Winter in Minnesota was beautiful. Lazy snowflakes drifted down outside the window, covering the dirty slush in the parking lot with a lacy blanket of pristine white. The cars were dusted with what looked like powdered sugar, and the reflected lights from the Christmas trees by the main entrance made the snow glisten with brilliant flashes of color. The scene was worthy of a Christmas card, but he deliberately sat down with his back to the view. It was two weeks before Christmas, and Christmas made him sad.
The Christmas music didn’t help. There were speakers everywhere, even in the employees’ lounge, and the tape had been running, over and over, all day. It was intended to put the employees in a cheerful mood for tomorrow’s grand opening, but it wasn’t working for him.
There was a time when he’d loved Christmas carols. He’d even gone caroling when he was in the high school chorus. But now the familiar music reminded him of last Christmas, the Christmas his grandmother had died. He could still remember the paralyzing fear he’d felt when they’d carried her off to the hospital. But he hadn’t shown that fear. He’d been determined to be strong for his grandfather.
His lunch break was almost over. In less than ten minutes, he’d have to put a smile on his face and join the rest of the employees. He leaned back in his chair, trying to relax, and thought about the way this area used to look, when his grandparents had owned the land. He was sitting smack dab in the middle of what used to be his grandmother’s vegetable garden, and the bedroom he’d used, when he’d stayed with his grandparents, had been right about where the Christmas tree at the center of the mall now stood. Those had been happy times, times he remembered with joy. He’d spent a lot of time at the farm, and he’d learned to love everything about farming. His parents thought he was crazy, but he’d always said he wanted to take over the land, once he’d graduated from college, and turn Gramps and Grandma’s farm into a real showplace.
His hands unconsciously clenched into fists as he thought about how the Crossroads Corporation had bought the farm. They’d descended like vultures, a week after his grandmother’s funeral. He hadn’t been there. He’d left the day before, to go back to school. The slick-talking real estate agent had taken advantage of his grief-stricken grandfather, and convinced him that they were making him a wonderful deal. Poor Gramps, who’d been showing the first symptoms of Alzheimer’s, had believed him and signed on the dotted line.
When he’d found out about it, he’d tried to stop the sale. But Gramps had been the sole owner of the land, and he hadn’t yet been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Now, almost a year later, Gramps was in a nursing home. Alzheimer’s was usually a cruel disease, but in Gramps’s case, it was a kindness. Gramps would never realize how badly the Crossroads Corporation had cheated him. But his grandson did. And it was eating him up inside, just like the cancer that had killed his grandmother.
Five minutes left. He got up to pour himself a cup of coffee, and leaned back in his chair again. Under any other circumstances, he might have enjoyed working at the Crossroads Mall. It was a beautiful building, and the surrounding countryside was gorgeous. The mall was built at the intersection of three state highways, and it served three Minnesota cities. Prairie Falls, twelve miles to the east, was the home of Prairie College. Students at Prairie would be sure to shop at the mall, and they made up a large proportion of the area’s population. And Portersville, fifteen miles to the west, was the county seat. Since people would have to drive right past the mall to go to the county courthouse, they’d stop in to do their shopping. Two Rivers, at the apex of the triangle, attracted plenty of tourists. It was Shane Winter’s hometown, and Shane had become one of the hottest new stars in Hollywood. Just to prove that he hadn’t forgotten his Minnesota roots, Shane was coming out to the Crossroads Mall to promote the opening, and that meant the tourists would come here, too.
He turned around to glance out the window again, and his heart caught in his throat as he recognized the big pine tree they’d decorated at the edge of the road. It was his favorite tree, the great grand-daddy of all pines. He could remember crawling under its massive branches in the winter, and peeking out at the icy world. It was always dry and cozy under the big pine tree. Its branches were so thick, no amount of snow could reach the ground.
Tears came to his eyes and he blinked them back. The pine tree wasn’t his any longer. It belonged to the Crossroads Mall. And the mall had ruined everything. The flowers his grandmother had planted around the house were covered over with asphalt, and the grove of apple trees that Gramps had grafted had been bulldozed to make way for the mall garage. The farm he’d loved was completely gone.
Gramps had always promised that the family farm would be his someday. He’d even written it into his will. Of course that didn’t count for much now. There was no way he could reclaim his inheritance unless the mall failed, and the property was auctioned off to the highest bidder.
“Fat chance!” He said the words aloud, and gave a bitter laugh. People were eager to find ways to spend their money and this mall was the biggest shopping center in central Minnesota. The multi-plex movie theater would do a booming business, and the beautiful restaurant on the upper level would become the place to go and be seen. There was no way the mall could fail. Air-conditioned in the hot, muggy summer, and heated in the stark, frigid winter, the Crossroads Mall would provide a pleasant environment that everyone would enjoy. It was bound to be a huge success, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
Despair washed over him, and he gave a deep sigh as he listened to the next song on the tape. It was a children’s song, “Santa Claus Is Comin’ To Town.”
You better watch out; you better not cry;
Better not pout; I’m telling you why:
Santa Claus is comin’ to town.
He’s making a list and checking it twice;
Gonna find out who’s naughty and nice:
Santa Claus is comin’ to town.
He sees you when you’re sleepin’;
He knows when you’re awake;
He knows if you’ve been bad or good;
So be good for goodness sake.
He raised his eyebrows as he listened to the words. He’d never really noticed it before, but the Santa in the song was vengeful. The first line was a warning. You better watch out. It sent a clear message to everyone who listened. Santa would get you if you weren’t good. Santa saw you, and he put your name on a list. If you were good, you got presents. But if you were bad, Santa would . . . what? Punish you?
Suddenly, he had an inspiration. Perhaps he should be Santa this year, and punish the people who’d hurt his grandparents. It was an intriguing idea, and he began to smile for the first time today. It wasn’t a nice smile, but Santa didn’t have to be nice. Did he?