When they left the bar, Carella said, “I’ll tell you one thing, Cotton.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t ever get murdered just before Christmas.”
They shook hands on the sidewalk, wished each other a Merry Christmas, and then walked off in opposite directions toward the two different subway lines that would take them home.
It was beginning to snow again.
Carella did not get home that night till almost 8:30. The snow was raising hell with the subway system on its aboveground tracks, and the trains were infrequent and plodding. Outside the Riverhead house he struggled his way through snowdrifts to the front door. There was a kid up the street who was supposed to shovel the walks every time it snowed. They paid him $3 an hour for the job, but it was obvious he hadn’t been here since yesterday’s storm. The new snow had tapered off a bit; the air was bristling with the tiniest of crystals. He stamped his feet on the front porch. The wreath on the door was hanging a bit askew; he straightened it and then opened the door and went inside.
The house had never looked more welcoming. A roaring blaze was going in the fireplace, and the tree in the corner of the room was aglow with reds, yellows, blues, greens, and whites that reflected in the hanging ornaments. Teddy was wearing a long red robe, her black hair pulled to the back of her head in a ponytail. She came to him at once and hugged him before he had taken off his coat. He remembered again the afternoon before; he would have to tell her that Hillary Scott had tried to amputate his lower lip with her teeth.
He had mixed himself a martini and was sitting in the chair near the fire when the twins came into the living room. Both were in pajamas and robes. April climbed into his lap; Mark sat at his feet.
“So,” Carella said, “you finally got to see Santa.”
“Uh-huh,” April said.
“Did you tell him all the things you want?”
“Uh-huh,” April said.
“Dad…” Mark said.
“We missed you a lot,” April said quickly.
“Well, I missed you, too, darling.”
“Dad…”
“Don’t tell him,” April said.
“He’s got to know sooner or later,” Mark said.
“No, he don’t.”
“Doesn’t.”
“I said doesn’t.”
“You said don’t.”
“Anyway, don’t tell him.”
“Don’t tell me what?” Carella asked.
“Dad,” Mark said, avoiding his father’s eyes, “there is no such thing as Santa Claus.”
“You told him,” April said, and glared at her brother.
“No such thing, huh?” Carella said.
“No such thing,” Mark repeated, and returned April’s glare.
“How do you know?”
“’Cause there’s hundreds of them all over the street,” Mark said, “and nobody can move that fast.”
“They’re his helpers,” April said. “Isn’t that right, Dad? They’re all his helpers.”
“No, they’re just these guys,” Mark said.
“How long have you known this?” Carella asked.
“Well…” April said, and cuddled closer to him.
“How long?”
“Since last year,” she said in a tiny voice.
“But if you knew there wasn’t any Santa, why’d you agree to go see him?”
“We didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” April said, and again glared at her brother. “Now you hurt his feelings,” she said.
“No, no,” Carella said. “No, I’m glad you told me.”
“It’s you and Mommy who’s Santa,” April said, and hugged him tight.
“In which case, you’d better go to bed so we can feed the reindeer.”
“What reindeer?” she asked, her eyes opening wide.
“The whole crowd,” Carella said. “Donder and Blitzen and Dopey and Doc…”
“That’s Snow White!” April said, and giggled.
“Is it?” he said, grinning. “Come on, bedtime. Busy day tomorrow.”
He took them to their separate rooms, and tucked them in, and kissed them good-night. As he was leaving Mark’s room, Mark said, “Dad?”
“Yes, son?”
“Did I hurt your feelings?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Cause…you know…I thought it would be better than lying.”
“It always is,” Carella said, and touched his son’s hair, and oddly felt like weeping. “Merry Christmas, son,” he said quickly, and turned from the bed, and snapped out the light.
Teddy came out of the kitchen with a tray of hot cheese puffs and then went to say her own good-nights to the children. When she came back into the living room, Carella was mixing himself a second martini. She cautioned him to go easy.
“Long hard day, honey,” he said. “Do you want one of these?”
A scotch, please, she said. Very light.
“Where’s Fanny?” he asked.
In her room, wrapping gifts.
They sat before the fire, sipping their drinks, nibbling at the cheese puffs. She told him dinner would be ready in a half hour or so, she hadn’t been sure what time he’d be getting home, it was heating in the oven now. He apologized for not having called, but he and Hawes had been on the go since early this morning, and he simply hadn’t found a spare moment. She asked him how the case was going, and he told her all about Hillary Scott and her twin sister, Denise, told her how Hillary had known not only Teddy’s first name but her maiden name as well, told her she’d somehow divined April’s name, told her she’d known that April resembled her mother.
Then he told her about the kiss.
Teddy listened.
He told her how he’d tried to pull away from Hillary, told her she’d fastened to his mouth like an embalmer’s trocar trying to drain his fluids, told her all about the trance that had followed, Hillary shaking and swaying and talking in a spooky voice about drowning and somebody hearing something, somebody stealing something. Teddy listened and said nothing. She remained uncommunicative all through dinner, her hands busy with her utensils, her eyes avoiding his. After dinner they carried the wrapped presents up from where they’d hidden them in the basement and arranged them under the tree. He told her he’d better shovel the walks before the snow froze solid, and she remembered then to tell him that the boy up the street had phoned Fanny earlier to say he wouldn’t be able to get to the house over the weekend because he had to go to his grandmother’s.
Outside, shoveling snow, Carella wondered if he should have told Teddy about the kiss after all. He had not mentioned that Hillary Scott looked like a younger version of her, and he was glad now that he hadn’t. The air had turned very cold. When he came back into the house, he stood before the dwindling fire for several moments, warming himself, and then went into the bedroom. The light was out. Teddy was in bed. He undressed silently and got into bed with her. She lay stiffly beside him; her breathing told him she was still awake. He snapped on the light.
“Honey, what is it?” he said.
You kissed another woman, she said.
“No, she kissed me.”