Cowabunga Christmas Read Online Free PDF

Santa is a big favorite for
kids who come to the Sanctuary this time of year. They can get their picture
taken with him or parents can have Santa deliver a bag of presents to their
hotel room. Our Santas have a regular round of appearances they make in places
where parents hang out with their kids.” I tried to get the image of a herd of
Santa’s out of my mind.
    “How
do you know he wasn’t one of yours?” Brien asked. She looked around again.
    “I shouldn’t
be talking about this.”
    “Hey,
Santa almost dropped in on us while we were swimming in that pool!” I reminded
her, without also mentioning, again, that we shouldn’t have been there in the
first place. Barbie leaned in a little closer, lowering her voice.
    “I heard
he wasn’t wearing the right Santa suit. I’m not sure they know who he is yet,
but they checked and all our Santas are accounted for. The ones on duty today
are still making merry—sad, huh?”
    “You
can’t disappoint kids this time of year, can you? So dead Santa didn’t have an
I.D. on him?” I asked.
    “I
don’t think so. Why would they get our social activities director to have a
look at him if they already knew who he was?”
    “Yeah,
they’d have contacted his next of kin or a family member to confirm his
identity if they found an I.D. on him. That’s good thinking, Barbie. Uh,
another question though, where’s Ken?” I rolled my eyes and shook my head as
Brien chuckled at his own joke.
    “Not
funny, Brien. Can you bring us those drinks now? Let’s stick with the champagne.
It’s brought us good luck so far, hasn’t it?”
    “I’d
say so—I mean you dodged death by Santa. That’s got to count for something,”
Barbie said, getting into the spirit of Brien’s offbeat humor as she hustled
away to get out drinks.
    “Death
by Santa. That’s deep,” Brien muttered.
    No
sooner had he made that statement than a guy in a Santa suit came out of the
doors leading from the hotel lobby, farther down the corridor of arches in my
line of vision.
    “Brien,
look!” I pointed. He scooted his chair around, flat against the hotel wall so
he could see without twisting in his seat. Santa had a huge sack slung over his
shoulders. Before he was all the way down to the next level of pools, kids had
spotted him and hollered. Cries of “Santa! Santa!” reached us.
    “Ho-ho-ho!
Merry Christmas,” Santa hollered in reply. Once he arrived at the pool area he
got mobbed. Children came running from every direction—many of them soaking
wet. Santa didn’t seem the least bit phased. He dropped the sack he was
carrying and began handing out gifts wrapped in shiny paper that glistened when
the sunlight hit it just right. More squealing ensued as the gifts were torn
open. Aquatic gear, mostly—blow up toys that had parents puffing away. Flippers
and snorkels; squirt guns, too. I was beginning to think Santa had a mean
streak when the loaded guns found their targets. Those poor parents! Santa was
not spared, however. He let go a big hearty laugh, holding onto his belly like
a Hallmark card Santa.
    When
the bag was empty, or nearly so, Santa tossed handfuls of candy or gum, onto
the hardscape near the pool. While the kids scrambled for the treats, Santa
made his getaway. When he had nearly climbed the first set of steps leading back
up to hotel level we were on, another Santa suddenly appeared. This one sat in
the driver’s seat of a golf cart traversing the cart path that sat below us,
but above the pool area where Santa had just unloaded his gifts.
    The
two Santas waved in passing and exchanged ho-ho-hos. By the time Santa number
one got back to the hotel entrance, he had passed yet another Santa—number
three who headed down the steps and along the golf cart path on foot. No sooner
had Santa number one reentered the hotel when Santa number four stepped out.
That image of a herd had formed in my mind again. Free range Santas milling
about on manicured golf greens, and ho-ho-hoing