Chapter 46
COOPER
Ihad parked my truck three blocks away from the festival, partly to avoid the congested streets near the town square and partly because I wasn’t entirely sure what kind of reception I would get from Joy.
The walk gave me time to rehearse what I wanted to say and practice the words that might convince her to give us another chance.
I had given her space. I just hoped I hadn’t given her too much space. I hadn’t heard from Lynn, but she had certainly been trying to get to me. Constant texts and phone calls. Thankfully, she hadn’t come to the station. I had a feeling she was more afraid of Katrina than my rejection.
Katrina was livid Lynn was stirring up trouble.
My sister could be pretty mild but piss her off and shit got real.
She used to kick my ass when we were younger.
And that was just for cutting her Barbie’s hair.
I would hate to see what she would do to her ex-friend for fucking with her brother.
She wasn’t physically bigger than I was, but she had always declared herself my big sister.
My protector. And it wasn’t terrible. It was good to know someone had my back, even if I could toss her over my shoulder and haul her away if I wanted to.
As I turned onto Main Street, I could see a small crowd gathering around someone on the sidewalk about fifty yards ahead. Years of emergency medical training kicked in automatically. I quickened my pace, scanning the scene for signs of what might be wrong.
The crowd parted slightly as I approached.
Most people around here knew me. They knew I was the guy that could help.
I could see a figure in a distinctive red suit sitting on the curb, one leg extended awkwardly in front of him.
Even from a distance, there was no mistaking the white beard and the generous belly.
Pat Samson. Our Santa. And he was clearly in distress.
“Excuse me, coming through,” I called, pushing through the circle of concerned onlookers. “I’m a paramedic.”
Pat looked up as I knelt beside him, his usually jolly expression twisted with pain and embarrassment. “Cooper, thank God. I slipped on some ice back there by the post office. Went down hard on my knee.”
His face was pale and there was a tightness around his eyes that spoke of significant pain.
“Can you describe what happened?” I asked, gently examining his knee through the red velvet of his costume. Even through the fabric, I could feel the massive swelling around the joint.
“I was hurrying to get to the workshop—running a bit late, you know—and I hit a patch of ice I didn’t see. Felt something pop when I went down.” Pat winced as I carefully palpated the area. “It’s not good, is it?”
“I need to lift the pant leg,” I said. “Are you wearing anything under?”
He nodded. “Long johns.”
That’s what I was afraid of. “Pat, I need to see the knee—can I cut them?”
“Do it.”
I pulled my pocketknife from my pocket. I slid the Santa pant leg up and then cut the area around his knee. I grimaced when I saw the damage. The man had to be in extraordinary pain. I had dislocated my knee in high school, tore my meniscus, and it hadn’t looked this bad.
“Well, the good news is it doesn’t feel like anything’s broken,” I said, though I was concerned about the amount of swelling I could detect.
“But you’ve definitely done some damage to the ligaments.
You need to get to the hospital for proper imaging and treatment.
If we don’t take care of this right now, I’m worried you’re going to lose circulation to your foot. ”
Pat’s face fell. “But the children. Santa’s workshop. I can’t let them down.”
I could hear the genuine distress in his voice. To his credit, Pat took his role as the town’s Santa seriously, and the idea of disappointing the children was clearly causing him almost as much pain as his injured knee.
“Let me worry about that right now,” I said, pulling out my radio. “Matt, this is Cooper. I need an ambulance at the corner of Main and Third. Non-emergency transport, but we need to get someone to the hospital with a banged-up knee.”
“Copy that, Cooper. ETA five minutes.”
The crowd around us had grown. I could see people starting to whisper among themselves. Word was going to spread quickly that Santa was injured, and that meant Joy was going to have a crisis on her hands very soon.
“Is there anything you can do?” someone asked. “The children have been waiting in line for over an hour. They’re getting restless.”
“We’ll figure something out,” I said, though privately I was already running through the limited options available. Finding a replacement Santa on five minutes’ notice wasn’t a five-alarm fire but it didn’t have an easy solution either.
Matt arrived with the ambulance and our lead paramedic, lights flashing but siren off to avoid creating a ruckus. He jumped out of the passenger seat and walked toward us.
“What have we got?” he asked, grabbing a backboard and medical bag from the ambulance.
“Knee injury, possible torn ligaments. Patient needs transport for X-rays and evaluation.” I helped Matt position the backboard. “Pat, we’re going to get you loaded up and get that knee looked at properly. You’ll be back on your sleigh in no time.”
The paramedic grabbed a leg brace and quickly put it on the swelling leg.
Getting Pat onto the gurney and into the ambulance took some careful maneuvering, given his size and the bowl full of jelly that was his stomach. Once we had him settled inside, Matt began his assessment while I helped get Pat situated comfortably.
“Okay, we need to get these pants off, St. Nick, so I can get a better look at that knee,” Matt said with his usual bedside manner that managed to be both professional and reassuring. “I’ll close the doors, so no one sees your jingle bells.”
Pat managed a weak laugh at that, which was a good sign. If he could still appreciate humor, his pain level was probably manageable.
I stepped back while Matt worked, but as I watched him carefully cut away the red velvet pants to expose Pat’s swollen knee, a terrible realization hit me.
Santa’s Workshop was the crown jewel of the entire festival.
Joy had spent weeks planning every detail—decorating dozens of stockings for the children, coordinating toy donations from local businesses, creating the magical experience that would be the highlight of the evening for every family in attendance.
All that work, all her careful planning, and it was going to be for nothing. Without Santa, the workshop was just an empty building with some decorations. The children who had been waiting in line, the families who had built their evening around this experience, were all going to be devastated.
I thought about Joy’s face when she realized her big finale was ruined. She’d been under so much stress lately, dealing with the festival logistics and our relationship drama and all the pressure she’d put on herself to make everything perfect. This would break her heart.
Unless…
I looked at the Santa costume Matt had just removed from Pat’s legs, then at the red jacket. I knew where a complete costume was.
“Matt, get Pat to the ER. Make sure they take good care of him.”
“Where are you going?” Matt asked, but I was already reaching for the Santa costume.
“I’ll get this back to you,” I told Pat.
“Cooper, what are you doing?” Matt asked with confusion.
“Saving Christmas,” I replied. “Joy worked too hard on this festival to let it end in disappointment.”
“You’re insane,” Matt said, but he was grinning. “You know that, right?”
“Probably,” I agreed with a laugh. “But those kids have been waiting all evening to see Santa, and we can’t let them down.”
“What about your voice? Pat has the whole Santa laugh thing down to an art.”
“I’ll figure it out,” I said, though privately I was hoping that enthusiasm would carry me through any vocal shortcomings.
“Just speak from the heart,” Pat said.
Matt laughed. “I think the morphine’s kicking in.”
Pat chuckled and his eyes fluttered closed. “Still good advice.”
I jumped down from the ambulance and started jogging toward city hall. Joy needed this to work. The festival needed this to work. If I could pull off being Santa for one evening, it would prove to Joy that I was the kind of man who would do whatever it took to make her dreams come true.
Even if it meant wearing a ridiculous costume and pretending to be jolly in front of the entire town.
Ho ho ho, indeed.
For Joy, I was willing to try anything.
“Cooper!”
I recognized my sister’s voice. “Can’t talk now,” I called and continued jogging.
Katrina was in good shape and fell in step beside me. “Where are you going? What happened? I saw the ambulance pull away. Is everything okay?”
“Santa went down.”
“Santa? Pat?”
“Yeah.”
“And why are we running?”
“Because there’s a Santa costume in city hall,” I said.
Katrina stumbled and barely kept herself upright. “You’re going to Santa? Are you completely out of your mind?”
“Probably,” I said, not slowing down. “But I’m not going to let Joy go down in flames. She needs a Santa, so she’ll get a Santa.”
“Cooper, you hate Christmas. You’ve spent the last eleven months complaining about Santa calls and Christmas decorations.”
“My feelings on the holiday might change, depending on how the next hour or so goes.” I reached the side door of city hall and yanked it open.
“Unlocked?” Kat asked. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“I know, but I’m not letting you in there until you explain to me why my Grinch of a brother suddenly wants to play Santa Claus. How much eggnog have you had?”
“None.” I turned to face her, breathing hard from the jog. “It’s because Joy matters more than my stupid hang-ups about last Christmas. Because she’s been killing herself to make this festival perfect, and I’ll be damned if I let it fall apart if I can help it.”
Katrina studied my face for a long moment, then broke into a grin. “Hey, there’s the brother I remember. I like you better when you’re not moping around.”
“Me too,” I said. “Now are you going to help me or not?”
“Are you kidding? Lead the way, Jolly Old St. Nick.” She held the door open. “Let’s swaddle you in velvet and get you ready for the big show.”
We rushed through the empty hallways to the storage room where the festival supplies were kept. Katrina flicked on the lights and I immediately started digging through boxes and costume bags.
“Here!” I held up a red velvet jacket that looked like it had seen better decades. “And here’s the pants.”
“Um, Cooper, when was the last time this thing was cleaned?” she asked. “They smell like Santa’s been sleeping in the reindeer stables.”
I was not about to tell her the things the jacket had seen.
I grabbed a can of air freshener off a nearby shelf and sprayed the costume down. Artificial pine scent was an improvement and complemented the holiday. “Now will it fit?”
“Hold it up to yourself.” She stepped back and assessed me critically. “You’re going to need serious padding. How many pork chops do you think you could eat in the next five minutes?”
“Not nearly enough.” I pointed to a pile of throw pillows stacked in the corner. “Will those work?”
“Perfect.” Katrina started grabbing pillows and shoving them at me. “Suit up while I rig up a Santa belly.” She turned around and started rummaging through another box. “I just need some tape. Maybe a staple gun.”
“Easy.” I pulled off my fire department shirt exposing my white T-shirt.
Katrina started strapping pillows to my torso with what looked like an old belt. “This will have to do.”
Pillows in place, she went back to the boxes. I pulled on my red pants over my new belly and snapped the suspenders up over my shoulders, securing them in place.
“You already look seventy percent more jolly.” Katrina tossed over a white beard and wig that looked blessedly clean. “Joy’s going to die when she finds out you did this for her.”
“If I don’t die of embarrassment first.” I threw the coat on and caught a glimpse of myself in the small mirror hanging on the storage room wall and immediately regretted it. I looked like a scarecrow that had raided Santa’s closet.
“The beard’s crooked,” Katrina said, adjusting the elastic strap behind my ears. “And you need the hat. Where’s the—there it is.”
She plopped the red Santa hat on my head, and I felt a piece of my dignity die.
“Do I look like Santa?” I asked, though I was afraid of the answer.
Katrina stepped back and covered her mouth, but I could see her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.
“That bad?”
“No, no, it’s just—” She couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst into laughter. “You look like Santa’s younger, more athletic brother who borrowed his clothes.”
“Great. That’s exactly the look I was going for.”
“Wait, wait.” She wiped tears from her eyes and grabbed another pillow. “We need more belly. And something for your shoulders. Damn, bro, eat some brownies once in a while.”
Five minutes later, I was stuffed with so many pillows I could barely move my arms.
“Better?” I asked.
“Much. Now practice your ho ho ho.”
“My what?”
“Your Santa laugh, Father Christmas. Ho ho ho.”
I cleared my throat. “Ho ho ho?”
Katrina winced. “Don’t ask it like a question. Make it more… I don’t know, Santa-ish.”
“Ho ho ho,” I tried again, deepening my voice and trying to project more confidence.
“Better. But maybe don’t sound like you’re angry.”
I sighed. “I take back all the jokes I made about Pat Samson. This is harder than it looks.”
“Tap into your Christmas spirit.” Katrina adjusted my hat one more time. “Be the guy who made a giant ice tree to make a girl smile.”
I looked at myself in the mirror again. I still looked ridiculous, but there was determination in my eyes, even behind the fake beard. It made me think I might actually be able to pull this off.
“You really think this will work?”
“I think Joy is going to take one look at you in that costume and realize she’s crazy in love with a man who would dress up as Santa to save her festival.” Katrina grinned. “Now come on, Santa. Let’s knock ‘em dead.”