April & Noah

I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus

"All set?"

    "Yep."

    "You got everything you need?"

    "Yes, Mommy."

    "Are you sure? We have plenty of time if you have to—"

    "Mommy, I'm fine. Can we just go already? There are lots of boys and girls waiting for their presents."

    April cast a glance in her rearview mirror. A soft smile curled her lips at the sight that greeted her: a young girl sat in the backseat, burrowed between piles of presents. The girl gave her mother a reproachful look. As soon as she opened her mouth to point out the obvious fact that the car still idled in their driveway, April rolled her eyes playfully.

    "Let's get this show on the road," she declared. Then, almost inaudibly, she muttered, "Before Evie kills me."

    But her daughter heard her, regardless. A satisfied smirk spread across Evie's face while the car went into motion—finally—and made its way toward the interstate.

    It only took a solid fifty-four seconds to leave their small hometown in the dust. Once monotony set in, the minutes took their sweet time drifting into hours. Evie was a good sport for the most part, save for the occasional complaint. Much to her mother's relief, she fell asleep halfway through the car ride. The well-deserved peace, however, was soon dampened by the sudden snowfall. What began as flurries quickly turned into an onslaught of snow, and the highway around their little minivan morphed into a world of white.

    April bit her lip, anxiety ripping through her. There was no way she could give up without having even started; dozens of boys and girls counted on her that Christmas Eve. With no other option, she took a deep breath, uttered a silent prayer, and moved onward.

    Someone up there must have heard her prayer that day, because the blizzard gradually lightened to only a dusting of snowflakes. A full-scale grin overtook her expression while traffic resumed its usual speed. The unfavorable weather had put April way behind schedule, so she applied more pressure to the gas than she'd ever dared to before.

    Within ten minutes, she arrived at the exit of her assigned town. The chaos of the interstate almost immediately gave way to the quiet lull of the town, acres of snow-coated farmland surrounding her on all sides. Had she not been drinking it all in, she would've missed the weathered sign that read, Welcome to Sweetwater! Population: 139.

    Her eyebrows shot up. She'd thought her hometown was small, but a mere hundred residents was downright tiny.

    Venturing farther into Sweetwater seemed to be only more proof of April's observation. There were about twenty-five houses total—all of which appeared to have been plucked out of a movie from the 1950s. Clapboard siding and crooked shutters was a common theme among the houses, and not even the foot of snow could hide the overgrowth of grass.

April's heart pounded against her ribcage. She could feel the notion with every ounce of her being: Sweetwater needed her.

With great concentration, she managed to drive with one hand and use the other to rifle through the glove compartment. After a few seconds of blindly searching, she hit pay dirt, bringing the object into her line of sight.

It was a slip of paper, creased from being folded several times over. Fifteen addresses were scribbled in April's sloppy print, and even she struggled to discern what she'd written. In the end, she was able to make out the words Poinsettia Court and was on the street in seconds. Most of the houses on her list, she discovered, were on that very street; Sweetwater was a tiny town indeed.