Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [28]
“Just looking,” Angela muttered as she moved over to the shower curtains. What was she doing here anyway? Why was she torturing herself this way? There was nothing she could do but wait and watch.
She made her way again to the center of the mall and the tropical garden. All the benches were filled with squealing kids sucking on candy canes or dribbling ice cream down the insides of their unzipped snowsuits. Her eyes went again to the red-suited figure on the gilt throne. Curious, she began to clock the kids who went to climb on Santa’s lap. One minute flat was all the nondescript man helping Santa permitted them. Just enough time to snap a picture.
Still, the kids seemed happy with that. She sighed again. Had she ever been a little kid? She couldn’t remember. It seemed as though she’d been older than her years since forever. An outsider. A feeling of panic washed over her as she struggled to revive a memory, any memory, good or bad, of childhood.
She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to think back. With relief she recalled a shopping trip with her mother. They had been looking for a special dress—a Christmas dress, she remembered. Her mother had wanted something in velvet with a white lace collar and bows. They were in a store, a big store with several floors and lots of departments. Not a mall. Timberwoods hadn’t been built yet. They’d had lunch in the store’s dining room and watched a fashion show. Afterward her mother had taken her to visit Santa. When Santa had asked her what she wanted for Christmas, she couldn’t think of anything she didn’t already have, so she’d shrugged and said nothing at all.
Her mother had snatched her off Santa’s lap and chastised her for not cooperating. Instead of looking for the dress, they’d gone home, and on Christmas Day she’d worn an old dress. Now she wondered why her parents had celebrated Christmas at all when they obviously didn’t care about it. And from then on, whenever she needed new clothes, the nanny had taken her shopping.
The queue to see Santa had diminished and the man in nondescript clothes had placed a sign in front of the roped-off area.
She squinted to read it.
IT’S SANTA’S BREAK TIME! ELVES TOO! PLEASE COME BACK IN FIFTEEN MINUTES. Which probably meant the young girl in the elf outfit was heading outside to smoke a cigarette and Santa was going to chow down on an overstuffed pastrami sandwich. He had to be sick of candy canes, that was for sure. Both of them were gone.
Angela ran to the escalator and down the moving steps, too impatient to wait. At the bottom she slowed, then walked toward the North Pole display. She waited impatiently for the man who’d set out the sign to acknowledge her. He said nothing, just stared at her. Then he gave her a crooked grin.
“Hi,” Angela said finally in a cracked voice. She wondered if she should even talk to him. He hadn’t been particularly friendly when they first met, and there was an odd vibe about him. But even so . . .
Strays and losers. Her mother’s words came back to her. You look like one yourself.
Yeah. Maybe that was the connection. She was drawn to him, as if by an invisible thread. There was nothing romantic about it. They were two of a kind, that was all. “Just thought I’d come over,” Angela said, hoping to start a conversation. He just shrugged in response.
“Listen, would you like to have a cup of coffee or a soda with me after you finish up here?” Angela said, hearing the hint of desperation in her voice. Close up, she didn’t sense any interest from the silent man. A person’s eyes were supposed to hold hidden messages and reveal untold stories. But from the way he was behaving, this man was dead from the neck up.
“All right. Where?”
Angela blinked in surprise. She shrugged. “Wherever. There’s the burger place just over there, or the ice cream parlor down at the end of Holiday Alley. You name it.”
He loomed over her—he was a big man, not fat, not muscular, just big. And sort of awkward—they had that in common, too.
“I could go for a burger,” came the flat reply.
“Okay.”