We Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

He smiled, proving what Jaclyn had suspected all along. He was enjoying this. This was the moment he’d been waiting for ever since the last time she’d rebuffed him when he’d tried to talk her into coming over to his place after work.

“Actually, I can,” he said, rocking back and steepling his fingers. “I’m the boss, in case you’ve forgotten. And the complaint I just received requires serious action.”

“Serious action?” Jaclyn echoed weakly. “I’ve been a model employee ever since I started almost a year ago.”

“A model employee doesn’t threaten patrons.”

“You know I didn’t threaten anyone. And neither did—”

He held up a hand for her to stop. “A model employee shows up for all her shifts.”

“I’ve never left you hanging—”

“It’s all right here.” He tapped her personnel file. “On August fourth, you didn’t appear for work—”

“I had strep throat, and I called you—”

“You weren’t here, that’s what matters, and you received a written warning. On October tenth, you were late for work. A second written warning. On December ninth, your last and final no show—”

“And my third warning,” Jaclyn finished. “But I couldn’t come in that day. My baby was sick, and I couldn’t get anyone to cover for me.”

“Because you gave them no notice.”

“The chicken pox gave me no notice! What did you expect me to do?”

“There’s always some excuse,” he said with a theatrical sigh. “But I have a restaurant to run here. I need waitresses who are dependable.”

Jaclyn knew few waitresses were as dependable as she was. She’d missed a few days when Alyssa had the chicken pox, and she’d been late once when the bus had broken down and hadn’t come to pick up Mackenzie and Alex for school. But she never called in sick unless it was a real emergency. She had a stack of customer commendations, and she was just about the only one who took the side work—filling salt and pepper shakers and ketchup bottles, scrubbing down tables and cleaning the kitchen—seriously.

Drawing an unsteady breath, she clung tenaciously to her temper. Even with Cole’s fifty bucks, she needed the money she’d planned to make this week. She couldn’t let Rudy, and his vindictiveness, cost her that.

“Come on, Rudy,” she said. “That guy today was just trying to get a free dinner. I didn’t keep him waiting more than five minutes.”

“It was enough to make him and his wife miss their movie.”

“So he says. Give me a break. It’s only five-thirty now.”

“He says he’ll never eat here again!”

Jaclyn moved closer, but the smell of old sweat pressed her back. Rudy’s office had no windows. It was more of a pantry, really. Small and close, with loaves of bread and other packaged items lining shelves that wouldn’t allow the door to shut, it reeked of him. He was the kind of man with stains under the arms of every shirt.

“Then Joanna’s is better off for it,” she replied. “I wouldn’t put it past that guy to plant a fly in his food.”

“If he was so bad, why didn’t you come get me?”

Because of this, Jaclyn wanted to say. Because I need my job too badly to give you any reason to take it away from me.

Aware of the cooks barking back and forth, the burgers sizzling on the grill, and the constant tramp of feet just outside, Jaclyn lowered her voice. “You’ve been out to punish me for a long time now, Rudy. This has nothing to do with the quality of my work, does it. What is it you’re trying to prove?”

He laughed derisively. “That’s pathetic, Jaclyn. I don’t need your tight little ass running around this place. Now get your things and go.”

For a moment, the kitchen clatter outside faded away, and Jaclyn heard only the beating of her heart. Its quiet tattoo seemed to echo the words: Alex, Mackenzie, Alyssa. As much as she hated to lower her pride any further, especially for a man like Rudy, she thought of all the things her children would need, and knew she had no choice.

“Please,” she whispered. “You know I have kids who are depending on me. At least let me work out the week.”

He snapped her file shut and hefted himself to his feet. “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said. “Now, if you’ll go, I have to get back on the floor.”

DAMN HIM, Jaclyn thought. She’d run into Cole Perrini for the first time in ten years, and he’d gotten her fired. Just like that.

Her eyes blurred as she scanned the want ads, and she paused briefly to wipe away two stubborn tears that rolled, one at a time, down her cheeks. As soon as she’d left Joanna’s, she’d stopped by a convenience store to buy a newspaper. The checker had stared at her red, swollen eyes, causing her to chafe under the unwanted scrutiny, but it hadn’t taken long to plunk down a buck seventy-five, grab a newspaper and a cola, and hurry away. Now she sat at her scarred wooden dining table, the sun fading to dusk outside, feeling the emptiness of her small house surrounding her like a shroud, and was both grateful for the privacy and terribly lonely.

Things’ll get better, she told herself. It’s only been a year. But it was hard to have much faith in finding a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow, when everything she saw in the paper either paid too little or asked too much. Computer experience required. Medical experience required. Bachelor’s degree required. Technical skills a plus…

Her chair raked the linoleum as she rose to stare into the refrigerator. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but with the children gone, there seemed little point in preparing a home-cooked meal. Retrieving a package of instant noodle soup from the cupboard, she set some water on the stove to boil, went to the bathroom to blow her nose, and returned to the kitchen table to resume her job search.

She’d never get ahead working as a waitress, she thought. She had to find something else, something with a future.

What about becoming a secretary? Though she was probably a little rusty, she’d taken typing in high school, and she still had some nice clothes left over from her married years. Office hours would be ideal, especially during the winter when the children were in school.

Problem was, most of the secretarial positions she saw required computer experience. She barely knew how to turn on a computer, let alone run Quickbooks or Excel or Microsoft Word or any of the other programs she saw listed so frequently. Some companies demanded previous experience, as well, and she doubted having changed a million dirty diapers would qualify her.

At last, Jaclyn saw an ad that made her pause:

Wanted: receptionist. Phones, light typing. $9/hr. No benefits.

No benefits? Well, she didn’t have benefits now. Quickly, she did the math. If she worked forty hours per week, she’d make $1,440 a month before taxes. Rent was $850. Her car payment was $350. Car insurance, $100. Health insurance, $340, utilities $180, and the list went on. Even with Terry’s $750 in child support, she’d be in the red before she bought any gas or groceries or clothes for the kids—she still had the credit-card bills she’d rung up while they were married that the court had ordered her to pay.

The pressure of tears began to build behind her eyes again, causing a headache. Dammit! What now? She’d have to go back to waiting tables. She had no choice. She could have augmented what she made as a waitress giving piano lessons, but she didn’t have a piano. Terry had kept her baby grand, along with almost everything else, when they divorced.

The telephone rang, and Jaclyn looked at it with no intention of answering. But then she thought it might be the kids, that they might need her, and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Jackie?”

Terry. Jaclyn’s stomach tensed, the way it did whenever she heard her ex-husband’s voice. Their conversations were never very pleasant.

“Is something wrong with the kids?” she asked.

“No. I thought you’d be at work. I was just going to leave a message for you to call me.”

“What for?”

“Alex says you returned the Nikes I bought him when he was here last and got him some cheaper shoes.”

The accusation in Terry’s voice was unmistakable. Jaclyn closed her eyes and shook her head. She wasn’t in the mood to fight about the shoes. She’d just lost her job, and Terry’s biggest concern was making sure Alex had brand-name sneakers.

“I did,” she admitted.