Like the pied piper, a trail of visitors and personnel on break follow us to the medical ward where the people are not in intensive care.
A lady who broke her hip receives a grocery shopping trip, and a man recovering from a heart attack gets snow shoveling. Everyone is smiles and grins. They hug us and thank us, some with tears in their eyes.
And you know what? I’ve never played Santa before. Never had the joy of giving so freely, but golly gee—it is definitely more blessed to give than receive.
The next room is my grandfather’s. Tim and I sing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” all the way to his doorway.
“We wish you a Merry Christmas, and a Grandpa New Year!” I finish by drawing out the last note with a flourish.
Something’s wrong. Grandpa stares at me as if he doesn’t know me.
“Ho, ho, ho,” Tim says. “Merry Christmas, Jon Powers. We’re sorry you’re not feeling well, but we want to wish you a Merry Christmas.”
I hold the pillowcase for him. “This is what Christmas looks like, Grandpa, when your grandson follows in your footsteps. Ho, ho, ho, pick a gift card from my bag of toys.”
“I don’t want any gifts from you,” he says, turning his face from me. “Please go away.”
I exchange shocked glances with Tim, and the gathered nurses cough as they slink out of the room. One nurse fluffs his pillow. “Mr. Powers. Are you comfortable?”
“I would be more comfortable if it weren’t Christmas,” he grumbles. “Go away, Braden. I’m disappointed in you.”
“Disappointed in what way? But Grandpa. I just want you to be happy.” I scoot a chair to his bedside, not going anywhere.
“I’m going to the next room,” Tim mumbles, and soon, I’m alone with my grandfather.
“Why are you disappointed?” I ask.
Grandpa has tears in his eyes, but he refuses to look at me. “I waited and waited for you to tell me the truth, but instead, I had to hear it from Sheriff Lane.”
“Truth about what?” My heart is sinking like it’s filled with lead shot.
“Your life. Sammie. The prison terms. The jobs you do for the mob. You’re not in law enforcement. You’re a bounty hunter for bad guys.”
“How did you—?”
“Sheriff Lane looked into it after he accused you of attempted murder.”
“You know I’d never do anything like that. Oh, Grandpa. I love you. I love this family. I might have left because I missed Mom too much, but I love everyone.”
He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I know you didn’t have anything to do with it. You and Sammie saved my life, but I’m still disappointed. You didn’t trust me with the truth. Why did you pretend Sammie was your daughter?”
“I wanted you to be proud of me. I wanted you to be happy.”
“What did I tell you about fake happiness and pretend? Solar panels and wind farm fantasies?” He sighs and shakes his head. “Santa Claus is fun for kids, but someday when you’re a grown man, you have to stop believing in Santa Claus, unicorns, and fairy godmothers.”
“Whoa, wait a second!” I stand and tower over him and flap my Santa suit as if I have a belly. “Today, I finally believe in Santa. I just finished visiting patients and spreading joy, giving gifts and hugs. Doing something for someone other than myself. I became Santa for a few hours, and now, I believe that Santa Claus is in all of us when we love our fellow human being. Santa is not pretend, Grandpa. He’s real.”
“It was fun while it lasted,” Grandpa says, more to himself than to me. “The so-called fun, the family traditions, the overwrought joy, the efforts at fooling the kids, the dressing up to be something you’re not… I miss your grandmother so much. She was real.”
“So was my mother.” I blink back a sudden surge of tears. “What was real is their love. It shows in all the joy, the cheer, the gifts, the food, and the traditions. It’s all love, Grandpa. I’m sorry I lied and involved Sammie, but you’re very sick, and I wanted you to be happy.”
“I am happy.” His bleary eyes draw back to me. “I’ve had a happy life, but it’s time for curtains. The last call. I’m dying, Braden. The cancer eats away at me, and there’s not going to be a Christmas miracle.”
“Today is a miracle. If Lindsay hadn’t found you, we would have had a Christmas disaster. If Sammie didn’t have the Narcan, we would all be grieving. If Wolf and Blitz hadn’t run all the way into town, we would have another dark Christmas Day.”
“If a certain person hadn’t tried to kill me, I would not have seen you take my place as Santa this year.” His cheeks pink up, and he chuckles wryly. “I ought to thank that person.”
“Who is it? Did Sheriff Lane arrest him or her?” My heart is pounding, because I know I am the prime suspect, and I’m innocent.
