“Alas, I was her only grandchild, which explained her doting. I’m sure that if she’d been rich, I would have enjoyed a life of luxury. I was thinking,” he said. “When you’re not in the house, do you mind if I touch the Santa? Only when you’re not here.”
“You can take it with you, Max, you know that.”
“I have no place to take it. And he looks right jolly on your desk. But, if you don’t mind, I would like to, well, hold it. I’d like to remember my childhood, my Christmases. That Santa will aid me in that, I think.”
“You can touch it even when I’m here.” Hope grinned when she said, “As long as people won’t see a Santa floating across the window on his own.”
The ghost laughed. “No, no, I understand. Santa’s flying days are over, although there was a time when I was little, I would pretend he was sailing across the heavens bringing me gifts. I suppose every child possesses those dreams.”
“I suppose we do.”
He nodded and stood tall. “I will leave you to your task. Good day, Mrs. Herring.”
“Good day,” she answered, as he faded away.
She set the Santa back on the desk and stared at it for a moment. How could Diana have managed to possess an heirloom stolen from Maximillian? It seemed impossible … it couldn’t be Max’s Santa. Hope promised herself that she would ask Diana the next time they met. There had to be a story involved.
She went back to the laptop, back to the list of files. Which one might Algea open? Which one was filled with sorrows and lies and murder? Doug would think that way.
She picked one titled “20-15-19-19-15-23.” She wasn’t sure why she liked that file, but something inside her brain chose it. She clicked, and the file asked for the password. She typed in “Algea.”
The file opened.
Hope beamed. She was in. She had opened a file, and this one didn’t appear to be background material. She leaned back and started to read.
Tamika stands in the cold rain and listens to the preacher invoke a psalm she hasn’t heard in years. It’s been decades since she was in church, decades since she prayed. She lost faith right after the Gulf War, right after her brother died in a faraway fight for possession of some sand hills. No, not sand hills, he died for oil, which was just as stupid. Her faith died with her older brother. If God could allow such waste of human life, then He wasn’t worth her prayers. She had turned her back on church and worked her hardest to make a good life for herself. She had succeeded, in a fashion. She had graduated high school and a two-year college. She found a job with county government. She met her husband at work, and their marriage was successful—for a while. Damien was their first, followed by D’andre and Simone, her favorite. Tamika didn’t mind admitting that she favored her daughter. After Tamika’s husband left her, the boys drifted out of the house and into the hood. Easy money lured them into gangs. She told them that the gangs would kill them, but they were too young and stupid to listen. They were the lucky ones. They would make their money and start their hip-hop careers and end up in California, with all the special people. She called them “fools.” They laughed and flashed their gold and diamonds. If they were fools, why did they have so much? Tamika had argued. It had done no good.
Tamika looks to her right, where Damien sits in a wheelchair, unable to move anything from the neck down, courtesy of a bullet. Next to him stands Simone. Tamika fears that Simone is drifting away also, into the hood, into the abyss that takes everything and gives nothing. Tamika would move Simone to another state, if that were possible. It’s not.
They all face the casket, D’andre’s casket. He didn’t catch a bullet. He caught what she thought was a cold. That’s what it looked like—fever, cough, aches and pains. She had told him it would pass. Take some medicine, go to bed. The cure was as old as humanity itself. Everyone caught a bug. Everyone knew how to beat it. Only D’andre hadn’t beaten the bug. The bug had won. By the time Tamika got him to the hospital, it was already too late. They did what they could, ventilator and a concoction of drugs. No matter. The results of their efforts were right in front of Tamika, inside the casket.
Time to say a last good-bye.
The rain continues.
Hope stopped reading. For a moment, she wondered if Doug had actually written the words. He had never seemed a downbeat person, and yet, this story was as sad as any she had heard. It was the kind of tale that newspapers and magazines sometimes published, the story of a death, a needless death. But, in the end, this story wasn’t so much needless as rare. Infections were deadly, even to young men. Why had Doug chosen this young man, this family? She closed the file, but not before she wrote down the file name and password. Perhaps later, she would finish the file, but right now, it was too depressing.
She turned to the Santa Sock and smiled.
“Tis the season,” she said.
Then, she pushed back her chair and went down to the kitchen to start dinner.
“Lottie’s family is going to Hawaii for New Year’s,” Cori said over the steaming chicken soup.
“That’s nice,” Hope said, a bit subdued after reading the file.
“If they asked me to go with them, would you let me?” Cori asked.
Hope stared at her daughter. “Have they asked you?”
“Not yet.”
“You know the rules. I would have to talk to Lottie’s parents and pay your way.”
“I know, and I’m not sure they’ll ask me to go. But Lottie is an only child, like me. I think they might like for her to have someone to hang with.”
Hope understood the logic. Lottie and her parents would probably have a better time, if there was another child in the mix. Still, Hope didn’t want to see Cori leave, not during the holidays.
But if her daughter was invited, how could she say no?
“If they call,” Hope said. “I’ll talk to them about it.”
Cori grinned. “Cool.”
After dinner, Hope avoided her attic office. She found a book she was halfway through and curled up in front of the TV. She had read but a few pages when her phone chimed. She didn’t recognize the number, but as she was expecting a call from Lottie’s parents, she took the call.
“Hello,” Hope said.
“Hope, this is Clive.”
9
“Mr. Thomas,” Hope tried to keep the sound of dread out of her voice. “What can I do for you?”
“Please, call me Clive. I was just checking to make sure you got my little gift.”
“I did. It was unexpected.”
“Great, great. I’m glad you like it. Look, I heard about what Carol said to you at school. And, I think she stopped by to give you a personal apology.”
“She did. So, let’s just forget about that episode.”
“Oh, we will, we will, but I want to offer you a meal at the Culpepper House, you and your daughter. It’s on me. Call it a peace offering.”
“That is very generous of you,” Hope said. “But I’m afraid I have to say no.”
“Now, don’t make a hasty decision. Give it a day or two. Think about it.”