Thread of Hope

TWENTY-THREE

It was two weeks before Christmas and Elizabeth and I were standing in the front yard, trying to figure out where to put Santa.

“By the bushes?” I suggested.

Elizabeth rolled her eight-year-old eyes in a gesture borrowed from her mother. She brushed her dark brown hair from her forehead and wrinkled her nose at me. “Daddy. The cars won’t be able to see him.”

She was already frustrated with me in that we were a week late in getting the decorations out. Lauren was an attorney and had been gone the previous two weekends on business. I had been too lazy to pull them out of the garage in her absence. When it’s December and seventy-five degrees out, it’s tough to find the motivation to string lights and find the best place for a light-up Santa Claus.

Elizabeth gathered the four-foot Santa in a bear hug and awkwardly walked him out to the middle of the lawn. She set him down, put her hand on her hip, then nodded.

“Right here, Daddy,” she said. “This is where he goes.”

I knew better than to argue with her. She was as stubborn as her mother and when she made up her mind, it was done. She’d been that way since she was a baby.

I held up an extension cord. “We’re gonna need another one of these.”

She shrugged and smiled, her newly minted braces glistening in the sun. “Okay.”

I dropped the cord in the grass. “You watch Santa. I’ll get another cord.”

She gave me a mocking salute. “Ay ay.”

I shook my head and walked into the house and called for Lauren.

“I’m in the kitchen,” she said.

She stood at the counter next to the sink, a wooden spoon in her hand. She was covered in flour and sprinkles and cookie dough.

“Are we opening a bakery?” I asked. The aroma of freshly baked cookies made my stomach growl.

“Might as well.”

“We have another extension cord?”

“Why?”

I planted a kiss on the back of her neck before reaching into the fridge for a bottle of water. “Because your daughter has found the perfect resting place for Santa and that place requires another six feet of cord.”

She smiled and shook her head. “ Kid likes Christmas.”

“Kid likes everything.” I twisted the top off the bottle and took a drink. “But, yes, she really likes Christmas.”

“Check upstairs in the closet.”

“Ay ay.”

“What?”

I trailed my fingers from her shoulder to the middle of her back and felt her shiver beneath my touch. “Nothing.”

I walked back to the front door. Elizabeth was sitting cross-legged next to Santa, adjusting him ever so slightly.

“Mom says there’s one upstairs. Be right there, doodle.”

She gave me a thumbs-up. “Gotcha.”

I jogged up the stairs to the closet at the end of the hallway, between Elizabeth’s room and the spare bedroom. Her room was a disaster. Stuffed animals piled high in several corners, clothes littering the floor, an unmade bed jumbled with sheets and twisted-up blankets. She’d promised to pick up her room before we went outside and I’d forgotten to check.

I paused for a moment, thinking I should go down and bring her inside. Have her follow through on her promise before we finished. But, like I often did, I let it go. Elizabeth was a good kid. Easy going, even temperament, generally happy. She had her down moments-she was eight-but by and large, she was a really good kid. If the worst she ever did was fail to pick up her room after saying she’d do so, then we'd have a pretty easy time of it.

It was the weekend and she could clean it up when we were done.

I opened the closet and found the extension cord on the shelf next to several shoe boxes. I closed the door and went back downstairs.

“Find it?” Lauren peeked her head around the corner.

I held up the bundled cord. “Santa will now be properly placed.”

She smiled. “Awesome.”

I walked outside and squinted into the sunshine.

The Santa stood in the center of the lawn. Alone.