Luka and Leah are seated at a table across the restaurant. I arrive a bit early, at Noah’s behest, to go over the game plan. He developed a list of signals—much like a third base coach in baseball—so that Leah and I could communicate on the QT should I need help, run into any trouble, wish to end the date abruptly, or continue it should Jamie be the cap that fits my Santa noggin.
Leave it to Noah, however, to go old-school with his signs.
If I tug on my ear, like comedian Carol Burnett used to do at the end of her monologue, it means I need Leah to come over to my table immediately and intervene.
If I break into a fit of faux giggles—like Mary Tyler Moore did during the funeral for Chuckles the Clown—and excuse myself to go to the bathroom, I need to talk to Leah in private.
If I pull a Lucille Ball and start performing kooky physical pantomime—a headache or stomach cramp—Leah will appear out of the blue, say she’s a friend and offer to take me home.
And if I act all flirty—touching my hair or fluttering my hand over my heart à la Sarah Jessica Parker—then I’m good to go.
The problem is—despite all of this planning—the restaurant is very dim. I know it’s supposed to be romantic, but I realize once I’m seated that I can barely even see Luka and Leah across the room. They’re mere shadows.
And they say love is blind.
Thank you, night blindness at forty!
I am seated at an intimate table for two facing the entrance.
At promptly 7 p.m., a shadow enters the restaurant. I watch as a body comes into view. It’s a good body. A really good body. With a good face. Hallmark handsome. He’s better than I imagined. Way better. And way better out of a Santa suit.
The hostess greets him, and he walks directly toward me.
Breathe, Susan.
“Susan?”
I stand.
“Yes.”
“I’m Jamie Martin. It’s so nice to meet you.” He smiles. “Again.”
He is holding a dozen roses.
First box is checked. He’s a sweet romantic.
“These are for you. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
My face flushes.
“These are lovely,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Would you like me to hold these for you until dinner is over?” the hostess asks. “It’s an intimate table.”
“Yes, thank you,” I say.
“I didn’t know whether to bring you chocolates or flowers,” Jamie says. “I thought since you were such a big runner, you’d prefer roses over sugar.”
“Thank you,” I say, “but that’s why I run. So I can sweat out all the M&M’s and See’s chocolates I eat when I’m stressed.”
He laughs. It’s a good laugh, a real one from the gut, not a fake one to please me.
“That’s why I run, too,” he says.
My heart lifts. A mutual interest.
“How was your drive from Chicago?” I ask.
“Remarkably uneventful,” he says. “You know how traffic can be leaving the city.”
“Where are you staying tonight?” I ask. “You’re not driving all the way back are you?”
“No,” he says. “Holly suggested the Perry.”
“She thinks of everything, doesn’t she?” I say. “And so do you. This is my favorite restaurant.”
The waiter approaches and tells us about the prix fixe menu for the evening. Jamie orders two glasses of champagne. When the waiter departs, there is silence.
“This isn’t awkward at all, is it?” he asks.
This time, I laugh, and much of my tension seems to be released into the air.
Across the restaurant, I can see Leah stand.
Oh, no. She must have thought I was pulling either a Lucy or a Mary Tyler Moore.
I gesture wildly with my hands as Leah begins to move.
She stops and stares at me.
I’m sure, in this lighting, she can’t tell if I’m doing a jig or hailing a cab.
Thanks, Noah.
“Are you okay?” Jamie asks.
Leah sits again. I breathe.
“Oh, me? Yes,” I say. “I thought I saw someone I knew. Couldn’t tell because it’s so dark in here.” I reach for my cell. “Do you mind if I use my flashlight? I can’t even read the menu.”
Jamie smiles. “Thank goodness. I was just going to order the special and call it a night.”
I turn on my flashlight, which I do not have trained on my menu. The light illuminates Jamie’s face momentarily, and his blue eyes—the color of a snow sky—shine.
My heart races.
He is very handsome.
Hallmark handsome, I can hear Holly say in my head. Down to the perfect cleft in his chin. He is wearing a red turtleneck and dark jacket with dark jeans. His hair looks freshly gelled, and I picture him hurriedly getting ready after driving all afternoon.
The waiter brings our champagne, and Jamie lifts his glass.
“To taking a risk,” he says.
I clink his glass and take a sip of my champagne.
“This is sort of like To Tell the Truth,” I say. “The new and old version.”
He nods. “Actually, this is sort of like To Tell the Truth meets The Masked Singer.”
I laugh. “Even better.”
We chitchat for a few minutes and order our dinner.
“You know an awful lot about me from Holly and all the media I would guess,” I eventually say. “My life, my career, my dating life, my secrets...” I laugh.
He nods. “I do.”
“So, tell me a little about yourself.”
Jamie ducks his head. “Well, probably the best place to start—which will explain so much about me and why I’m here—is where I was born and raised.”
“Where was that?” I ask.
“Santa Claus, Indiana.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“I am not,” he says. “My great-grandfather was known as the Santa of Santa Claus, Indiana, as he was the postmaster famed for writing letters, at his own expense, to children who mailed their Christmas lists to the town, believing Santa lived there. The town really became famous when Robert Ripley of Believe It or Not featured the town’s post office and my great-grandfather. After that, mail and tourists blanketed the town.”
My eyes are wide. “We have so much in common,” I say, and tell him about Captain Santa. “Tell me more. Can you tell I’m riveted?”
“The size of your eyes was a giveaway.” Jamie grins. “Well, according to local legend, the founders originally wanted to name the town Santa Fe, but it was already taken, so on a cold Christmas Eve night, the townsfolk gathered in a small, log church to discuss a name, but there was no consensus.”
The door of the restaurant opens, and a cold gust of wind dashes inside. Jamie smiles and continues.
“Well, that was perfect timing because that’s just what happened in the church that night. A sudden gust of wind blew the door open, and the sound of sleigh bells echoed in the cold. Children ran to the door and shouted, ‘Santa Claus!’ The decision was made that night,” Jamie says.
I think of my poem, of hearing bells when I meet my Kringle.
Jamie goes on. “It took off from there. The world’s first themed attraction, Santa’s Candy Castle—sponsored by the inventors of Baby Ruth and Butterfinger candy bars—was dedicated in 1935.”
“Now you’re talking,” I say.
“And the same year, a twenty-two-foot Santa Claus statue—which is dedicated to the children of the world—and the Santa Claus Park, which is now the location of the Santa Claus Museum & Village, were built,” he says. “A decade later, Santa Claus Land, the first themed amusement park in the world, opened. Today, the town is home to many Christmas-themed businesses and attractions, and people flock to town for the Santa Claus Christmas Celebration the first three weekends in December. The town stays busy in the summer, too, when families can go horseback riding at Santa’s Stables or take in a movie at the Holiday Drive-In.”
“Do you get paid to advertise for the town?” I laugh.
“I’m actually on the town’s chamber of commerce,” he admits.
“And you know I have to ask this question,” I start.
“Did I ever dress as Santa?” Jamie asks. “Besides at the Santa Run?”
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s kind of important.”
“In high school, as a descendant of the famed postmaster, I sat in the post office in a Santa cap and personally wrote letters from Santa to children all over the world,” Jamie says. “I’d stamp all the letters with the postmark, ‘Merry Christmas! From Santa Claus, Indiana!’” Jamie looks directly into my eyes. “It’s kind of important to me, too.”
My heart is racing.
“But I think the biggest thing I want you to know about me is that I was talking to a woman dressed as Mrs. Claus at the Santa Run, and I felt an instant connection,” Jamie says. “I hit on her with a terrible pickup line, and then—because I’m such a big reader—we talked about the history of Mrs. Claus. I asked her to meet me at O’Malley’s, but I never made it because I had a work emergency.”
Now my heart is racing even faster. I mean, roller-skating to the Backstreet Boys fast.
Jamie explains, “The Dow futures had the market poised for a massive sell-off on Monday, and I had a number of clients frothing at the mouth to make changes to their portfolio the moment the market opened, so I had to go to work. I called the bar, but it was chaos.”
“It was,” I say.
“I never knew if you got the message.”
“I think I finally did,” I say.
He smiles and lifts his glass.
Our dinners come, and we talk like old friends about our favorite books, Chicago, running, the holidays and our families.
“Have you ever been married?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I’ve been so focused on my career that I’ve never slowed down.” Jamie places his fork on his plate. “I’m happy, and I’m content. I say that, and I feel like I’m convincing myself—and everyone around me—to believe it, but it’s true. It’s just that I don’t want to wake up one day and be all alone. My life is full, but my heart is empty.” Jamie hesitates. “If that makes a lick of sense.”
His words hit me like a copy of The Goldfinch dropped from the roof.
“I feel much the same way,” I say. “Thank you for being so open. That’s often not been my strong suit.”
“The Queen of Hearts often doesn’t wear her heart on her puffy sleeve,” Jamie says.
I duck my head and laugh.
“So true,” I say. “Unless, of course, you’re Holly.”
For dessert, Jamie orders a slice of red velvet cake—topped with the thickest, richest cream cheese icing—and we share it.
I don’t realize how long we’ve been chatting until I look around and notice that the restaurant is nearly empty, and Luka and Leah are approaching our table.
“Oh, my gosh, what are you two doing here?”
Leah has to stifle a laugh at my dramatic overreaction.
“Just finishing a beautiful dinner. What a lovely surprise to see you, Susan.”
Luka looks as if he’s just been handed the envelope at the Oscars announcing Best Actress, and he’s deciding which performance should win.
“Jamie, this is Leah, she works with me at Sleigh By the Bay, and this is Luka,” I say. “Her date.”
Jamie stands and shakes their hands.
“You look so familiar,” Jamie says to Luka.
“I get that a lot,” Luka says.
As Jamie sits, Luka gives Leah and me a wink. I’m floored by how humble he is.
“Well,” Leah says. “We’ll let you two enjoy the rest of your dinner. It was so nice to meet you, Jamie.”
“You, too,” he says.
Before she heads out the door, Leah turns and gives me a big, corny thumbs-up. She mouths, He’s so cute!
They exit, and another cold gust of wind scurries by.
Finally, when we are the last two in the restaurant, and the staff is wiping down tables and giving us the eye, we stand to leave. I retrieve my coat and roses on the way out of the restaurant, we head up the alley toward the street and stand in the bitter cold. It is a crystal clear night, the kind where the stars are so bright in the winter sky you can almost feel your soul crack like the branches on the frozen trees.
“My dad always said a February night this clear portended a big storm.”
“We’ve had enough snow already, thank you very much,” I say.
We both shift on our feet.
This is always what it comes down to on a first date. When you finally stop talking, and your subconscious begins to broadcast its own talk show.
Who will make the first move?
Will there be a first move?
Does he want to kiss me?
Does my breath smell like scallop risotto?
“Well,” I start.
“I had a really wonderful evening,” Jamie says. “I know this isn’t a typical first date, but I’m kind of proud of that.”
“Me, too.”
In the cold, his eyes seem to twinkle even more.
I look into them and think of what my grandmother said.
I see kindness.
Jamie leans in, as if he’s moving in slow motion, and kisses me. At first, it is tenuous and soft, but I lean into him, and it grows in intensity, until I can feel my knees wobble. When we begin to pull back from one another, I realize we are stuck.
Literally.
We both look down at the same time to try and identify the issue, and we bang our heads.
“Ouch,” we say at the same time.
It’s then I see that my mother’s angel pin I fastened to the lapel of my coat is hooked to a button on his coat. I’d been so enraptured in Jamie that I’d forgotten about my final clue. I use my fingers to loosen the pin and set us free.
“Talk about this not being a typical first date,” I say.
He laughs. “What is that?”
I show him the pin.
“It’s pretty,” he says. “Where did you get it?”
It’s as if the entire world has collapsed around me, and I am standing alone in the middle of the universe.
“Remember?” I ask, hoping against hope.
“I’ve never seen it before,” he says, his brows raised, giving me a quizzical look.
I can almost feel my heart freeze standing here in the cold. I can almost visualize the beautiful petals on the red roses turning black and curling.
It’s not him. It’s not the guy I met at the race. How could that be?
“Oh, right,” I say. Unflappable Susan. “Duh. What was I thinking? It was my mother’s,” I say, “the one she wore on her Mrs. Claus costume every year.”
“Oh, that is so sweet,” Jamie says.
His words come out in a muffled voice that sounds exactly like Charlie Brown’s teacher.
“Can I call you?” Jamie asks.
“Yes,” I say, although my voice sounds hollow to me. “That would be nice.”
“I’ll go through you this time instead of Holly, if that’s okay.”
I smile.
“Preferable actually.”
“Thank you, Susan. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend Valentine’s Day, and I can’t wait until the next time. Have a wonderful week.”
“Have a safe drive tomorrow. And thank you, Jamie.”
“I’ll text you.”
He turns and walks toward the Perry, his body slowly disappearing into the shadows.
I scurry to my car to escape the cold and my thoughts, but I cannot drive home just yet. I don’t want to be alone, and I don’t want to deal with the endless texts from Holly, Leah, Noah and my grandparents that are waiting to be read.
I drive instead to a parking lot by the bay. I shut off my lights. Before me, the bay glows.
I know the crucifix is shimmering below the icy surface.
Maybe Jamie isn’t the man I met at the Santa Run, but that’s okay, right? Maybe he’s the right one, just in a different cap. Maybe that man at the race led me to meet him.
I think of how my parents and grandparents met.
Totally random.
This fits the bill.
My window begins to fog up. I crack the window and listen.
I smile to myself.
In Northern Michigan, when it is completely still and you are all alone, you can hear the ice sing. It is a combination of the cold, the wind, the freezing and unfreezing, and the ice’s constant movement and shifting.
My grampa says it’s the voice of our ancestors trying to speak to us.
My grandma contends it’s the voice of God.
For the longest time, the sound haunted me, reminding me of what I’d lost rather than what I had. And though the bay still sings the same song, it sounds different to me the older I get and the more time passes.
It’s more comforting now than haunting.
I can hear the ice sing to me. I can even make out the lyrics.
Even in the depths of our own grief, there is always hope to light the dark days of winter.
I shut my eyes.
Believe, Susan, the bay calls. Believe.