their presents. Any questions?”
Thea pushed the sleeves of her fleece pullover to her elbows and made her way to the waiting pile of dirty pots and pans stacked by the double sinks. Cheerful yellow rubber gloves on, she was scrubbing crusted goulash from a pot when a tap on her shoulder startled her.
“Yes?” Thea asked, tugging the earbuds from her ears as she turned.
“Why didn’t you tell me what you’d arranged?” Nancy asked. Her eyes were wide, and shining.
Over her shoulder Thea heard not the typical low rumble of two-hundred people sharing a meal, but the excited chatter of children and a higher-pitched energy level. “What? Is Ronan here with the presents?”
“Oh, he’s here, all right,” Nancy said. She took Thea’s hand and pulled her through the empty kitchen to the swinging doors. Thea’s jaw dropped, and she slowed in the process of taking off her rubber gloves.
Santa Claus stood at the back of the fellowship hall, waving to the kids as FDNY firefighters in their blue uniforms passed big cardboard boxes of gifts along a human chain from a waiting ladder truck, down the stairs to a table hastily set up by Cooper Bensonhurst volunteers. At the tables the kids stared first at Santa, then at the firefighters. Word of the truck spread from table to table, and the wriggles and noise escalated once again.
It was a tiny Christmas miracle. She swallowed hard against the tears clogging her throat. Ronan came down the steps two at a time and crossed the hall, tossing “Get someone to clear that hydrant” over his shoulder as he headed for Thea.
“Sorry we’re late,” he said without preamble. He reached for Thea’s hand as he said it, and his warm, strong grip anchored her. “How do you want to do this?”
Thea found her voice. “This is Nancy Watkins,” she said. “She’s in charge. Nancy, Lieutenant Ronan O’Rourke. He brought the presents.”
“You certainly did, Lieutenant,” Nancy said. “Thank you.”
“You’ve got Santa and a fire truck for the next hour. After that we’re all back on call,” Ronan said.
Nancy executed millions of dollars’ worth of trades a day; it would take more than an unexpected appearance of Santa and four firefighters to unnerve her. She beckoned the volunteers over. “Let’s take the kids up to see the truck table by table starting from the left. Start on the right to take them up to Santa. Once they’ve done both they can hit the dessert table.”
Ronan summoned two firefighters who, together with volunteers, began ushering people either out the door to the waiting truck or up to see Santa.
“Why don’t you go help Santa hand out the presents?” Nancy asked Thea.
Despite Ronan’s warm grip, panic fluttered inside her. “Oh, that’s all right. Someone else can do that. I’m a mess.”
“Where were you?” Ronan asked.
“She usually washes the pots and pans,” Nancy said briskly as she turned Thea around and untied her apron. “But not today, Cinderella. You set this up. You get to enjoy it.” Nancy handed Thea’s wet apron to the man formerly scooping out salad.
Ronan took Thea’s hand and led her around the tables. “You didn’t have to do all this,” she said weakly.
“I know I didn’t,” he said. “I thought the kids would like it. You going to be okay?”
“Yes,” she said, because the last thing these kids needed was to see her lose it in the middle of a visit from Santa. “I’ll be fine.”
“Well, hey, darlin’,” Santa said.
Thea did an honest-to-God double take. Moss green eyes leered at her over the white beard, but she didn’t have to see blond hair to recognize the instigator from St. Patrick’s Day. “You?”
“Hard to believe, but he actually volunteered,” Ronan said drily.
“Why don’t you come sit on my lap, and tell me what you want for Christmas?” Tim said, but he’d lowered his voice in deference to the family atmosphere.
Thea leaned in close and murmured, “How do you
Thea pushed the sleeves of her fleece pullover to her elbows and made her way to the waiting pile of dirty pots and pans stacked by the double sinks. Cheerful yellow rubber gloves on, she was scrubbing crusted goulash from a pot when a tap on her shoulder startled her.
“Yes?” Thea asked, tugging the earbuds from her ears as she turned.
“Why didn’t you tell me what you’d arranged?” Nancy asked. Her eyes were wide, and shining.
Over her shoulder Thea heard not the typical low rumble of two-hundred people sharing a meal, but the excited chatter of children and a higher-pitched energy level. “What? Is Ronan here with the presents?”
“Oh, he’s here, all right,” Nancy said. She took Thea’s hand and pulled her through the empty kitchen to the swinging doors. Thea’s jaw dropped, and she slowed in the process of taking off her rubber gloves.
Santa Claus stood at the back of the fellowship hall, waving to the kids as FDNY firefighters in their blue uniforms passed big cardboard boxes of gifts along a human chain from a waiting ladder truck, down the stairs to a table hastily set up by Cooper Bensonhurst volunteers. At the tables the kids stared first at Santa, then at the firefighters. Word of the truck spread from table to table, and the wriggles and noise escalated once again.
It was a tiny Christmas miracle. She swallowed hard against the tears clogging her throat. Ronan came down the steps two at a time and crossed the hall, tossing “Get someone to clear that hydrant” over his shoulder as he headed for Thea.
“Sorry we’re late,” he said without preamble. He reached for Thea’s hand as he said it, and his warm, strong grip anchored her. “How do you want to do this?”
Thea found her voice. “This is Nancy Watkins,” she said. “She’s in charge. Nancy, Lieutenant Ronan O’Rourke. He brought the presents.”
“You certainly did, Lieutenant,” Nancy said. “Thank you.”
“You’ve got Santa and a fire truck for the next hour. After that we’re all back on call,” Ronan said.
Nancy executed millions of dollars’ worth of trades a day; it would take more than an unexpected appearance of Santa and four firefighters to unnerve her. She beckoned the volunteers over. “Let’s take the kids up to see the truck table by table starting from the left. Start on the right to take them up to Santa. Once they’ve done both they can hit the dessert table.”
Ronan summoned two firefighters who, together with volunteers, began ushering people either out the door to the waiting truck or up to see Santa.
“Why don’t you go help Santa hand out the presents?” Nancy asked Thea.
Despite Ronan’s warm grip, panic fluttered inside her. “Oh, that’s all right. Someone else can do that. I’m a mess.”
“Where were you?” Ronan asked.
“She usually washes the pots and pans,” Nancy said briskly as she turned Thea around and untied her apron. “But not today, Cinderella. You set this up. You get to enjoy it.” Nancy handed Thea’s wet apron to the man formerly scooping out salad.
Ronan took Thea’s hand and led her around the tables. “You didn’t have to do all this,” she said weakly.
“I know I didn’t,” he said. “I thought the kids would like it. You going to be okay?”
“Yes,” she said, because the last thing these kids needed was to see her lose it in the middle of a visit from Santa. “I’ll be fine.”
“Well, hey, darlin’,” Santa said.
Thea did an honest-to-God double take. Moss green eyes leered at her over the white beard, but she didn’t have to see blond hair to recognize the instigator from St. Patrick’s Day. “You?”
“Hard to believe, but he actually volunteered,” Ronan said drily.
“Why don’t you come sit on my lap, and tell me what you want for Christmas?” Tim said, but he’d lowered his voice in deference to the family atmosphere.
Thea leaned in close and murmured, “How do you
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