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Hope had stewed all day about how she was going to break the news to her kids regarding the prize, the cost to repair the van—all of it—so she’d waited until they’d hooked up at the trailer park and were eating a snack of cinnamon cream cheese on celery sticks before laying it out. She did it quickly. In two sentences. Short and not so sweet.
“That’s not fair!” Melody shouted. “How could you? You said yes to Steve and took it back again? It’s free!”
“Sweetheart, the van—”
“Works!” Melody shot out a hand. “It works.”
“It wiped out our savings.”
Melody blew out a dismissive breath.
“Also, think about it, sweetie. The reporters. They would tell our story.”
“You said to be proud of our life.” Melody pounded the air with her fist. “To hold our heads up no matter what.”
“True.” Hope had said that, and she’d meant it, but this was different.
“Well, I’m holding mine up now.” Melody jutted her chin high into the air. “Change your mind.”
Hope bit back a smile. Her daughter would make a good debater one day, but this battle Hope couldn’t lose. “Stop, Melody. The discussion is over.”
Melody wailed. “You’re cruel, Mom. Mean and cruel, and it’s so not fair.”
Todd put an arm around his sister’s shoulders and murmured, “Not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair,” Hope said, a knee-jerk response, but she couldn’t take the words back.
“Daddy would say yes,” Melody said.
Before Hope could respond, Melody wrenched free of her brother and burst out of the van.
Todd slumped into his bean bag and opened one of his comic books. His lower lip was quivering, but he didn’t cry.
An hour later, Melody slogged in and flopped into her corner. As clandestinely as possible, she wiped tears off her cheeks.
After the dinner dishes were cleared, Hope set out a plate of sugar-free cookies and two glasses of milk. “Doesn’t our tree look nice? The little guy is quite merry, don’t you think?” The tree lights’ battery pack was doing its job.
Melody grunted.
“And I love the stocking we bought you at the bazaar, Melody,” Hope added. “Santa will definitely be eager to put something in it. Yours, too, Todd.”
“Mine’s old.” He scrunched his nose like Hope was wont to do.
“Santa doesn’t judge a stocking by its age,” she said. “Besides, your nana knitted it just for you. It’s unique.” Hope had hung them on the backs of the driver’s and passenger’s seats.
“What does it matter? Santa won’t stop here,” Melody groused.
“Sure he will,” Hope said. In addition to the extra book for Melody and graphic novel for Todd that she’d already purchased, she had found each of them something special at a rummage sale and had decided that this season Santa would be a cash-and-carry guy. She would put ten dollars in each of their stockings and let the kids use the money any way they wanted, as long as it wasn’t on candy. Not even sugar-free candy.
“I like the baseball card we bought at the bazaar,” Todd exclaimed. “Thank you.” He gave his mother a hug.
Hope tamped down the bittersweet sorrow welling within her. Who would have thought her littlest would be the bravest?
“Let’s sing Christmas carols.” She’d tabled the idea of breaking out the party poppers. Those would not be welcome at this point. She clicked the music app on her cell phone and pressed the icon for the holiday music list. She selected a rousing version of “Jingle Bell Rock” and clapped in rhythm.
Todd tried to be enthusiastic, but Melody had returned to her corner and was sulking.
When the song finished, Hope sat on the floor near Melody and stroked her shoulder. “Sweetheart, why don’t we find a few things we can be thankful for?”
“Like my comic books,” Todd said.
“And the Christmas play that you were brilliant in,” Hope cooed to Melody.
“And Santa,” Todd cried.
Melody whisked her hair off her face and stared daggers at her brother. “Santa isn’t real.”
“Melody!” Hope said. “Apologize to Todd.”
“Santa is a figment of your imagination. He’s—”
“Stop.” Hope slapped the floor of the camper. Hard. “Todd, your sister is wrong.”
“I want Daddy.” Crocodile tears pooled in Melody’s eyes. “I hate you. Hate you!”
Hope felt as if a knife had been plunged into her heart. She tried to kiss her daughter but Melody wanted none of it. Shakily, the girl tried to rise to her feet. She stumbled.
“Melody!” Hope clutched her. “Sit. I have to check your blood sugar.”
A half hour later, when Melody was stable and calm, Hope tucked the children into their sleep sacks and read a story by flashlight.
When her children were gently snoring, Hope moved into the driver’s seat, switched on the radio—Mr. Q was reading “The Night Before Christmas”—and she opened her ledger to review income and outgo. After a long moment, she sighed, relieved. Even after insurance payments and filling prescriptions and the impulse purchases at the bazaar and the small gift for Khloe at the Christmas Attic, because the sweet young woman had refused payment, she would have enough for two week’s groceries.
Her cell phone pinged. She glanced at the incoming text message. From Steve Waldren. Sorry. I was an idiot for putting you and your kids front and center.
She smiled. At least she and he could finally agree on something.
And then she wept.
