Miracle On Christmas Eve

Jessica bent down, a burst of sympathy running through her for the motherless girl. How she wanted to just pull Sarah into her arms and fill her with cookies and hugs. But Sarah wasn’t her daughter and Jessica reminded herself to keep her distance, guard her emotions. “I can see that,” she repeated, softly, just for Sarah.

“Hey, I’m new at this.” C.J. took Jessica’s hand and dumped the ponytail holders into her palm. “Here. You do it.”

Jessica stared at the multicolored elastics with their jaunty rainbow of balls. He expected her to just know how to do this? “What about LuAnn?”

“She had an appointment. And Sarah has a birthday party to get to.”

Jessica thought a second. “Cassidy Rendell’s seventh birthday, am I right?”

“Yeah,” Sarah said, surprise arching her brows. “How’d you know?” Her expression perked up when Bandit wriggled his body between them and inserted a friendly doggy nose against her hip.

Jessica put a finger beside her nose, the familiar gesture she and Dennis had used to imply a Santa-only secret. Only she wasn’t playing Mrs. Claus this year. So she couldn’t very well pretend she had any secrets or magic. She lowered her hand and tried to ignore the whisper of wistfulness that ran through her. “Mrs. Klein and Tammy were in the store yesterday, talking about it,” she said, naming one of the other first-graders in Sarah and Cassidy’s class.

“Did they buy her a doctor Barbie? ’Cuz that’s what I got her and I told Cassidy nobody else better bring one, ’cuz I want my present to be the most special one.”

“No, they didn’t. I think your gift—” she gestured toward the badly taped and wrapped box, then looked at C.J., who gave her another what-do-I-know, hands-up gesture “—is going to be perfect.”

Sarah beamed and gave Bandit extra pats.

“I told Sarah you’d know how to do her hair. Tie her bow. That kind of girl stuff.”

“Because I’m a girl, is that it? I must come prewired to do all this?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

She grabbed his palm and put the ponytails back into his grasp. “I hate to disappoint you, Mr. Hamilton, but my personal rеsumе doesn’t include small children.”

“But you’re ah, you know, her,” C.J. said, the implied meaning, that Santa’s wife should know all things child related. “You own a toy store. You work with small children every day.”

“That doesn’t mean I know how to—” She cut off her words when she noticed Sarah watching the entire exchange. “I thought someone said something about not wanting any help?”

“I didn’t know that meant being Bill Blass and Vidal Sassoon at the same time.” He gestured to Sarah’s mess of a bow and unkempt hair. “Will you please help me?”

She should say no. Be firm with C. J. Hamilton, wish him well and get back to—

To what? She had nothing to occupy her evening. She could go back to the toy shop, put in a few more hours, but she had a capable staff running the operation—a staff that would be surprised to see the boss back right after she’d left for the day.

There was no one waiting for her in the kitchen, no one expecting a dinner, a conversation by the fireplace. Nothing but an empty house, a dog whose affections were easily swayed and a packed suitcase.

And here was a child, a motherless child, who needed help.

Jessica bent down to Sarah’s level. The little girl’s face was tearstained, her eyes red rimmed. Whatever temper tantrums Sarah might have pitched in the toy store before were forgotten, as Jessica’s heart opened up to this near-orphaned girl who just wanted to get to a party, see her friends and pretend her upside-down life was normal.

That Jessica could understand. And was powerless to close her door against. “Why don’t you come in,” she said, to Sarah and then to C.J. “And we’ll see what we can do about getting you ready for Cassidy’s party.”

Fifteen minutes later, Jessica had managed to corral Sarah’s curly locks into two neat ponytails, then straighten the bow on her dress. “Thank you,” Sarah said, spinning on the kitchen floor, admiring what she could see of her sash from over her shoulder. “I was starting to get a little worried, there.”

“You were?” Jessica said, biting back laughter at the nearly adult tone in Sarah’s voice. “Why?”

Sarah paused in her twirling and leaned to whisper in Jessica’s ear. “Because he—” at that, she thumbed toward C.J. “—doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

Jessica bit back another laugh, and saw C.J. doing the same. “I think he’ll figure it out as you two go along, don’t you?”

Sarah shrugged. “Maybe.” She grabbed her present off the table and clutched it to her chest, like a shield, as if she was trying to keep her distance. To keep from warming up to this stranger who was her father. “Can I go to my party now?”

“Sure, sure,” C.J. said. “Cassidy’s house, right?” He fished his keys out of his pocket but stayed where he was in the kitchen, another lost, blank look on his face.

A second wave of sympathy ran through Jessica. At this rate, she’d be writing greeting cards for the man. She needed to quit being such a softie. “Do you know where Cassidy lives?”

“I didn’t think to ask,” C.J. said. “I guess I thought…”

“A six-year-old could give you directions?”

“I know where Cassidy lives,” Sarah put in. “She’s got a big green house and a small blue car and she has a flag in her yard. And a dog named Boo and a cat named Wink. And her street is really pretty, and it has this big yellow house next door that looks kinda scary but isn’t ’cuz I trick-or-treated there one time and the lady was nice and gave me a Snickers. A big one, too. Not those baby candies.”