Andrea Mercer slipped two star-shaped cookies into a napkin before anyone cleared the refreshments. They’d fit in Nora’s lunchbox on Monday, provided she could get them home without breaking the points.
“Mom, your pocket’s getting crumbs.”
“Then my pocket will have a nice lunch, too.”
Nora grinned. Andrea folded the napkin tighter and tucked it into her purse.
She’d come to the community center straight from the assisted-living facility, where a breakfast tray had spilled across her shoe before seven that morning. She’d wiped it clean, but she could still feel the sticky patch whenever she bent her foot. Tomorrow’s shift began at six. Somewhere between now and then, she needed to wash their clothes.
For the moment, though, there were cookies, a man in a Santa suit, and paper garlands sagging between the basketball hoops. Outside, December wind pushed loose snow across the parking lot. Inside, a little boy was laughing so hard at Santa’s crooked beard that his father had to hold him upright.
Andrea crouched in front of her daughter and adjusted the overlapping front of her coat. The zipper had separated again beneath the safety pin.
“There. Presentable.”
“You said that before we left.”
“And I was right then, too.”
Seven-year-old Nora inspected the repair with a seriousness she usually reserved for homework. Then she turned toward the long table of wrapped presents.
The first Saturday in December was a big afternoon in Wexley, Wisconsin. Families filled the community center gym, along with teachers, volunteers, and representatives from the businesses whose checks had paid for the party. One company’s banner hung above the stage. Andrea recognized it from the delivery trucks behind the grocery store: Veylan.
She glanced at the clock. They could stay until three and still get laundry started before supper. The fuel gauge in the car was low, but payday was four days away. No extra trips. She’d already worked that out on the drive over.
A volunteer in a sweater covered with tiny bells lifted the first gift tag. Children began stepping forward, shy at first, then racing one another whenever two names were called together.
Nora stood close to her mother. A classmate received a basketball and immediately tried to tuck it beneath his sweater. Another child tore enough paper from a box to uncover a doll’s face, then hugged the whole package.
“Eleven,” Nora murmured.
Andrea looked down.
“I’m counting.”
“Keep track for me.”
By thirteen, the volunteer had to reach farther across the table. By sixteen, Andrea had stopped watching the clock.
She waited until the woman with the registration clipboard stepped away from the microphone, then approached her quietly.
“Would you check Mercer for me? Nora. I might’ve put it under my name, Andrea.”
The woman turned a page. Her fingertip traveled down a column, paused, and returned to the top.
Andrea felt her face settle into the expression she used when something couldn’t be afforded.
Her November schedule had changed twice. The registration form had gone in late, between a shift change and a school pickup. She remembered leaving it at the desk, relieved that she’d finally done it.
“I’m afraid she isn’t here,” the volunteer said. She checked another sheet anyway. “I’m so sorry.”
Andrea glanced at the remaining presents. The shapes and tags told her enough: things for toddlers, something long and narrow for an older boy.
“Please don’t worry. I know you’re doing your best.”
When she turned around, Nora was watching.
“I already got the good cookies,” her daughter announced. “That’s what I wanted most.”
Then she bent to retrieve scraps of wrapping paper a smaller boy had dropped, gathering them carefully against her coat.
Andrea knew the extra brightness in that voice. She’d heard it when a late shift kept her from a school play, and once when Nora had seen her reading the electric bill twice. She wanted to go straight to her daughter, take her home, and find something private to say that wouldn’t make this worse.
Instead, another mother caught her arm.
“Andrea, are we still doing the school bake sale Friday?”
“Yes. Friday.”
“Wonderful. I couldn’t remember whether you’d said brownies or bars.”
“Brownies.”
Across the gym, Nora put the paper into a trash bag and wandered toward the retracted bleachers. Andrea kept answering, edging away from the conversation a few inches at a time.
Nora sat on the bottom bench. Her feet rested flat on the varnished floor, and she folded her hands so tightly that her fingertips disappeared.
“All those presents,” she whispered. “Not one for me.”
Near the exit, Malcolm Voss lowered his phone.
He’d been standing there with an email open, using it as protection from another round of cheerful introductions. At sixty-one, he could negotiate warehouse leases without notes, but holiday gatherings left him searching for the nearest door. His communications director had insisted that the chief executive should attend an event the company sponsored. He’d given the speech, shaken the hands, and considered his obligations met.
The little girl’s voice had barely reached him.
He put the phone away.
By the time Andrea freed herself from the bake-sale conversation, the man from the stage was crossing the gym. He didn’t speak to the volunteers. He sat on the same low bench as Nora, far enough away that she didn’t have to move.
For several seconds, he studied the scuffed toe of his dress shoe.
“I’m guessing this isn’t the quiet corner I thought it was,” he said when a child shrieked near the basketball hoop.
Nora looked at him. “You’re the man who made us wait for Santa.”
Malcolm’s laugh escaped before he could arrange a dignified response.
“I should’ve asked you to edit my remarks.”
“You could’ve just said Merry Christmas.”
“That would’ve saved everybody some trouble.”
Her mouth moved toward a smile, then stopped.
He glanced at the empty space beside her. “Was there a mix-up with your gift?”
“My name didn’t get put on one.” She looked quickly toward the volunteers. “They had lots to do.”
Malcolm rested his hands on his knees. He’d come prepared to talk to donors, not children. Nothing in his morning briefing offered any guidance.
“Had you been hoping for something particular?”
Nora studied his face without answering.
Andrea reached them then and placed her hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
“Everything all right, sweetheart?”
Nora nodded.
Malcolm rose too quickly, catching the hem of his navy coat beneath his leg. He freed it with an awkward tug.
“Malcolm Voss. My company helped sponsor today. Veylan.” After a hesitation, he added, “I run it.”
Andrea’s eyes flicked toward the banner.
“We appreciate the party,” she said.
“I could have someone bring another gift over. There must be somewhere nearby—”
“We’re all right. Thank you.”
He heard a refusal but mistook it for politeness.
“It wouldn’t be difficult.”
“I’m sure.” Her hand remained on Nora’s shoulder. “But I won’t have her made into an announcement. She’s had enough attention for what she didn’t get.”
He closed his mouth.
Nora looked between them. “If there’s something extra, could it be for Mom?”
Andrea bent toward her. “Honey, I don’t need a present.”
“Your gloves have holes,” Nora said. “You say they’re good. They aren’t…”
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