fountain, followed by a rush of dogs that resembles something out of 101 Dalmatians. A gaggle of Segway-powered mall cops appears, blowing whistles and accomplishing absolutely nothing as Amy, Dad, Carol, Jeffrey, Tyler, me, and Declan all run to the fountain to try to do, well, something.
Tyler crawls into the fountain and shouts “Wa-duh! Wa-duh! Da dog is in da wa-duh!”, splashing with glee.
Carol stares in surprise. “That’s a new sentence!”