Santa Claus Conquers the Homophobes Read Online Free PDF Page B

sitting position facing traffic and watched the flow. Wendy floated herself and Santa over the parapet and down into traffic. They were peering into the cabin at a driver, whose body tensed as his eyes went wide. Then she wiped away the screech of brakes and the expletive coming from him and his muscular arms stiff on the steering wheel. “That’s Ernie Strauss, barreling toward New Mexico with a cargo of washer-dryer combinations behind him. By some miracle, he didn’t die. Nor did he cause a pile-up.”
    “I should have come to you sooner.”
    “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
    “No, it’s okay. I—”
    “I’m so sorry.” Wendy could no longer keep from crying. Santa seemed broken, like her old neighbor Mrs. Fredericks’ husband. She had done this. She had taken him from joviality to shock and despair.
    He held her tight. “You mustn’t blame yourself. Whatever is bothering you you’ve got to share with me or Anya or your mom. Always, always. That’s all we want.”
    That freed something in her and she sobbed against Santa’s chest until her throat hurt. “We’ve got to do something to rescue him. Can we, Daddy? Can we save his life?”
    “Yes,” said Santa, without hesitation. “We’ve got to. But I don’t see how. We’re up here. We deliver toys and wonder. What can we do? I don’t yet know the answer, but we will do something. I’ll discuss it with Anya and Rachel. We’ll put our minds to it. We’ll devise a plan.”
    Santa’s resolve touched her. To him, every life was precious. In her heart of hearts, Wendy knew he could work wonders. She trusted him to find a way to alter Jamie Stratton’s future. But she also steeled herself for disappointment. Though she and Santa touched the lives of children intimately in many ways, there seemed an unbridgeable gap between this world and the world of mortals.
    Still, for a time, Wendy took comfort in the assured embrace of her father, and hoped for the best.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 4. Parental Discussions and Mullings
     
     
    RACHEL HAD NEVER SEEN SANTA so distraught, pacing before them in the bedroom. His red robe flapped impatiently against his ankles.
     “Oh, Claus,” said Anya, “you promised to do something?”
    “That was foolish, wasn’t it? Yet somehow I felt, beyond all reason, that a door will open, a path unfold. I haven’t been shown such horrors for nothing.”
    Rachel wisely held her tongue until Anya was done. She was the reconciler. She patched things up in their threesome. Not that Santa and Anya had violent disagreements. But Santa’s Pan side flared up, as did Anya’s fir nymph, more frequently than either of them liked to admit.
    “You’ll disappoint her,” said Anya, propped against a pillow in her flannel nightgown and wire-rimmed glasses. “Wendy trusts the great Santa Claus to figure out how to spare this little boy his fate. Well, forgive an old lady her frankness, but preventing the suffering of one child among millions is not what you’re here for.”
    “Anya, please.”
    “You make and distribute toys. You’re the scent of pine needles and the glitter of tinsel. You’re anticipation, the jingle of bells and the brief sorrow at just missing your visit because they can’t keep their eyelids open. But really, Claus, saving a teenager from suicide? How? Why?”
    “Because Wendy pleaded. And because I knew right then that it’s possible. If I had shrugged and said, ‘I’m sorry, Wendy, I can’t,’ it would have been a lie.”
    Anya glanced at Rachel for support, then back at Santa. “It defies logic.”
    “Precisely,” he said. “There’s no logic to it at all. Might she be disappointed? She might. But I don’t think so. I think, against all logic, that there’s something Wendy and I can do to save this boy.”
    “Even supposing you can, where will it end? Do you think Wendy will stop at one? No, there will be scores, hundreds of little boys and girls