That Maddening Man. Debrah Morris

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      “He’s missed you, too.” Ellin helped Lizzie out of her coat and mittens, noting the smiles her outfit generated.

      When it came to fashion statements, her only child believed individuality was the way to go. Today she’d insisted on wearing her pink ballet slippers and a puffy-sleeved, full-length princess dress constructed of frilled layers of pink and purple chiffon. According to Lizzie, it wasn’t just a Halloween costume. It was appropriate party attire.

      “Okay now, that’s enough, Pudge.” Ida Faye settled the dog down for a petting session. Then she gave Ellin a wide, denture-baring grin. She whispered behind her hand so Lizzie wouldn’t hear. “Ain’t that Jack a honey?”

      “Who?” Someone brought a chair and Ellin scooted it close. Lizzie settled on the floor at her feet, Santa’s bell in her lap.

      “Jack Madden,” Ida Faye said. “The young fella playin’ Santy Claus. You oughta know him, you came in with him.”

      “Oh, so that’s his name.” It sounded familiar. Where had she heard it before? Ah, yes. The owner of the newspaper had mentioned him. “He works for the paper, right?”

      Ida Faye nodded. “Yep. But that’s just a sideline. His main profession is schoolteaching. He’s good as gold, our Jack is.”

      “Hmm.” Ellin settled back and watched the ersatz Santa work the room while an old lady in a bright red dress pounded “Here Comes Santa Claus” from an out-of-tune piano.

      He belted out several rounds of hearty ho, ho, hos, clasping his king-size belly until it shook like the proverbial bowl full of jelly. Then he swung his heavy sack to the floor and strode around the dayroom, greeting the old folks by name and inquiring if they’d been good boys and girls. He shook their blue-veined hands, kissed their blushing cheeks and wiped their sentimental tears.

      Then he passed out the gifts Ida Faye said he’d inspired his high school students to collect and wrap. Volunteers and family members helped the elderly residents open them to find the warm socks, slippers, stuffed animals, colorful posters, and bottles of lotion and aftershave inside. Then they passed out sweets and diabetic treats along with cups of holiday punch.

      Lizzie tugged on Ellin’s slacks. “What is it, honey?”

      Her little face scrunched up. “I didn’t get a present.”

      “That’s okay. We’re just guests at this party.”

      “But Santa said.”

      “I know, but—”

      “Hey, princess. Did you think I’d forgotten about you?” Santa Claus, alias Jack Madden, handed Lizzie a small bundle wrapped in red tissue paper.

      “Oh, no,” she denied. “I knew you would never forget me. I’m your helper, right?”

      “You sure are. Aren’t you going to open your present?”

      She eagerly ripped off the paper to find a floppy dog with droopy ears and large button eyes. “Oh, my very own puppy,” she squealed.

      “Do you like him?” Jack asked.

      She hugged the toy to her chest. “I love him. I’ve been needing a doggie just like this.”

      Ellin shook her head. Yeah, right. Lizzie’s stuffed animal collection easily filled three or four packing boxes.

      “I’m glad to hear that. See that nice lady over there?” Jack pointed discreetly to a sad-looking old woman perched alone on a vinyl-coated sofa.

      “Yeah.”

      “Doesn’t she look like she needs to see your doggie? I bet it would make her smile if you went over there and showed it to her.”

      “Okay.” Eager to do Santa’s bidding, Lizzie scampered off. Sure enough, the woman’s expression was transformed from sadness to delight at the sight of the little girl in the froufrou dress and tiara. Lizzie smiled shyly as a trembling hand reached out to caress her golden curls.

      “That was quite a performance, Mr. Madden,” Ellin said with a grudging smile. “You make an entirely credible Santa Claus.”

      “Thank you, Ms. Bennett.” A well-brought-up Southern gentleman, he turned solicitously to his elder. “You’re looking lovely today, Mrs. Boswell. And how are you feeling?”

      “As right as an eighty-year-old cripple with a pin in her hip can feel, I reckon. Jack, I want you to tell that aunt of yours to make them nurses let me stay up and watch Jeopardy. They put a body to bed way too early around here.”

      He patted her hand. “I’ll talk to Aunt Lorella and see what I can do.”

      Ellin looked at him sharply. Aunt Lorella? No wonder he’d known the administrator’s life story. “So Mrs. Polk is related to you, is she, Mr. Madden?”

      His eyes glinted with what would have been called mischief in a ten-year-old. “My mother’s sister. But please, call me Jack. After all, we’re going to be working together.”

      “So I hear. What is it exactly you do at the paper?” Ellin had not survived in a difficult profession by being indecisive. She trusted her instincts, made snap judgments and found her first impressions were usually right on target.

      But this time she was baffled. She couldn’t quite put the Jack Madden puzzle together.

      He shrugged. “Whatever needs doing. Jig calls me the sports editor, but the title’s just an excuse to attend all the high school football and basketball games in the area.”

      “I understand you’re a teacher.”

      “Yes, ma’am. High school English.”

      “I want to thank you for being so nice to Lizzie today. The move was hard on her. Meeting you, I mean Santa Claus, really made her day.”

      “I was happy to do it,” he said with a shrug. “She’s a real cutie pie.”

      “Thanks for playing along with her fantasies. I hope you don’t mind staying in character a bit longer. She isn’t up to speed on St. Nick mythology.”

      “Not a problem,” he told her. “If you ladies will excuse me, I need to call a friend to come and haul me to a gas station so I can retrieve my truck and go home.” He turned to walk away.

      “Mr. Madden? Wait.” It was out of character for Ellin to extend herself in such a way. Normally, she managed her problems and expected others to do the same.

      But thoughts of fate and its unexpected gifts lingered in her mind. Combined with her under-exercised conscience it tweaked her into action. Here was a chance to help a man who’d gone out of his way to be nice to her daughter, her grandmother and a whole crowd of old people.

      “You can call me Jack when Lizzie’s not around,” he said.

      She tried to ignore his comment, but that sexy, Rhett Butler accent did some tweaking of its own. “I’ll drive you to the gas station.” It wasn’t so much an offer as it was a СКАЧАТЬ