“I’m going to grab Santa’s bags. Wait right here. I’ll toss them down to you before I jump,” Benson said.
With a grunt, Benson swung open the truck’s tailgate, the metal cold against his hand, and scrambled into the truck bed to find the bags marked for St. Catherine’s Maternity Home.
The two big red velvet bags waited like treasure sacks in the bed, puffed out and ridiculous against the winter. He handed each bag to Kyle, then he jumped out. Benson took one bag, Kyle took the other, and together they hauled them to the front door of the building. In the bright daylight, he saw how striking Kyle’s appearance was. The sun caught the gold in his hair and the warmth in his smile.
Benson pressed the doorbell, the chime echoing faintly within the house. Beside him, Kyle shifted, a hefty red velvet bag clutched in his hand, overflowing with presents for the girls.
Sister Amelia appeared, as timeless as he remembered, in the full traditional habit. The crisp white coif framed her face, and the black veil, a stark contrast, fell gracefully over her shoulders and down her back. The long black tunic, belted at the waist, completed the ensemble. Seeing her, Benson felt a familiar tug in his memory, a nostalgic ache for his days at a Catholic school in Michigan. She’d taught Benson when he was in the sixth grade and after many years was transferred here. The scent of old textbooks and beeswax polish seemed to waft through the air, and he could almost hear the distant murmur of morning prayers. It had been years, but some images, some feelings, were indelible.
“Come in, come in!” Sister Amelia’s voice, warm and welcoming, broke him from his reverie. “Oh, my dears, all thesegifts! You shouldn’t have, really. But thank you truly, from the bottom of my heart. The girls will be absolutely thrilled.” She gestured them inside, a genuine smile illuminating her face.
“You’re welcome.” Benson hugged Sister Amelia. “This is Kyle Foster, and he’s helping me.”
“Nice to meet you.” Sister Amelia nodded with a half-smile. “Right on time, just the way you were in school,” she said, nodding as she took in the velvet bags slung over their shoulders. “How is your lazy brother Logan doing?”
“Being lazy and making poor decisions.”
“And your parents?”
“They’re fine. They told me to wish you a blessed Christmas from them.”
“Thank you. I wonder why you’re spending Christmas week mostly in a truck?” She slowly turned facing Kyle who was staring at the tile floor.
“I wanted to do more this year,” he lied.
“Let’s get you suited up first. The girls don’t need to see Santa half-dressed. The costumes are hanging in the closet.”
She led them past the front living room, a cozy little room with faded couches and a fireplace that looked like it hadn’t been lit since Easter, and down a short hall to a tiny dressing room. The place smelled of peppermint and old furniture polish, and the walls were lined with hooks that held more winter coats than seemed necessary.
Benson tugged at the wrinkled red costume and gave Kyle a look. “Think it still fits?”
Kyle raised his eyebrows. “You might have to hold your breath.”
Sister Amelia chuckled. “There’s a mirror. Try not to frighten yourselves.”
Then she left them to the rustling of fabric, the quiet hum of carols barely reaching through the walls.
“You ever been an elf before?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Kyle grinned. “Nope. First time for everything.”
Benson chuckled, handing over a green hat with red trim. “Congratulations. You’ve just been promoted to Santa’s top helper.”
The Santa costume felt scratchy, like it had been washed once in 1983 and never again. But Benson adjusted the belt, tugged on the hat, and gave his best jolly smirk in the mirror. Kyle looked equal parts amused and nervous, his elf hat slipping slightly to the side.
Leaving the room, they encountered Sister Amelia in the hallway; the quiet hush of the corridor was broken only by the gentle click of her rosary beads. She led them to an enormous room at the back of the home. The girls were already waiting in a room that felt too big for twelve people. Each girl was at a different stage of pregnancy. Old armchairs formed a lopsided circle, and a string of lights blinked along the ceiling. Christmas carols played from a tiny speaker near the wall. A cinnamon-scented candle flickered on the mantel, its flame dancing like it knew the entire room was watching.
“Ho ho ho!” Benson announced, stepping into the center like he’d done this every December since birth. His voice boomed cheerfully, and the girls laughed, more amused than enchanted, but that was fine by him.
He waved to Kyle. “And this here is Elf Kyle,” Benson’s gruff voice announced, “with his pointy ears and mischievous grin.”
Kyle gave a shy wave, his cheeks flushed. Their eyes, wide with hope, followed Kyle as if he were a rockstar. He wondered what Sister Amelia would say if she knew what Kyle was doing before Benson picked him up at the roadside in the middle of a snowstorm.
Two big armchairs were planted at the head of the circle like thrones. Benson collapsed into one with a theatrical flair; Kyle plopped into the other, half embarrassed and half thrilled. Benson reached into one velvet bag and pulled out the first present.
“Mariah,” he said, reading the name aloud.
A girl with short red curls raised her hand, and Kyle bounded over with the gift. She beamed, unwrapping it right away—an iPhone, four newborn baby jumpsuits, and an array of baby toys. “Thank you!” she said brightly. Kyle gave her a big hug. The girl looked like she was going to deliver any minute.
