Then, as if the afternoon isn’t surreal enough, I glance up to see Daniel Foster. He’s tall, handsome, and immaculately dressed. I haven’t seen him since this time last year. Daniel is as close to an ex-boyfriend as I will ever have. We didn’t really do anything more than date. He got accepted to Penn State and I was off to my tiny hippy institute in the woods, so that was it; no long distance relationship for us. Of course he’d show up here, his family comes to church every Sunday. He and I are more casual church goers, and only come when our families insist. We see each other once a year, and usually go out to dinner and realize that we aren’t that into each other and it never goes farther.
He recognizes me instantly, his smile is too wide, and he’s way too excited. “Jules, the prettiest girl in Eaton is here,” he says loud enough for only me and unfortunately Marcel to hear.
Even behind the beard, I see his jaw clench. His hand curls into a fist on the arm of the Santa chair. If he weren’t surrounded by children, I think he’d have Daniel gripped in that fist.
“Daniel,” I say casually. “Merry Christmas.” I keep my tone light and pleasant.
This is a holiday, no need to feel weird about an old flame coming by to share seasons greetings. My smile is thin and plastic as I inch closer to Marcel.
“Merry Christmas, gorgeous.” Daniel comes close. “What are you up to? How’s it going at—wait, what school are you going to again?” Ugh, this guy.
“California Institute of the Arts and Sciences, Humboldt. How’s Penn State?” I ask, because this usually launches him into a tirade about himself.
“Good, I graduate next year and already I’m being head-hunted by the top financial investment firms. The future is bright, Jules, the future is bright. We should get together before you go back. I just broke up with a Mrs. Wrong and you’ve been on my mind. This time might be our time.” What a smarmy jerk. I can’t believe I was ever into this guy.
“Ah, I can’t Daniel. I’m pregnant and I’m getting married,” I say trying to keep a straight face.
Marcel lets out a ‘ho ho ho’ to cover his actual laughter.
“Woah, okay. Well, who’s the lucky guy?” Daniel’s bright sparkle has definitely dimmed.
“He’s no one you know, but he’s amazing.” I try to wiggle out of this conversation as it is getting into murky and dangerous territory.
“Pregnant first, huh?”
“Yeah, you know. Billionaires are weird ... ” I roll my eyes and give him a goofy grin and Marcel keeps laughing, though he’s also trying to focus on the little boy in his lap who wants a Tonka truck.
“I guess they are. Well, I’ll see you around,” Daniel says as he leaves.
“Yep, I’ll be around.”
Marcel’s body relaxes instantly, though his eyes still follow Daniel until he disappears into the crowd.
I flush with the truth and lies I’ve just told and feel a little weak, so I look at Marcel, who is waving another child over. He sneaks a peek at me and winks.
Marcel has spoken with the last kid and the wishes are still hanging on the tree, but not because Marcel ignored them. He leaves them there deliberately for the community to give as they always have. He’s planning something much bigger. As soon as the last kiddo has left and it’s time to start the service, Marcel stands up and Char lets the congregation know that Santa is leaving and that they are grateful he had the chance to stop by.
The kids cheer and wave as Marcel and I return to the choir room.
“Food, clothing, housing, heat; that’s all they are asking for. I can make their dreams come true by Christmas Eve. I know I can. It will also help with the post-Christmas demolition of the area. I just need to make some calls.”
I blink. “Christmas is four days away.”
“I don’t care,” he says fiercely. “I’ll find vacant properties. I’ll put every family in one and they’ll be warm, safe, and fed. They won’t want for anything.”
Gran walks into the choir room after overhearing our conversation, and though she says nothing about what she’s heard, her eyes shine. “They’re about to start the service. Best you two get out there. I saved us seats.”
The service is about miracles and I can’t help but think about how many Marcel is planning on making for those families in need. When his driver takes us back to Gran’s, Marcel is already pulling out his phone, muttering about deeds and real estate maps. He looks like a man possessed. As soon as we near Gran’s house, the car parks in front and Gran is about to get out.
“Wait,” Marcel stops her. “First, the driver will open your door,” Marcel offers Gran a loving smile. “It’s his job and, second, before you both leave, I have a favor to ask.” He takes a pause, then a breath before he asks, in a voice that is smaller than his usual commanding tenor, “Come to my house for Christmas. Both of you. Please.”
Thepleasenearly undoes me. Because Marcel Dubois doesn’t beg and yet, he just did.
“We have to be here for Christmas Eve Eve, service, but after that we can go. You have some fancy transport to get us to New York? I’m gonna ride in a private jet?” Gran looks almost giddy at the thought.
“Of course you are,” Marcel affirms. “And Christmas Eve Eve? Is that a thing?” The poor guy looks so confused.
“Well, families have traditions on Christmas Eve so the church has their pre-Christmas service on the night before Christmas Eve. After that, Juliet and I are free to roam.” She gives him a wink and we both laugh.
