Regina, sensing my annoyance, nudges him to move along. A moment later, he’s shaking hands and greeting constituents and I have a line of eager children ready to see Santa. The next time I look over, I see Mr. Baxter standing at a table filled with business men.
Yay, the gang is almost all here, I think sarcastically. Almost, because Coach Chandler is missing. Which is weird. This is the kind of event where he thrives.
My line dies down, everyone either getting pancakes or eagerly waiting for Santa. I sort the cash in the box, jotting down a few notes and sliding it inside.
A few minutes later Santa arrives in a jingle of sleigh-bells and stomping boots. Santa strides across the stage in his red suit and long curly beard. The kids lose their minds, squealing and cheering in delight.
“Any idea who’s playing Santa?” Ozzy asks.
“I haven’t heard.”
An “elf” dressed in a green romper and matching hat, walks behind Santa over to where the line will queue. Ozzy grunts. “Is that—”
“Alice.”
Participation isn’t something Alice willingly does. No teams. No clubs. Yearbook was so we could hang out together, plus it was a way off campus to sell ads during lunch. But here she is, assisting Santa. I glance back at the man, searching his face, finally looking at his eyes. Crystal blue. Jason Chandler.
Who’s more loved than the state-winning football coach? Santa, that’s who.
Manipulative asshole.
“I’m going to go take this money to the office.”
Ozzy nods. “Okay. I need to go help clean up in the kitchen.”
I walk down the hall, trying not to let Jason Chandler ruin Christmas. Why do these men have to be involved in everything? Why do they have to taint all the good stuff in town?
I enter the office and go to the small storage closet where Mrs. Bradshaw told me to leave the money box. I’ve just placed it on a shelf when the closet door opens and I jump in surprise.
“It’s just me—” Ezra says.
“What are you doing?” We have a way of meeting in closets like this. My heart leaps, hoping maybe that’s why he’s here. To make up. He presses his finger to his lips and points outside.
“Are you crazy?” A woman asks. I frown. Her voice is familiar. So is the one that responds.
“You won’t answer my calls or see me otherwise,” Mr. Baxter says.
“Because I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Regina, talk to me. I know this has been terribly upsetting for you. For me, too. I just want to know that you’re okay.”
Regina Waller? Ezra Baxter? Meeting in secret. I look up at Ezra. He’s focu
sed on the closed door.
“I’m not ever going to be okay, but that’s not new. This is my cross to bear. Always has been, always will be.”
“It didn’t have to be that way,” he says. His voice is softer, kinder than I’ve ever heard it.
“You know I didn’t have another choice. Don’t think I don’t blame you.”
“You can’t blame me for something I didn’t know.”
“I can blame you for not being able to keep your dick in your pants.” A sob rips through her.
Laughs. “Yeah, well it’s not like it was a choice I made alone.”
“I did what I did to protect her—all of us,” Regina says.