Chapter 8 - Benny
School was in full force the first week of December. But after the last bell mid-week, Red picked up Benny in his truck, and they headed to town for the first skating rehearsal.
The ice rink in the middle of Park City looked like a snow globe someone forgot to shake. Centered between two hotels with balconies that gave tourists a direct view of the ice, it was also the site of more than one spontaneous snowball fight, which was Benny’s favorite part about the place.
The rink sparkled under strings of white lights that zigzagged across the open air, and all around, people stopped, sipping drinks, watching the event rehearsal for The Skating Spectacular with Santa.
Right now, Benny wasn’t so sure “spectacular” was the word he’d use.
He pressed his mittened hands to the cold railing and squinted at the ice where his great-grandfather lumbered across the rink like a man trying to skate through peanut butter.
“Ho-ho—whoa!” Red bellowed, his arms pinwheeling. The red Santa coat flapped like a parachute behind him before he barely regained his balance.
The line of teen figure skaters gasped, then giggled. Their coach—a skinny lady in a sparkly tracksuit named…something—clapped twice. “Places! We take it from the top!”
Benny ducked his chin into his scarf to stifle a moan. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had.
He loved his great-grandpa almost as much as he loved every Star Wars movie ever made, but watching Grandpa Red skate was like watching a bear do ballet. Kind of hilarious and terrifying all at the same time.
“Santa, you’re supposed to wave to the crowd while you toss the gifts,” the coach called, cupping her hands. “Remember? Big smiles! Big joy!”
“Lady,” Grandpa called back, proving he couldn’t remember her name either, “if I’m still upright, that’s big joy enough!”
Plus, did she forget he was famous as Grumpy Santa? Wasn’t that the whole idea? Benny bit his lip and tried to keep himself from jumping in to defend his best friend.
The rehearsal music started again—a happy version of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” that sounded like elves breathing helium. The skaters zipped around, forming stars and snowflakes and candy canes while Santa stood in the center, gripping his velvet sack like it contained live dynamite.
When his cue came, he was supposed to hoist it over his shoulder, pluck small toys from it, and throw them into the crowd.
Instead, he froze.
Because that was a lot to ask of an eighty-three-year-old man.
“Mr. Starling!” the coach cried. “Now!”
Grandpa squinted, lifted one fuzzy angel doll halfway, and grumbled, “Nope.”
The music screeched to a stop.
Benny moaned into his mittens. Oh, no. He knew that tone. That was pre-eruption volcano tone.
The coach skated over, sparkles flashing like warning lights. “What do you mean ‘nope’? Red! You’re Santa Claus!”
“Exactly,” Grandpa said, puffing out his chest. “Santa doesn’t throw presents at people. He sets them under the tree. That’s his whole thing!”
The coach blinked. “They’re lightweight toys—”
“They’re projectiles!” Red shot back. “And this sack weighs more than a dead reindeer!”
The coach squeezed the bridge of her nose, not nearly as amused as the giggling skaters and a few of the onlookers.
“We need movement for the finale,” she said, sounding a lot like Mom when Benny swore he’d cleaned his room but read for an hour instead. “We can’t have Santa just standing there like—like—”
“Like Santa?” Red offered.
The coach’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
Benny lost the fight to stay quiet. He scrambled to the gate and flipped the latch, his brain in high gear, which was saying something. “Uh, excuse me? I have an idea!”
Every head turned.
He swallowed hard but powered through, stepping out onto the ice in sneakers, moving gingerly toward Red and the coach.
“What if Santa…had a helper? Like, um, an elf who skated with him? The elf could help toss the gifts.”
“I can’t spare a skater to use as an elf,” she said.
“I’ll do it,” Benny offered. “He’s my great-grandpa and we actually have an elf outfit in the attic.”
The coach blinked at him as though he’d suggested turning the whole show into a zombie musical. Then—miracle of miracles—her face lost some of its nasty pinch. “Go put on rental skates, kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Red groaned. “Oh, for crying out loud.”
Benny shot him a look. “It can’t get any worse, Grandpa.”
Five minutes later, Benny was wobbling across the ice in skates that were a little big. His jeans were rolled and his helmet sparkled with a red bow—the only one they had available in his size.
“Ho-ho-ho,” Grandpa muttered as Benny clung to his sleeve. “This’ll end well.”
“Just don’t fall, okay?” Benny said. “If you go down, we both go down.”
“Oh, I’m aware.”
The music started again. Red lumbered forward, muttering his distaste for everything about this. Benny tried to match his pace, which was like chasing a refrigerator on wheels.
When the toy-throwing cue came again, Benny whispered, “Okay, Grandpa, you do the waving, I’ll handle the pitching.”
“Grumpy Santa doesn’t wave,” he grumbled.
“You’re right, but just greet the crowd. Not with the, uh, wrong finger.”
Grandpa snorted a laugh and squeezed Benny’s shoulder, his watery old eyes looking down with that face that always preceded something like, “You’re a keeper, Benny-bean.”
But he just swallowed hard and mouthed, “Thanks.”
“Don’t worry, Grandpa. I got your back.”
“It’s not my back I’m worried about, it’s my backside.”
“You’ll be fine.” Benny grabbed a handful of soft toys and started tossing them gently toward the small group of spectators along the fence. The toys sailed through the air, landing perfectly in eager hands. Cheers erupted.
No-Name Coach instructed them to throw the toys back, since this was just rehearsal and she was Grinchy like that.
“Ho-ho-HO!” Red bellowed, voice suddenly booming. He even managed a small shuffle—his version of dancing.
Benny laughed and forgot the cold, forgot his wobbly knees, forgot everything but how proud he was of this ridiculous, wonderful man.
When the girls in the front row finished with a big circle around Santa and Benny, the rink exploded with applause. Red and Benny took a bow—well, Benny bowed. Red kind of bent forward to catch his breath.
The coach skated up, eyes shining. “That was fantastic! Perfect energy! Benny, you’re officially part of the show!”
After the rehearsal, Benny and Red trudged up the street toward Sugarfall, where Red had parked.
Inside, his mother greeted them from behind the display case, where she was lining up mini-cinnamon rolls slathered in icing. “Hello, Santa and unofficial helper.”
“You know already?” Benny asked on a sputter.
“It’s Park City, honey. News travels fast.” She came out with a few rolls left on a tray, leaning over to give him a kiss on the head that he didn’t want but also didn’t mind—not if it came with cinnamon rolls.
“Grandpa was amazing,” Benny said proudly. “He only fell once.”
“I did not fall,” Red said with a scowl. “I executed a controlled descent.”
“Uh-huh,” Mom said, nodding for them to take a table. “Cinnamon rolls will make you both feel better. Tea for you, Grandpa? Benny, some milk?”
“Yes to everything,” they said in weird and comical unison.
They sat at a corner table, quiet for a while, sharing the rolls and drinks until his mother joined them after taking care of a customer.
“Will you be done soon, Mom?”
“Yes, but I have to stay in town after we close, so you and Red can eat at the lodge.”
“Do you have a cake to bake or something?” he asked, taking a sip of milk.
“Actually…” She gave him a funny look. “Eleanor Locke has called a quick Mistletoe on Main planning meeting.” She cleared her throat. “Marshall and I are going to meet there to get approval on our gingerbread house idea.”
Benny sat up a little straighter. “Wait. What? You’re doing that…with him?”
Her cheeks got a little pinker. Well, Mom was basically an Olympic-level blusher, and it told Benny a lot.
“I’m not happy that you interfered, but I’m not quitting.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “It’s good marketing. And the combo structure is really cute and might actually win the award for best gingerbread house.”
“There’s an award?” Benny blinked.
“A plaque, not money, but we both agree it will be good attention for our shops.” She gave him a warning look. “It’s business, Benny. And I still am telling you to please stay out of adult affairs.”
He sighed, slumping. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.” He fiddled with his milk glass. “I am sorry, Mom.”
She angled her head with a kind of sad look in her eyes. “I’m sorry you want a father so much you pulled a stunt like that.”
“’Specially when you have a great-grandfather,” Red said. “I mean, the words great and grand are in my title. What else do you need?”
Benny smiled. “Nothin’, Grandpa.”
“Oh, look, there’s Olivia walking her dog,” Mom said, gesturing toward the window. “Might be a good time to deliver the same ‘do not meddle’ message to her.”
Benny nodded, finished his cinnamon roll, and downed the milk. “I’ll be back in a minute, Grandpa.”
“Take your time, Benny-bean. I need my rest from all those triple axels.”
Snow crunched under Benny’s boots as he crossed the street toward the girl in the bright purple parka being dragged by a blur of fur.
Kat, Olivia’s border collie, spotted him and bounded forward, nearly yanking Olivia off her feet.
“Benny!” Olivia cried, laughing. “Hey! You survived skating with Santa! I heard you’re in the show!”
“Yeah.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Listen, we gotta talk.”
Olivia’s eyes widened. “What happened? Is Red okay? Didn’t fall, did he?”
“No! Well, once.” He sighed. “It’s about…our plan.”
Her expression brightened. “Oh! The Operation Gingerbread Romance Initiative?”
“I thought it was…Mistletoe Madness or something.”