Unholy Knights (Forever Safe Christmas Village)

“Missy?” My mom, Lacey, yells from the kitchen. I can smell the cinnamon bread she’s baking, and it smells so good. I’m starving, I realize. I walk back into the kitchen.

“Hey ma,” I say plopping down on a barstool in front of her.

“How was the party?” she asks, stirring the bowl in front of her.

“It was good. I think I met him,” I say, grabbing a piece of sliced bread from the platter on the counter. Taking a bite, I moan a little. It’s so damn good.

“Met who?” she asks, not stopping her stirring.

“The one. The man of my dreams.” I am certain I’ve dreamt of him but didn’t know it was him. I often dream of what the future will hold but until now I thought it was just dreams.

“Really?” Mom asks, incredulously, the stirring stopping now. She sets the big metal bowl down on the counter and stares at me.

“I know. I didn’t think that I would, but I did and he’s kind of crass but kind of amazing.

“Well, who is the guy?” My dad, David, asks coming into the kitchen. He heads straight for the fridge and pulls out a bottle of his favorite beer.

“His name is Claude Knight.”

“Claude Knight. Claude Knight. Where do I know that name Dave?” Mom asks Dad.

“If it’s who I’m thinking of, he’s Clementine Knight's son. That family has had a terrible time. They own a multi-billion dollar corporation that has their hands in many pots. Claude Knight handles the company's charitable contributions. He’s been at many of the same functions as your mother and me.”

“What do you mean by a terrible time?” I ask, curiously.

“Oh, about twenty-five years or so ago, Clementine lost her younger son to cancer and six months before that Pierre had a heart attack and passed away. He was quite a bit older than she was, but she was devastated. I am pretty sure Barbara Walters interviewed her.”

“Oh, that’s terrible! I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned them. Do you know them well?”

“We don’t. The death was all over the news back then. I believe we donated some money to the charity in the boy’s name. What was the name of it, baby?”

“The Darin Knight Fund. The little boy passed away on Christmas morning. I’ll never forget it. It was what got us on the charitable path. I felt so bad for that woman. I was trying to have a baby and we're not successful until you, but I can’t imagine what she went through.”

“That’s awful,” I say, my heart breaking for them. A loss like that at Christmas is terrible. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like when the magic went away right along with the little boy.

“Yeah, it was on the news for a while. It was a few years before you were born.”

“So he’s the one?” Dad asks.

“Yeah,” I say surer of that than I was when I sat down. He’s been through a lot for someone so young. His mom too. Is it crazy that I want to help them? Make them happy again? Is that even something another person can do for someone who has been through what they’ve been through? I don’t know, but I can certainly try.

I have the uncontrollable need to hug the man. If he shows up tomorrow, I’m going to do just that. I really hope he shows up because I want him. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life. I’m gonna get that grinchy, filthy mouthed man, no matter what.

CHAPTER 4

CLAUDE

“Knock, knock.” My mom walks in peeking her head around the corner. Shaking my head, I wave her in, wondering why she still does this after all these years.

“You still insist on checking first. Really?” I sip my coffee and smile at the woman who raised me on her own amidst adversity, tragedy and near poverty.

“You are a grown man. You could have brought someone home.” She shrugs her shoulders and grabs herself a cup of coffee. “So what’s wrong?” she asks, looking at me over her cup.

“Why would you think something is wrong?”

“You are sitting in your favorite spot, drinking coffee which you normally hate at ten in the evening, looking out of the window. You only do this when there is an issue you can’t solve, or you are in a pensive state of mind. So, what’s wrong?” She has always been perceptive, and I have never been able to keep anything from her.

“I met someone,” I answer her bluntly.

“This is a problem?” She gives me her mama look. You know, the one they give you when you know you are getting on their nerves, but they are trying to give you a way out.

“You know why, mama.”

“Claude, I love you, son.” Oh boy. When she starts off like that, I know she is about to chew me out. “But you have to move on. You have to live, my boy. We both do. I know we suffered a huge loss at the time of year when magic is supposed to happen, but that was almost twenty-five years ago. It is enough.” She slams her coffee cup on the counter and for the first time, it hits me how my own reluctance to let go has affected her.