I lay out the paper for Rita, just as I’ve done every Monday for decades.
I fold the paper open to the obits. I run my finger over a photo.
She enters the bookstore and takes her usual seat by the fireplace.
It is a frigid February day, and I can hear the trees crack in the cold before the door shuts.
“Susan?”
I walk over to Rita.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Are you?”
Rita shrugs off her coat and then lifts the paper to her face.
“Goodbye, Jordan,” she says to his picture.
Jordan passed away two weeks ago.
“We had our goodbyes, didn’t we?” I ask Rita.
She nods.
“Let me know which funerals you’ll be attending this week,” I say. “I can pull some books for you.”
I leave her to her paper and start to walk away.
“Susan?”
I turn back. “Is something wrong?”
“Actually, I’m thinking of starting a new tradition.”
My eyes grow wide. “You? Really?”
She laughs. “Change is good,” Rita says. “You taught me that.”
“What’s your new tradition?”
“I think I’ll be coming every Friday now.” She glances at me, and her eyes twinkle. “To see the wedding announcements.”
I smile. “I love that idea.”
“I can still buy them books, but in a totally new way, right?”
“Right.”
“And when do you think I might see your announcement in the local paper?”
“Don’t rush things,” I say with a laugh.
“Your grandparents and I want to attend your wedding,” she says. “We’re not getting any younger.”
“You’re not that old, Rita.”
“If I were milk, you’d sniff me.”
I laugh, hard. “I promise that you will see me get married,” I say. “This Santa was truly meant to be.” I look at her. “I know I’ve already said it a million times, but thank you for reaching out to Kyle. You made this happen.”
“No, you made this happen.”
I lean down and hug her. When I start to let go, she holds on a few seconds longer.
“You better start thinking of a book, though,” I say. “For yourself.”
“Why?” she asks.
“You’ll be doing a reading at the wedding.”
Rita puts her hand on her heart. “Thank you.”
“Speaking of which, I’m meeting Kyle for lunch and a special errand.”
“Sounds intriguing.”
“I’ll see you...” I stop and smile. “Friday.”
“Yes, Friday!”
I grab my coat and head out the door. My car struggles to turn over, the engine cursing the cold, and I drive to the park by the bay. Kyle is waiting for me on the pier.
I grab the picture frame from the passenger seat and scoot through the snow to meet him. He kisses me.
“Your lips are cold,” I say.
“You think? Better warm them up again.”
He kisses me, and I melt.
“Thank you for doing this,” I say. “I’m glad you had a day off.”
“Thank you for asking,” he says. “It’s an honor. I adored your parents.”
We head out onto the frozen bay and stop in front of a hole cut in the ice. Light glows underwater on this dim day. I can see the crucifix below.
I kneel down onto the ice.
“I met my Santa,” I say to the bay. “He was right there all along. Just like you said. You raised me to believe in fairy tales. You taught me to believe in Santa. I was raised on hope and Christmas miracles. Thank you.”
I open the frame and pour my parents’ ashes into the hole in the ice. They sink slowly down into the water and dance around the cross.
“I love you,” I whisper. “I will always love you.”
I stand, and Kyle hugs me.
“Let’s say a prayer,” he says.
We bow our heads.
“Wait, look!”
I open my eyes, and Kyle is pointing toward the horizon.
The sun is breaking out from behind the clouds, and the frozen ice shimmers. The glow from the hole in the ice meets the rays in the sky, and the entire bay is bathed in golden light.
“Make a wish,” Kyle says.
I think of all the Santas in my life—from my dad and my grampa all the way back to Captain Santa—who believed in the goodness in the world, the kindness in others and the gift of hope. I think of how many times I’ve been asked to make a wish and how many times I wished for things that no one could ever give me.
Only I could gift myself hope.
“I already did,” I say. “And it finally came true.”