A Christmas Miracle for Daisy

But then, Cormac had yet to meet someone who didn’t like her. This past week he’d received a flood of rather passionate emails from her team at Sheenan Media, asking him to keep her on, urging him to convince her to stay, detailing how important she was to the publishing group. They all loved her, and the emails mentioned her vision, her respect for others, her kindness. Her immediate team felt valued, and validated. She was a level-headed manager that got things done without stepping on toes.

After a half dozen emails, Cormac could recite Whitney’s virtues by heart.

Smart. Insightful. Thoughtful. Inspirational. Focused. A true leader. Generous. Sensitive. Professional. Compassionate.

She was a veritable saint.

He…not so much.

“Dad,” Daisy whispered, tugging on his hand. “Look.”

“Hmmm?”

“Look.” Her voice was soft and reverent.

Cormac opened his eyes, glanced down at Daisy and then followed her gaze. He immediately understood her wonder.

On the aisle across from them sat a big, white-bearded man with a big round belly. He had round cheeks to match his belly, and thick white hair that curled a bit around his forehead and nape. Swap the bearded man’s plaid flannel shirt and khaki trousers for a red wool suit and he’d look just like Santa Claus.

“Daddy,” she breathed again. “Do you know who that is?”

Cormac was so damn tired he could barely see straight but the awe in Daisy’s voice made the corner of his mouth lift. Despite all the tragedy in her life, she was still so innocent and full of hope and joy.

“Who do you think it is?” he answered.

She looked up at him rather indignant. “You don’t know?”

“I just wondered if you knew.”

“Yes. It’s Santa.” She leaned forward in her seat, studying him. “Where do you think he’s going?”

Cormac closed his eyes, settling back in his seat. “Bozeman.”

Daisy grabbed his forearm. “I’m serious.”

“Me, too.” He opened an eye. “This plane is going to Bozeman, Montana. Which means he’s going, too.”

“Why is he flying in a plane? Why isn’t he using reindeer?”

“Maybe his reindeer are on vacation. Or maybe he’s just more comfortable in an airplane than in an open sleigh. Montana is cold this time of year. There will probably be snow on the ground.”

She made a scoffing sound. “He lives at the North Pole. Santa and the reindeer are used to cold. They live in snow.” She leaned as far forward as she could and lifted her hand, just barely wiggling her fingers.

Cormac suppressed a groan. It was one thing to stare at the old man, but to wave at him? “Don’t,” he said, pressing her hand down. “Leave him be.”

“Why? He loves children.”

“He’s not Jesus, Daisy.”

“I know. But he’s Jesus’ helper. He brings gifts to kids who are good and loving.” Daisy gave Cormac a disdainful look. “And he’s going to bring you nothing because you’re not being nice.”

“I’m not being mean.”

“You are. Santa likes me. See? He’s waving back at me.”

Cormac turned his head and indeed, the white-bearded, red-cheeked, heavyset older man was smiling at Daisy and lifting his hand in acknowledgement as if he were the real thing.

Cormac struggled to hide his irritation. He could understand why Daisy was enthralled—a child’s innocence and imagination and all that—but the old guy, he should know better. He didn’t need to encourage Daisy.

“I want to talk to him,” Daisy said.

“The seatbelt sign is on.”

And just then the seatbelt sign turned off. Daisy shot Cormac a triumphant glance. “It’s off now!” She unfastened her seatbelt and tried to slide from her seat.

Cormac put out a hand to stop her. “Daisy.”

“I just want to know why he’s going to Montana.”

He counted to five, and then to ten. “Why don’t we let him be? It’s a long flight and I’m sure he’d like to just close his eyes and relax. In fact, why don’t we close our eyes, too, and get some sleep so that we arrive in Bozeman rested—” he broke off as he felt her small body shudder.

“Daisy?” He lifted her chin; tears were falling. “Why are you crying?”

“Because I need to tell him what I want for Christmas and you won’t let me.”

“How do we even know he’s the real Santa? Maybe he’s just an elf—”

“He’s not an elf! He’s Santa Claus. Look at him.” She jabbed a finger in the old man’s direction. “He has blue eyes and pink cheeks and a big white beard.”

“Then where is his red suit?”

“At the North Pole with the reindeer!” Daisy was losing patience. “Now, will you please let me talk to him?”

Cormac held his breath as Daisy slipped past his legs and stepped into the aisle to stand next to the old man’s side.

The man’s blue eyes twinkled at her. “Hello.”

She smiled shyly. “Hi.”

“How are you?”

“I’m good.” She hesitated and her smile faded, her expression growing serious. “I need to tell you something.”

“I’m all ears,” he said, leaning towards her.

Daisy stood on tiptoe and cupping her hand near her mouth, whispered in his ear.

“I see,” the old man said after a moment.

Daisy whispered something else in his ear.

The old man looked thoughtfully at Daisy, then Cormac, and back to Daisy again. “We will see what we can do.”

“Thank you, Santa.” She kissed his cheek and then scooted past Cormac’s knees to take her seat.

“I told him,” she said smugly, buckling her seatbelt. “I told him what I wanted, and he’s going to see what he can do.”

“And what did you ask him for?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I’m your dad. Can’t I know?”

“No. Then it wouldn’t be a surprise.” She tightened the seatbelt and then sighed, pleased with herself. “But it’s going to be good. In fact, it’s going to be the best Christmas ever.”

“Daisy, honey, he didn’t promise anything. He just said he’d see what he could do.”

“Yes, but he will. He’s Santa Claus.”

*

Whitney shivered, chilly despite her long, down-filled coat, as she walked from the Graff to the Crookshank Building. It was a blustery Friday morning, and the ever-present wind whistled and snapped, grabbing at the line of lights the city crew was valiantly attempting to hang the length of Main Street.

Thanksgiving was just six days away now and downtown Marietta was being decked in holiday finery in preparation for the parade that would take place a week from today, heralding the arrival of Santa Claus and the official start of the Christmas holidays.

The weather forecast said it could snow next week, too. It was definitely cold enough for snow today, but the big Montana sky was a stunning deep blue without a cloud in sight.

After getting her coffee from Java Café, she paused in front of Copper Mountain Chocolates to once again admire the fat chocolate turkeys and foil-wrapped leaves. Josie had told her that they served the best hot cocoa at Copper Mountain Chocolates, but Whitney had yet to go in. But she’d have to soon. Chocolate was her weakness. She wouldn’t be able to resist forever.

Fortunately, things were progressing nicely at the Crookshank Building. Josie was already on site when Whitney arrived, with stone and tile samples for Whitney’s approval. There were four different sets of bathrooms—a public one on the ground floor, and then employee bathrooms on each floor –plus the kitchen on the third floor for the staff but Whitney wasn’t a fan of the stone Josie was proposing for the counter tops in the bathrooms and kitchen.

“It’s not the most attractive granite,” Whitney said. “It reminds me too much of the 80s and 90s.”

“It’s durable though.”

“M

aybe, but I can’t imagine Cormac would like to look at it for the next ten years. Do we have time to visit the stone yard in Bozeman?”

“Absolutely,” Josie answered. “Let’s go.”

Josie drove and they chatted as they headed towards Bozeman. Josie shared that she’d grown up in Clyde Park twenty-some minutes north of Livingston on the 89, but her family had moved to Bozeman when she was in high school so her younger brother could get the medical help he needed and she was glad she was able to work in Park County and Crawford County with the design firm. “I love it out here…Livingston, Marietta, Paradise Valley. My kind of place.”

“I grew up in Bozeman, too,” Whitney said. “But haven’t lived here for almost ten years.”

“You were in Denver, right?”