Santa's Wish

I wrote this for my grandsons because their mom, mu daughter, is battling cancer. I picked up ten-year-old Kai from school and asked him to read it. When he was done I asked him, his opinion. He liked it but said there was a comma missing five lines down: “About a year after Michael died[add comma] her baby started…” He also suggested I supply a reason for why the weight-year-old girl had a big vocabulary. Although Kai is well read, it tickled me because who’s smarter than a fifth grader?

Santa’s Wish

by RW Richard

dedicated to Kai, Ian and Sebastian

Mother and daughter, sipping hot cocoas, stood in a long line for Macy’s Santa. Although a workaholic City Attorney, Holly Lombardy, would always have time for her baby, Michelle. Besides, snow and high winds awaited them for their walk home down Broadway to Chelsea.

“Mommy, you got to.”

About a year after Michael died, her baby started a precocious campaign to get a boyfriend for her mom. Now, about three years after her husband’s death in Afghanistan, her eight-year-old, armed with more reason, became relentless. On top of that, her love of reading and school, Michelle played or read in her mom's home office, often while Holly engaged in complex conversations via phone.

“It’s you have to, sweetheart. Not got to.”

“Do you think of me? I might want a daddy presence in the house.”

Holly smiled. What planet did this little exasperator hail from? Nonetheless, Michelle was her whole world and Holly loved it that way.

“There are such little things, like love, to consider. I still miss and love your daddy.” The line to Santa moved closer to where she could just see an elf’s ear.

“We both know that love is infinitely big.”

“You don’t need to use big. It’s redundant.”

“You aren’t on the point, mommy. It’s called avoidance.”

“You’re called a nuisance.”

Her baby pouted. After Michelle spent some time looking at the train circling nearby, and a boy waiving, they were almost in front of Santa.

“Is he a classmate?”

“He’s just a boy. We need a man.”

Holly burst out laughing.

“Santa will see you now.”

Santa, aka NYPD Detective Sam Samuels, was indeed seeing them now. There she was, that hot shot NYC attorney. That hot everything woman with puckish face and blow-you-away personality. A woman that he admired from afar, being a gutless wonder.

Soon she’d be a little closer and if reindeers had antlers he’d find a way to speak to her.

The red-haired, curly-topped child climbed onto his lap. “What’s your name, little girl?”

“I’m Michelle Lombardy and this is my mom. You can call her Holly.”

Santa peered hesitantly into Holly’s eyes and saw that she was amused by her take-charge daughter. From what he could tell, they were cut from the same cloth.

“Hello, Holly,” he bellowed in his best Santa baritone. “And what do you want for Christmas, Michelle?”

“I’d like Play Station 4 with 1 terabyte and a Ken for my Barbie and Star Wars Legos and two different colored socks and a new dad and a husband for my mother.”

“Ho ho ho.” He belly-laughed. Peeked at Holly. She gave him a thumb up and then the thumb turned downward, as if she were emperor.

“Well, Michelle, you are on my nice list. So, you will be getting much of what you asked for.”

“I don’t want anything if I can’t get a new daddy. He died in Afgan-ah-stand.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But he’s a hero in heaven.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, and he loves you so very much.” Holly’s eyes welled over. “At the North Pole where I work, we make toys and gifts for good little boys and girls, but we have never made a person.”

“I know that.” Michelle frowned. “Well, maybe you can use some magic on a lonely but very handsome guy, because my daddy was handsome…who you think would be a good match for mommy.”

“Well,” he looked at Holly for guidance. She threw her hands up and her eyes took in the ceiling. “What do you say, Holly?”

“I’m happy. My baby is all I need.”

“She’s lying. She’s lying. Please Santa, look into her heart.”

“Well, Holly, I’m looking into your heart right now and I see a happy woman, who loves her daughter. I also see a man in your future someday but probably not by Christmas.” He winked, and Holly winked back. “You see, little one, true love is God’s department, and He will know when.”

“Weeell, okay, but if you do find somebody, please put holes in the gift box so he can breathe.”

He thought of the puppy his nephew was about to receive. “Of course, the rules and regulations book specifically calls out breathing as very important. Every elf is properly trained.”

“Thank you, Santa.”

With that and two candy canes, they were gone.

Next morning at 1 Police Plaza, after Sam reported that the ASM, ass-squeezing-masher, did not show at Macy’s the day before, he found his friend, detective, Paul Gottinger. While they talked Sam pulled up Holly Lombardy’s address.

“I’m smitten, Paul. I saw her, yesterday. I actually talked to her and now it’s eating me up.”

“Got a date?”

“No, she was with her daughter and I was playing Santa Claus.”

“So?”

“Well, I was feeling full of eggnog, Christmas cookies. Besides, Mrs. Claus would have a fit if I looked at another woman.”

“Start at the beginning and leave no part out. No part.” Paul flipped out his interview book and chuckled. “Just the facts.” He touched the pencil tip to his tongue.

Sam told the story word for word.

“I know the super at the building she lives in. I’ve got an idea.” Paul said.

When Paul got ideas usually something crazy would go down, but he heard him out.

Early Christmas morning three men delivered a big box to the hallway right outside Holly’s door and then two men left the building. One of them, as planned, would call up to Holly and tell her of the present.

Sam sat legs too-crossed in a box that smelled like his buddies had stolen it from a fish factory. This is not good. He sweated, even though there were plenty of “breathing” holes. He had to admit to a touch of claustrophobia. Just like the time he had chased a perp into the labyrinth of pipes and cables, of and an ever-narrowing access tunnel under the 10^th street subway. It wasn’t the man’s knife that bothered him. The man was small and wiry. Sam was 6’2” and broad-shouldered. He caught the bastard before he slithered down a rat hole. The jewels were recovered.

Sam faintly heard snippets of words by Holly with her daughter’s excited voice mingling.

“Oh my, what have we here?” Holly was not too popular with certain underworld types, so she paused and considered getting her Glock.

“It’s him, It’s my new daddy.”

“Or maybe an elephant.”

“No-o-o.”

Watching her daughter tear at the box, Holly backed into the kitchen and grabbed a knife.

“Honey, please move away from the package.” She called her friend Joe, the super, who told her everything she needed to know. A good snitch is hard to come by.

“Michelle, this knife I have,” she shouted into a breathing hole, “can do two things. It can defend against stranger danger and open a box. At this point her nose registered a complaint. Either he’s fishy or he needs out of this box.

“Could Santa’s idea of a boyfriend be that 6”6” Italian, my counterpart in Brooklyn? He’s so good-looking. Could it be the mayor’s son? Not bad either. Or maybe a giant fish.”

“Come on, mom. Open it. Open it.”

“Or maybe, that James Bond lookalike. That detective, Sam Samuels. The shy one.”

“M-ah-om.”

Holly carefully cut through all the tape holding the front of the box and opened the flap. She beheld a beautiful man. A man she had always wondered about. Her baby, happy-faced, held out one hand. The other pinched her nose.

“Why don’t you come in, Sam, and stay awhile.” Yeah, maybe a long while.

A Christmas romance/short story

Merry Christmas and a belated happy Chanukah to you all,

They say don't burden a blog reader with lengthy anything, but this is my holiday present to you. For those not acquaited with my romance writing style read on and let me know if you liked it or not. Christmas Wings is a short story, inspirational romance, with the same whimsical theme as "It's a Wonderful Life."

For those who can't invest the time in the short story, I'll first present a clip from the holiday classic, It's a Wonderful Life, 1946. This Frank Capra directed movie was based on a short story called, The Greatest Gift, by Philip Stern.

Thanks to a certain dear friend for some little editing suggestions: 12/22/2013 rev. 1
CHRISTMAS WINGS

Apparently, everybody wants to get their cars fixed before Christmas, but could anything or anybody fix my broken life?

Ruth found herself without car, without much food, unemployment running out, and soon—too soon— without a home. But none of that mattered when she thought about losing her only daughter.

Her precious about to be six-year-old, Tina was sick, very sick.

Ruth put six candles into a raisin bagel.

“I’m not hungry, Mommy. You can eat it.”

“But honey, you have to eat and make a wish.”

“I liked the donuts.”

“So did I, but they don’t like me.”

“That’s silly. Donuts don’t have feelings.”

After the dinner, dessert, birthday party combo they watched “It’s a Wonderful Life” for the umpteenth time. What was it about little people and watching stuff over and over?

“How does an angel get to pick the person they want to help? You know, to get their wings.”

“I don’t know, maybe it’s somebody they knew or feel close to. Or maybe God tells them to.”

“I’m going to die on Christmas Eve, so I can give you a present. I’m going to ask God if I can get my wings by helping you find a new daddy.”

Ruth turned her head away so her little girl wouldn’t see the impending flood. After she had learned Tina was dying of Leukemia and then later that nothing could be done anymore, she ran through her savings grasping at half-baked dreams. All the accepted treatments had failed.

Failed, just like the loser she was. Just like her life.
Legs buckling, she dropped to her knees and then worried her daughter would for the first time see the ugly face of despair. Recovering just enough, she opened her arms for a hug. Aside from bright eyes here, she was an abject failure. Utterly, completely, miserably, a poor excuse for a human being.

Oh my darling. I am so sorry.

She petted her little girl’s grown-back golden locks. Took in the heady scent of baby shampoo as if it were her last breath and then snuggled with the light of her life. Without Tina, there’d be no reason to live, no need for charade.

Please God, save my little girl. Oh, please.

She recovered because she had to. “Honey, the best way to help me is to stay right here with me.”

Tina stomped her foot, stubborn like her dad used to be. “You need a daddy. I’m going to get you one for sure when I get to heaven.”

“I bet you won’t have to go to heaven to get me one. I’m still pretty, right?”

“You are the most beautiful mommy in the whole world, ever. I love your robin egg eyes and happy smile too.”

“Just like yours, baby.”

“Daddy said you got it. Whatever that it is.”

Ruth staggered through her words sobbing. “Well then, I’ll just take my ‘it’ and go find a husband for me and a daddy for you and we’re going to pray for a miracle, so you won’t leave me. There now.”

Later, she tucked Tina in. They prayed again for a daddy and a miracle cure. Ruth wondered if just walking by a guy dressed in something form-fitting, maybe gray leotards, short Scotty skirt, gray sweater vest, her long blonde hair flared out like a Christmas tree over her shoulders, would do the trick. Nobody could ever replace her daughter’s father, Winston. He was beautiful of body, face, mind, and spirit.

Was he a spirit up there? Would he get his wings by finding her a husband? Would he steer them to some impossible cure for Tina? Hubby would have to get said suitors and doctors to stop by the house until she could get her car fixed.

Before sleeping, Tina had instructed her mom to put up two sets of bells on the Christmas tree. But Ruth also added mistletoe to the entry arch.

You’d never know which miracle would come first, right?

# # #

Doctor Max Fielding, head of research at CHOP, Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, picked up the phone.

“Hello.”

“Doctor Fielding?”

“Yes, sir.”

“This is Angel Winston. I need to get my wings. You’ve got an experimental program for possibly curing Leukemia and I’d like you to consider Ruth Trent’s daughter, Tina, of Philadelphia.”

“Your connection is weird, Angel.” It sounded like Angel was in the middle of a hurricane. “You mentioned wings, are you with the Air Force?”

“Never mind that now. Ruth lost her plant manager’s job to out-sourcing. You heard of Widgets, USA, now in China. Lost her husband in Afghanistan. Her home is almost foreclosed. She’s taking leftovers from bakeries. Her car needs a new head gasket. And her daughter has chosen Christmas Eve to die. And she will if we don’t do something. She’s stubborn.”

“Well, a number of things . . .”

“Yes, I know the 40 volunteers are confidential.”

“I have a heart, Angel, but we can’t be having this conversation.”

“Just check case number 17.”

“Who do you report to?”

“The guy on top. I take my orders from him.”

“I don’t care if you take your orders from God himself. We must maintain hands-off fairness. I’m going to have to go.”

“I’ll send you their pictures and info. Take a look at her mother, ah, I mean the file.” How this person got his email. Was it NSA via the President through NIH?

“I’m afraid you’ve ruined her chances by employing undue influence. Good day, sir.” He hung up, but felt terrible. He should have told the man: with only three weeks til Christmas and if Angel meant literally the child would die around Christmas time, CHOP’s program would not work. Then his texts chirped and his emails beeped.

The texts read:

“We have little time left for this Christmas miracle.”

“My boss is all over me on this one.”

“This will change your entire life.”

“Besides, there’s my wings to consider.”

He must have been dealing with a madman. Still, he’d check number 17. Curiosity was always a weakness with him. Perhaps in another life he might have been a detective.

He picked up his phone. “Jamie, could you check the status of number 17?”

His secretary and nurse assistant reported 17 as just admitted to Saint Jude’s in fair condition. He called security to have his landline phone log and cellphone checked, but they reported he had received no call and couldn’t pin down the source of the texts. Where was NSA when you needed them?

Later, Jamie buzzed him. “Doctor, number 17 died 33 minutes ago. I am so sorry.”

“I know, a little boy, four years old. God awful. I’ll make the call, but I want you to run the lottery from the pool for a new volunteer, immediately.” He would never interfere with a blind and fair system, no matter how many Angels called him. He couldn’t save them all, but maybe one more.

“Yes, Doctor.”

More texts and emails came in. He inspected them one by one, read all the very compelling info and then staggered when he saw a full page image of the little girl’s mom, Ruth. He relaxed, now euphoric in reflection. Sweat on his fingers. This gorgeous woman used to go to the same gym. The most fantastic creature he had ever seen in his life. She had exhibited signs of fainting the first time they met. This twisted his heart with the odd implication someone actually found him desirable without knowing he was a doctor. Her empathetic heart, sweet disposition, overwhelming smile and obvious attraction to him had made them fast friends, maybe besherte or soulmates. He nicknamed her, Sunshine, to match her hair and life nurturing nature. He soured on the next thought; he had finally decided to make time and date her, if only in short intervals. The prospect of finding a cure for leukemia kept him in the lab seven days a week, often back again at night. But then she disappeared by quitting the gym. He tossed away his libido and all things male to become a one-eyed monster focused on saving mankind, God willing.

A new text came in.

“Ruth’s been eating too many donuts, lately.” Would this guy ever quit?

He had to allow the lottery to pick a new number 17.

Jamie buzzed him. “The new and local volunteer is on your screen, doctor.”

“Thanks, Jamie, I’ll take care of the call. Prepare the paperwork, shots, extraction-pac, and cross-matched RBC for transport.” The secret lay in infusing the child with cancer killing T-cells. The patient might exhibit AIDS like side effects, for which the mother would have to sign the consent form one more time.

With 1637 possible volunteers from all over the world, it was no small miracle that Ruth Trent’s child, Tina, was chosen. Living just off 54^th and City Line and considering how much he’d like to tell her in person, he knocked his knee jumping up, which spun his chair. He sprinted for his coat. High school geekyness to the extreme.

Jamie peeked up from paperwork, with a look of alarm. He never left early.

“It turns out the new patient is on my way home.”

“I should go with.”

Max tried to duplicate the patient’s mother’s heartwarming smile. Jamie tossed her pen over her shoulder. “She must be pretty,” said with eyes rolling. Jamie buried her head in the paperwork but he could still see a blush. “Well, go on. Leave me here all alone.”

He didn’t know what to say so he decided to put foot in mouth. “You know I love you like a sister. . . . but you and the team will coordinate the follow up home or hospital visits.” Memo to self: offer to fix Ruth’s car.

Just 33 minutes later, despite snow flurries, he pulled up to an old three story Victorian badly in need of repairs. The place loomed over forward, perfect for Halloween.

# # #

Ruth had tried on her man-catching outfit and was practicing her smile in the mirror when the doorbell rang.

“Oh my God, it’s you.” Max had always been polite, giving her space. She never gave him her address, email, or phone. Perplexed. She smiled broadly while delivering a prickly line. “Well come on in, stranger. You haven’t turned into a stalker, Max? Have you?”

“No, not ever, Sunshine. I’m here to deliver a little good news.”

A little duplicate of her mother came running down the stairs, eyes widening the closer she got.

“Are you my new daddy I’ve been praying for?” She shook his hand while nodding her head seeking a yes answer. He squatted for an eye to eye.

“Maybe, sweetheart.”

Aside from being stunned by his remark, Ruth really never knew who had the worst case of infatuation. She wrote off his remark as an effort to placate her daughter.

It worked out great, bagels and coffee, quite chic, if he only knew, that’s about all she had in the house. He explained his position at CHOP, the 40 volunteers, the unfortunate loss of a little boy. She gladly signed every paper he slid over to her.

“So by some minor miracle the completely blind lottery picked you, Tina, to hopefully get well. I know nobody likes needles and shots but I’ve got little medical miracles inside this bag and brand new blood. Would you like to see what I’ve got in here?”

“I’ll take the needles and blood, Doctor, if you’ll marry my mommy.”

“One miracle at a time, baby,” Max said. He looked into Ruth’s eyes, as if searching for a yes. Sure they had chemistry, definitely the hots, but a life together?

While Max poked Tina with needles, he chatted her up with whimsical remarks and inventive fantasies.

Entranced and unflinching, Tina said, “So maybe I won’t have to die on Christmas Eve. Doctor, will you stay with us, on Christmas Eve, so I don’t kick the buckets? You see, I made a promise to my daddy that I would help him get his wings, starting that day.”

“I’ll be there.” A tear fell from Max’s eye, and sheepishly he peered up at Ruth. “If your mom will let me.”

What could she say? The universe was conspiring against her. Or was it the other way around? Over more bagels and coffee, they discussed the child’s belief in angels, wings, and her daddy Winston. Looking at his kind face and intense eyes, she dared to consider miracles.

“I love your outfit, Sunshine. I’ve missed you like you would not believe.”

“Me too. You still make me spin.” The first time she met Max, she had to grab hold of the weights rack to keep from fainting.

“It’s a good start.” He said his goodbyes with hugs, and kisses on their cheeks. Good enough for now.

# # #

Three solid weeks of stolen minutes and hours followed. They were definitely becoming more than friends.
On Christmas Eve, the three of them decided to hang bells Max had bought, all over the tree. It was fun and with the initial medical results encouraging, appropriate. He had never had a better Guinea piggy. Her progress might break every record.

“It’s encouraging but she’s not out of the woods yet.”

His cell rang. His nurse/secretary Julie was calling late. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Doctor, but ah.”

“Go on, Julie. I’m just decorating Tina and Ruth’s tree with some more bells.”

“I’m glad you are, Doctor. Wish them the best for me. About Tina, and aside from a merry Christmas for them and again, happy Chanukah for you, I have some very good news.”

“Let me put you on speaker.”

“Hi everybody and especially you, little one. You are doing so good, Tina, you won’t have to die today. Nope, maybe you’ll live a long, long life.”  She went on to explain how the computer predicted a complete cure, if they stayed with the regiment.

“Maybe I’ll get a handsome husband like Doctor Max someday.”

Ruth, staggered by all the news, bumped the tree setting the bells to ring.

“What’s that?” Jamie asked.

“Just a little miracle wouldn’t you say?” Max gathered the girl and woman into a group hug. He had an instant family. Thanks to Ruth’s deceased husband, Max’s life would change forever. If only he could convince a certain someone that her angel husband, Winston, believed they belonged together. He prayed for just one more miracle. Silly thoughts for a man of science, but what did he know, really? Lately? Not much, indeed.

A little later, Tina tucked in and sleeping, Max casually maneuvered Ruth to under the mistletoe.

“As your child’s doctor, don’t you think I deserve a kiss?” He pointed up at the hemiparasitic, poisonous plant, and quack cure for cancer hanging over them. A very pretty and in this case potent plant, indeed.

“Well, I guess, it’s the least I could do.” He stared down into her beautiful blues, noticed her dreamy, almost school girl excitement and knew she wanted him too.

He bent down and kissed her, sweetly. What sounded like a crescendo of chapel bells rang in his head.

“Did you make the bells ring?” She tiptoed into another kiss.

They weren’t close enough to the tree to jostle the bells.

“I think, Winston, has gotten enough wings for an eternity.” He wrapped her more tightly into his arms. “Would you consider marrying me? I mean if . . .”

She shut him up with another and deeper kiss, promising everything.

With a beaming smile and breathless voice, she said, “Maybe.”