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Hope threw on her work blouse and trousers and tied her hair in a knot. Monday had rolled around too fast, and she couldn’t dawdle. “Melody, come here and stand still,” she said. “I’ve got to comb your hair.” Melody groused, per usual, and wriggled, but Hope won the battle. After that task was completed, she said, “Now let’s check your levels.”
“Mo-om,” Melody whined. “I’m good.”
“Let’s make sure.” Hope did her best to manage Melody’s diabetes with diet and exercise, but she still needed insulin shots.
Like a trouper, Melody allowed her mother to test and give her the required dose. When Hope was done, Melody joked, “Todd’s turn.”
“Not funny,” Todd said.
“Listen, you two.” Hope stowed the kit and tweaked the collar of Todd’s polo shirt. “School’s out for holiday vacation in a couple of days. I’m still trying to find daycare for you.”
“I’m too old for daycare,” Melody complained.
“Me, too,” Todd said.
“Wrong.” Hope ignored their protests. “It’s the law. You cannot stay here, and you’ll get super bored at the café if I bring you there and you have to sit in the kitchen alcove. Daycare it is.”
“Let’s find Daddy,” Melody said. “He could watch us.”
Find Zach. Right. As if. Hope’s insides did a flip-flop. No way. Not an option. Not a possibility, honestly. “I don’t have his address.”
“He’s in Portland,” Melody said.
“Sweetheart, I’m not sure he’s still there.” The Christmas card she’d finally sent, addressed to one of his old friends, would no doubt be returned like last year’s.
“I hate vacation,” Todd said. “I’d rather be in school.”
Melody cackled. “Weirdo.”
Hope ruffled her son’s hair. “It’ll be fun. Promise.”
After dropping the kids at school, Hope was awash with guilt. How was she going to continue to provide for them? She couldn’t even find a sitter within her means. Life was unfair and she blamed Zach, but she knew in her heart of hearts, she ought to blame herself. She hadn’t seen the signs of his weakness, of his betrayal, of his downfall. On the other hand, neither had her parents who had been her greatest advisors. They had adored Zach. To be truthful, she’d loved the first two years of their marriage. Right out of college, she’d invested in Pie in the Sky. Her parents had fronted her the seed money. Putting her marketing degree to work, she’d advertised like a pro and baked like a fiend. In that time, she must have made over five thousand pies, not to mention all the cakes, cookies, and eclairs that her customers enjoyed. When Melody came along, Hope took time off and allowed her sole assistant to manage the baking and sales. Zach, even though he was working full time at Tetra Tech, had handled the books.
And then Todd came along and things changed.
Zach changed.
Saving, my sweet daughter, her father had often said, is how you create a retirement fund. Who would have dreamed she’d have married a man who would run through everything she had without an ounce of regret? She’d never anticipated his gambling debts and his duplicity. She’d never predicted his ability to walk away without a second glance. Occasionally, Hope considered changing course and getting a job in marketing, the degree she’d earned in college. But in quaint Hope Valley? Forget about it.
“Daydreaming, Hope?” Gabe asked, catching her in a moment of reverie as she waited for an order of chocolate chip pancakes to appear.
Day-maring was more like it.
She licked her lips. “Sorry.”
“What’s going on in that creative brain of yours?” he asked.
“I’m thinking about my kids, Gabe.” She swallowed hard. “Christmas vacation is coming up and, well, if I can’t find daycare, is it okay to bring them to work? I promise they won’t get in the way.”
“Heh-heh.” Gabe grinned. “I was just going to tell you about what my niece Khloe is up to. She’s running a day camp this holiday season at the community center. She secured all the permits and has a friend on board to help. She has a head on her shoulders, that girl. She’s ready to rock and roll. Your kids should go there.”
“It’s a nice idea, and they love Khloe, but it’s probably out of my price bracket,” Hope said.
Gabe put a hand on her shoulder. “You didn’t let me finish. I’ve asked her to watch them for free. She owes me bigtime.”
“Gabe, really? Are you sure?”
“Never been surer.”
Hope was bubbling over with joy.
“Look here”—Gabe swooped an arm around her and pulled her close—“I can’t have my best waitress running off and taking a better-paying job across the street, can I?”
“Ahem! I heard that,” Zerena said, waltzing up to them. “I thought I was your best waitress. How many times have you said, ‘Zerena, you are the best,’ huh, Gabe?”
“Never.”
“Liar.”
“You’re my second best,” Gabe told Zerena, and then released Hope and chucked her chin. “Hope, here, is the best. The best of the best.”
“Uh-uh.” Zerena winked at Hope. “I am the best of the best, and don’t you forget it.”
“You are,” Hope said. “You are my idol. I worship at your feet.” She made mock-bowing motions.
Zerena let loose with a laugh. So did Gabe.
Hope grabbed the plate of pancakes with its order chit and made her way to the customer. Even from a distance, she could hear Zerena and Gabe still joshing each other.
––––––––
“Ho, ho, ho.” Steve paced his dressing room while tugging on the beard and plumping the stomach of his costume. He looked as much like Santa as the next guy, although he didn’t have enough wrinkles and he definitely didn’t have chubby enough cheeks.
Brie leaned into the room, holding the door and the jamb, her face freshly made up, the lapels of her navy suit protected by tissues. “Looking good, Santa, although I think your ho-ho-ho could use a little depth. Like so.” Lowering her voice, she crooned, “Ho-ho-ho.”
“Now you’re a critic?”
“Just getting in the spirit.” She chortled.
“How’s it on the bail-the-ex-out-of-trouble front?” Steve asked.
“I’ve hired a lawyer.”
“A wise woman.”
“Move, Brie.” Dave nudged her out of the way. “On the set in five, Waldren, and, FYI, you need more rouge.”
Steve checked his image in the mirror. He’d added enough color already.
A short while later, he was sitting in his chair on the set. Santa’s beard itched his chin, but he pushed the annoyance from his mind, and pressed onward. “The Trail Blazers were up by ten and lost it in the last two minutes,” he said with enthusiasm mixed with regret. He loved his home team. Loved them. He’d made personal connections with most of the players. “By the way, folks, the last time that happened . . .” He rattled off a bunch of statistics. The numbers sailed through his head like a mental flowchart. When he was done, he said, “And that, as we say in the biz, is all we got for tonight. The scores. The highlights. He-e-y, we’re outta here!” Steve crooned, ending with his signature sign-off.
Brie leaned toward Steve, her elbow braced on the news desk. “Hold the phone. You’re not done, Santa. Isn’t it time to remind the folks about the prize? This is the last night.”
“Whoa! I almost forgot.” Steve tapped his temple. “Santa needs a new brain.”
Or a new job, he mused morosely.
“Psst!” Dave, standing to the side by the prompter, stuck his fingers in the corners of his mouth and stretched his lips—smile.
Steve sighed. If he smiled any more broadly, his cheeks would crack. “Brie, you’re right. Ho, ho, ho, folks. You have another crack at winning the trip to Disneyland, all expenses paid.” With bravado, he pointed a finger at the imaginary audience. “Are you feeling lucky? You know the drill. Ready, get set . . . Dial the number on the screen.”
Ho, ho, holy crap, he thought. Gloria was right. He’d settled for less.
