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EXCERPT:
It was a good thing Santa was last in line. That gave her a little more time to pitch the story of Santa’s cousin Sammy the Sailor. She hoped the kids would buy it. She was halfway down the line of floats when she heard Kevin calling her. Turning, she saw him at the head of the line with two older men. Her Santa – now Sammy – had arrived.
“I tole you she was a cute lil’ one,” Billy slurred. The other man was Russ Johnson who’d originally told her where to find Billy. Billy was leaning heavily on Russ.
“Hi, Billy. Hi, Russ.” She didn’t say more. Russ planted his feet more firmly and looked sideways at Mackenzie.
“So. Seems like we might have a little situation here,” Russ said quietly. “Sorry about this, Mackenzie.”
Silence reigned as Mackenzie, Russ, and Kevin looked at Billy. Wobbly despite Russ’s firm grip, their would-be Santa gazed at the festive scene. “Looks like Chris’mas here.” He stepped away from Russ to fish a silver flask from his back pocket. “Merry Chris’mas. We jus’ need a little snow.” He gazed into the distance.
“Oh, Russ.” Mackenzie groaned. “Oh, no.”
“I know,” Russ said. “He wanted to come down here. I figured it was better for me to bring him than him try to drive.”
Mackenzie sighed as she approached Billy. “Hey, Billy. How are you?”
“What?” Billy squinted as he turned to her voice. “Hey, lil’ girl. Yeah, I’m good, I’m good.” He took another swig from the flask. “Almos’ Chris’mas, ain’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” she agreed. “A few more days. How do you feel, Billy?”
“Me? M’okay,” he said, gazing away from her. “Maybe a little tired.”
She turned a questioning gaze on Russ.
“I think he should go home,” Russ said. “He’s not at his best.”
“Yeah. I can see that.” Her heart had dropped at Billy’s first word. His bleary eyes confirmed the worst, but she was unwilling to concede defeat. “He’s only got to sit in the wagon. He doesn’t have to do anything. Or say anything.”
“You don’t want a sloshed Santa.” Kevin shook his head.
At that moment, Billy lurched toward Kevin, slung his arm around the other man’s shoulders and leaned into him. “Hey, Kev, how’s that woman of yours? She’s some fine, ain’t she?”
Kevin leaned under the man’s weight, and Russ stepped in to help keep Billy upright. Mackenzie could imagine the headline in tomorrow’s news: Sloshed Santa Makes Waves at Sea Star Festival. She sighed from the bottom of her feet.
Excerpt 4 (at the parade)
370 words
“Santa’s coming, right, Daddy?” The tall girl said. “We’re going to see Santa.”
“Santa!” the toddler in his arms shouted. “Santa.”
Mackenzie’s stomach plummeted again. All the tweets in the world wouldn’t prepare every child for this ultimate disappointment.
The crowd cheered as the police cruiser eased past Market Square toward the hill leading to the high school. Cheers rang out for each of the floats. The firetruck got gasps of awe from the kids. When firefighters in uniform walking alongside handed out candy canes, enthusiasm grew.
Mackenzie was counting floats. The wagon was last, and its arrival meant time for the speech, the draw for the giveaway basket and, worst, facing the disappointment about a missing Santa.
Oh, her edits! The speech needed to include Josiah and the food drive. Should Magda apologize for Santa’s absence? She scribbled on her tablet in the dim light under the streetlamp.
The wave of sound intensified as the parade neared the end. The pipe and drum band marched by in kilts, shivering but loud. The high school climate change float was next, the last float before the Frankel’s wagon. Cheers and shouts accompanied the teens and their massive papier-mâché Earth. Loud recorded music played from their float. She heard them go by as she was finishing her changes.
She looked up to see the draft horses tossing their manes, bells jangling from the harness. Old Mr. Frankel drove the wagon, looking like something out of the seventeenth century. The kids near her were squealing. “Santa! Santa!”
Heaving a sigh, she glanced over to see their disappointed faces, but all three kids were glowing. She followed their gaze upward to the back of the hay wagon, past the lighted fir tree, past Young Mrs. Frankel and her daughter tossing candy canes to see somebody else. Another person sat in the wagon, a big person with a red suit and a long white beard. Waving his gloved hands at the crowd.
She gasped. There was Santa, firmly in place on a bale of straw. How could it be? Shaking her head and smiling as if her face would crack, her tears were close. Maybe Christmas miracles did happen. Just never to her. Until now.
Author Bio:
Annie M. Ballard writes about women and family ties in the small villages that feel like home. With one foot in the Canadian Maritimes and the other in New England, she digs deep into the lives of her characters. When she’s not writing, she’s happily baking, gardening, powerlifting and trying to make friends with every dog in her neighbourhood.
Annie’s stories include strong women living real lives, good men trying to do better, and always a happy ending.
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