“I’m really sorry,” he says again as he drives into the apartment complex parking lot. “I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”
“Don’t apologize,” I say, squeezing his arm. “You saved my head. Maybe even my life.”
Connor puts the truck in park and his gaze flits downward. “Next time you need a ride, I promise not to grope you.”
“You’re such a dork,” I say, throwing him a grin that’s all real emotion because my annoyance over the electric bill is completely gone now.
Connor grins back at me. “See you at school.”
Yep, I think as I get out and jog toward my apartment.Connor is not like Ricky at all.
Chapter Eight
There’s a big empty spot in the living room when I get home from school the next day. The whole room looks different—incomplete. I sit on the couch and stare at the empty spot and realize I’ve never seen our living room without this one very vital piece of equipment.
The TV is gone.
At any other time in my life, I might be calling the police right now to report a robbery. But I’m not concerned with a break in right now… things have been going missing for weeks. Mom has been selling everything she can, and there’s no doubt in my mind that our flat screen was the next thing to go. I hope she got enough money for it.
I know what she spent the money on – there are a grocery bags on the countertop. Mom’s philosophy has always been to put the cold stuff up immediately and save the rest of the groceries for me to put away. I’m glad to see the food. As long as there’s food in the pantry and lights that turn on, we’ll be okay. I put it all away and then go outside to wait for Max’s school bus which arrives half an hour after mine does.
Max jumps off the bus and rushes up to me, saying the same thing he’s done every day since we mailed that letter to Santa.
“Can we check the mail?”
He peers up at me with an eager smile on his face. I roll my eyes. I have already told him that Santa is too busy to reply to letters, but he is undeterred. Apparently some kids in his class told him that they got replies last year, so he’s expecting a reply this year.
Max holds my hand as we make our way to the mailboxes at our apartment complex. On the way, we pass by the rec center, which is a shared space for all the tenants. There’s free wifi, a pool table, DVDs you can borrow, and a fitness center. Max sees mom through the windows, working on her laptop. He waves at her and she waves back. Even through the window, she looks exhausted.
“Hurry up!” Max says as I reach for the mailbox key in my pocket. “My letter is probably here!”
“I don’t think it is,” I say, unlocking box 232.
“But Jason said his sister always gets a reply from Santa and she’s ten and she gets a letter every year!”
I pull out the stack of envelopes and hand them over to Max for his daily inspection. It’s always just junk mail or late payment notices. Today, there’s something different. His eyes light up and then immediately his brow pulls together. “I don’t understand,” he says, holding up a cream colored envelope to me. “Why does it have your name on it?”
My eyes widen. I take the envelope, which stands out from the rest of the mail because it’s thick and velvety with golden gilded edges. The return address simply says North Pole in red calligraphy. My name is handwritten on the front in a black pen.
My heart pounds. Someone got my letter. Someone wrote back.
Max stomps his foot and pulls me out of my thoughts. “That’s not fair! Where’s my letter?”
“I don’t know, buddy. But I think this is something from the school, or something. It’s not from Santa.”
“Yes it is!” he says, pointing to the back of the envelope. I turn it over, and there’s a decorative wax seal on the back that says: From Santa Claus.
“Holy crap,” I breathe.
Max is pouting, understandably. I pull myself together enough to try to make him feel better. “Listen, buddy. This is a really busy time of year, and sometimes mail gets lost and it takes longer to arrive. So I bet your letter will be here soon.”
His bottom lip curls out, but he nods. “Okay.”
I tuck all of the mail under my arm and reach for his hand. “I’ll save my letter for when you get yours, and then we can read them together, okay?”
“Okay,” he says, smiling. “The post office better hurry up!”
On the walk back, we stop in to see Mom. She gives Max a hug and then he runs off to play with the foosball table in the corner. I sit next to her. “Thanks for the groceries.”
