The Bark Before Christmas Page 7

  Mr. Hanover never ceased to surprise me. Christmas magic indeed.

  Ho, ho, ho, I thought. Whatever worked.

  Chapter 7

  Saturday morning I was up with the sun. Okay, it was mid-December so that wasn’t saying much. But still.

  In the last few days, I’d come to the realization that Davey and Kevin were almost as transfixed by the Howard Academy Christmas Bazaar as I was. Kev’s excitement I could understand. At his age, he thinks Christmas is the best day of the year, and anything that has to do with his favorite holiday is wonderful by association.

  Davey, however, is several years past believing in Santa Claus. And while he enjoys getting and giving presents, singing carols, and eating Christmas cookies, he’s a typical boy when it comes to shopping. So I hadn’t thought that a day devoted mostly to the acquisition of Christmas swag would rank high on his list of things to do.

  It turned out I was wrong.

  Having stayed late at school on Friday evening to oversee the final stages of booth setup and decorating in the auditorium, I had nonetheless planned to be back at Howard Academy by eight A.M. Saturday morning. That would give me a full two hours before the doors opened at ten to talk to the vendors as they unpacked their wares, introduce myself to the extra maintenance crew that Tony would have on hand, and to iron out any last-minute glitches. Sam would be bringing the boys over later in the day once the bazaar was in full swing.

  When I passed through the kitchen on my way out the door, Sam was still upstairs in the shower. Davey and Kevin, both early risers, were seated together at the kitchen table. Davey had made a stab at putting out breakfast. He had a bowl of Cheerios and a glass of orange juice. Kev, who was perched in his booster seat, was gnawing happily on an apple that was much too big for his hands.

  Through the windows at the back of the room, I could see the Poodles running around outside in the fenced backyard. Left to his own devices for too long, Tar is apt to start a hair-pulling game. I made a mental note to make sure that everyone was back in the house before I left for the day.

  Kev’s head whipped around as I came through the doorway. “Time to go!” he cried excitedly.

  The toddler scrambled down out of his chair, wiggling his body handily between booster seat and tabletop. My little escape artist. Still clutching his apple, Kev came flying across the room. Apparently the fact that he was still wearing his footie pajamas was not, in his mind, an impediment to imminent departure.

  I caught Kev and swung him up into my arms and smacked a kiss on his nose. “The bazaar isn’t even open yet. You guys are coming later with Dad. Besides, you need to get dressed first.”

  “Dressed now,” Kevin insisted.

  I plopped him down on the countertop, opened a drawer, got out a knife and sliced his apple into several long wedges for easier eating. Then I reached over, opened the back door, and whistled the Poodles inside.

  As usual, Tar led the way. He likes to think that he’s the leader of the pack and he’s lucky that the bitches are gracious enough not to disabuse him of that fallacy.

  Running full tilt across the deck and through the open door, Tar hit the hardwood floor and went sliding past me. Feet scrambling for purchase that wasn’t there, the big Poodle careened into the water bowl on the other side of the room. The bowl has a weighted base but it wasn’t enough to withstand that kind of onslaught.

  Bowl and dog both went flying. Tar bounced off the wall as water sprayed out over the floor. Watching the unexpected show from his perch on the counter, Kevin squealed in delight.

  Meanwhile, the remaining Poodles were still standing in the open doorway letting a draft of frigid air into the house. They’d been savvy enough to anticipate trouble and wise enough to want no part of it. When I waved the crew inside and quickly shut the door, Raven, Casey, and Augie scooted past me and disappeared down the hallway.

  Eve picked her way daintily across the kitchen floor. She wrinkled her nose at the small flood and carefully avoided stepping in any puddles. Faith just stood and stared reproachfully at Tar.

  “What do you think you are?” I said to Eve as I grabbed a handful of paper towels and began to mop up the mess. “A cat?”

  “A cat!” Kevin chortled happily. “Eve thinks she’s a cat.” He flicked a piece of apple into the air. It was headed in Eve’s direction but Tar leapt up and caught it on the fly.

  “Hey,” I said. “No feeding dogs from the kitchen counter.”

  “Not a dog,” Kev corrected me. “Eve’s a cat.”

  Davey looked up from his cereal and shook his head. “You’re going to regret starting that,” he said.

  “Tell me about it,” I grumbled.

  Over by the sink, the empty water bowl had finally rolled to a stop, still resting on its side. Tar followed the dish, staring at its unfamiliar configuration with his head tipped to one side in confusion. After a moment, he reached out a front paw and batted it. The bowl spun in a small circle, then wobbled briefly before dropping flat on the floor. Amazed by his accomplishment, that big silly Poodle leapt up in the air and barked.

  Breakfast at the Travis/Driver household. On good days, it’s a zoo. On bad days, you don’t even want to know.

  I lifted Kevin down off the counter and set him on the floor. “Your clothes are on your bed,” I told him. “Go upstairs and get dressed.”

  “Already dressed,” Kevin argued. He pushed out his lower lip in a pout. “Ready to go.”

  “You can’t go to the bazaar in your pajamas.” I walked the toddler to the kitchen door and gave him a nudge toward the stairway. “Dad’s upstairs. He’ll help you.”

  “I can help him,” Davey volunteered. He was already dressed. He picked up his glass and bowl and dumped them in the sink.

  “Thanks. That would be great. I want to get to bazaar early. You know, before anything has a chance to go wrong.”

  “At Howard Academy?” Davey wasn’t facing me, but I saw his shoulders stiffen. “Nothing ever goes wrong there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Isn’t that the perfect school? Where the perfect kids go?”

  Davey started to follow his younger brother from the room. I laid a hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

  “Wait,” I said. “Stay here a minute and talk to me.”

  Kev was already gone. The toddler raced down the hall, rounded the banister, and began to scramble up the steps. Reluctantly Davey turned back to face me.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Something’s the matter,” I said. “Tell me what it is.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Like that’s going to work.” I waved him into a chair.

  For the first eight years of Davey’s life, it had been just him and me. Our relationship had always been close, not because it had to be, but because we truly enjoyed each other’s company. He and I had always been able to talk to each other. We’d shared the things that were bothering us.

  Now as he approached his teenage years, I could feel Davey pulling away. He’d grown reticent and he valued his privacy more. I knew that what I was experiencing was the natural progression of a mother/son relationship. It was time for Davey to begin testing his wings—and to push against the boundaries that I’d always set.

  But this disgruntlement sounded like something different. And I wanted to know what. I grabbed a seat across from him.

  “Talk to me,” I said.

  Davey frowned. Brown eyes, so much like his father’s, stared at me across the table. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I want to know what’s bugging you.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “Tell me what’s up.”

  “Don’t you have to go? I thought you wanted to get to the bazaar early.”

  “The bazaar will wait.” I reached across and squeezed his hand. “Or it won’t. Either way, the world won’t come to an end. I always have time to talk to you.”

  “That’s not what
it seems like,” Davey mumbled.

  Aha, I thought. Now we were getting somewhere.

  “Does that mean you weren’t happy when I went back to work?” I asked.

  “No. It’s not that. You always worked.”

  Yes, I had. As a single mother, I’d had no choice. When Davey was young, I had been employed as a special ed teacher at his own elementary school. Later I’d taken the job at Howard Academy. Davey had never seemed to mind my job before.

  “So what is it then?”

  “Kids talk,” Davey said. He was still frowning.

  “Your friends, you mean?”

  He nodded.

  “What do they talk about?”

  “About your school. You know, Howard Academy. About how all the kids who go there are stuck-up snobs with fancy cars and their own Lear jets.”

  “Lear jets?” I echoed faintly.

  “And yachts, too.”

  “Yachts,” I repeated. My son probably thought I sounded like a parrot.

  “That’s right,” he said defensively. “Isn’t it?”

  “Some of the kids at Howard Academy do come from families with lots of money,” I told him. “But not all of them. And having that money doesn’t mean that they live perfect lives, or that they’re happy all the time. In fact many of those kids have the same kinds of problems that you and your friends do.”

  Davey looked up. “A mom who’s always getting into trouble?”

  I choked on an unexpected laugh. “Okay, maybe not that problem. But some of them come from broken homes. Or have absentee parents. Or have parents who would rather give them stuff than sit down and spend time with them.”

  “That last part doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

  I was pretty sure he was teasing. At least I hoped he was.

  I wished I was sitting next to Davey so that I could wrap my arms around him. Even though I knew he’d protest.

  “Think about it this way,” I said. “Remember how happy you were last year when you got Augie?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “That was a big thrill for you, wasn’t it?”

  Davey nodded.

  “Some of the kids at Howard Academy will never feel that kind of excitement. When you already have everything handed to you without working for it, or even asking for it, none of it means much. It’s just there.”

  “I guess,” said Davey. He didn’t look convinced.

  “Are you jealous of those kids?”

  He didn’t reply right away. After a minute he muttered, “Maybe a little.”

  “Because they have things that you don’t?” I paused, watching his face carefully. “Or because your mother spends so much time with them?”

  “Both, I guess. I mean, you spend all day with those perfect kids, listening to them talk about their great lives, and then you come home to . . . us.”

  That did propel me out of my seat. I slipped around the table and gathered my son in a hug. If he didn’t like it, tough.

  “Yes, to you,” I said firmly. “To the two best kids in the whole world. To exactly where I want to be.”

  I felt a warm jolt of pleasure as Davey wrapped his arms around me and hugged me back. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive.” I leaned back and looked him in the eye. “Are you kidding me? I’m beyond positive.”

  “Okay.” Davey laughed. “I get it.”

  “Good.” I pulled away and stood beside his chair. “Those friends of yours who talk . . . do you want to bring them over here this week after school and I’ll set them straight?”

  “No. Definitely not.” He paled at the thought. “None of my friends need a lecture from my mom.”

  “You’re sure?” I teased. “Because I’d be happy to oblige.”

  “No way,” Davey replied. “I’m fine. Really.”

  I heard Sam and Kevin coming down the stairs. The clatter of sixteen Poodle feet accompanied them.

  “Fine about what?” asked Sam. He’d heard the end of our conversation.

  “Everything,” Davey assured him. My son and I shared a look.

  “Eve is a cat!” Kevin announced gleefully.

  Sam looked around the room. “Did I miss something?”

  I gave him a quick kiss and grabbed my coat. “The boys will fill you in,” I said.

  It was time for me to run.

  There’s a sign just inside the Howard Academy gateposts announcing a ten-mile-per hour speed limit and advising visitors to watch out for children. Most days, I try to obey the rules. That morning I didn’t even come close. Instead, keeping a careful eye out for icy patches, I sped up the driveway, whipped around the back of the school, and parked in the first empty space I saw.

  A number of vendors had come in the evening before to unload and set up their booths. Those who hadn’t were busy getting everything moved into place now. The double doors that led to the auditorium were standing open, and Tony’s crew was helping the latecomers bring in their wares.

  Before I’d even reached the building, I could already hear the Christmas carols that were being piped into the auditorium by the school’s sound system. Holiday music always makes me smile. The soaring notes of “Joy to the World” put an extra bounce in my step as I strode across the parking lot and hurried through the doorway.

  I meant to get right to work. Instead, once inside, I couldn’t help but pause for a minute and simply admire the vista before me. Our plain, functional auditorium had disappeared. In its place was a Christmas wonderland.

  Rita Kinney had outdone herself with the decorations. Everywhere I looked, I saw fresh pine boughs and garlands. Huge, shiny,ornaments, strung on red satin ribbons, dangled from the ceiling. A pathway, lined by glittering Styrofoam candy canes, directed children to the photo booth where Santa Claus would be waiting. The air smelled wonderful: like evergreen, and cinnamon, and warm apple pie.

  Just inside the door, I saw concessions offering face painting, caramel apples, penny candy, and toys and games. Beyond them were booths selling ornate wreaths, and watercolors, and handcrafted Christmas ornaments. The local crafting community had come out in full force. Their stands were lined with homemade quilts, needlepoint Christmas stockings, wooden puzzles, and hand-knitted scarves. Stocking stuffers were everywhere.

  Even though I’d watched the room come together piece by piece, the finished panorama before me still made my breath catch in my throat. The bazaar looked incredible, far better than I’d had any right to expect. Now I could only hope that our efforts would be rewarded by a huge turnout of parents and customers, and that they’d all be eager to shop and spend.

  “I said no and I meant no! Didn’t you hear me?”

  Whoever the woman was, half the room must have heard her, I thought as I turned to see what the commotion was about. A middle-aged woman, beautifully dressed, perfectly coiffed, wearing four-inch heels that would have made my feet beg for relief, was standing just inside the double doors, shaking her finger in Tony Dahl’s face. Under other circumstances, the woman might have been attractive. Now she just looked furious.

  I hurried over to the pair. “Excuse me,” I said. “Can I help?”

  “I should hope so! This . . . man . . . is trying to tell me that my homemade jellies and jams have been relegated to an inferior booth at the back of the room.” She flung out an arm dismissively, indicating the direction she’d been sent to set up. Luckily Tony ducked, otherwise she might have hit him in the nose. “That is simply unacceptable. I want to speak to the person in charge!”

  “That would be me,” I said, holding out my hand. “I’m Melanie Travis. And the man who’s been trying to help you is Tony Dahl, our head coach and phys ed teacher.”

  “I don’t care if he’s Father Christmas,” the woman snapped. “He’s wrong!”

  I withdrew my hand, unshaken, and tried out a smile instead. It probably didn’t look very sincere because Tony—who’d prudently removed himself from the line of fire—winked at me from behind the woman’s bac
k.

  “I doubt that,” I said. “Tony’s very good at his job. But let me have a look. I’ll check and see where you belong.” I thumbed through the papers attached to my clipboard and took out the final diagram of our floor chart. Barbara had given it to me the night before. “Your name is?”

  “Madeline Dangerfield.” The woman’s toe began to tap. “I spoke with somebody about my booth. Somebody important!” She peered at me through narrowed eyes. It was clear she didn’t think I measured up.

  “Was it Barbara Blume?” I asked. Scanning quickly through the chart, I didn’t see Madeline’s name on a booth near the front of the room. In fact I didn’t see it listed anywhere.

  “How should I know? It was more than a month ago. Right after Halloween.”

  “It couldn’t have been that long ago,” I said, looking up. “Barbara confirmed with all our vendors within the last ten days. Didn’t she call you?”

  “Maybe she did. Who knows?” Madeline’s shoulder rose and fell in a careless shrug. “I don’t answer the phone every time it rings. Half the time, it’s telemarketers.”

  “Barbara would have left a message for you.” I was sure of that. “Did you return her call?”

  “Why should I have had to do that? I’m here now. That ought to be good enough.”

  That explained the problem. Barbara must have stricken Madeline’s name from the main list when she hadn’t been able to get hold of her.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Are you in charge or not?” Madeline demanded.

  Fervently wishing that I could answer no, I nodded instead.

  “Then do something!” The foot was still tapping. I was tempted to reach over and place my boot on top of it.

  “I’m afraid that since Barbara didn’t hear from you, we don’t have any space available right out front. But the booths over by the windows are lovely. They’re light and bright and they’ll get lots of foot traffic.”