The Santa Society by Kristine McCord

I’ve got to be at the soup kitchen soon. Would you like to join me?”
    “The soup kitchen? What will we be doing?”
    “Feeding people.” He bites his lip.
    I can’t resist. “I’ll get my coat.”
     
     It’s obvious this isn’t a one-time affair. Everybody in the soup kitchen knows Reason.
    Right now, we’re serving eggs and biscuits with sausage gravy. A large round Cajun man makes the biscuits from scratch, and his miniature mother cooks the sausage, using the crisp cracklings and meat crumbles for the gravy. Next to her, a young man with caramel skin scrambles eggs, some with cheese and some without. The smells make my stomach growl.
    I didn’t expect so many people at a soup kitchen on a Friday morning. Not in Christmasville at least. What surprises me most is that these aren’t all homeless people. Many of them seem like they are dressed for work.
    I keep getting distracted by Reason’s presence next to me. I’m so aware of him that I can’t stop thinking about the way his heart sounded in my ear last night and the feeling of skating in his arms. I can’t stay focused. I’ve even forgotten to add biscuits to three plates so far. Gravy without a biscuit—nice.
    “Reason, my man.” A loud voice spills through the entrance. It comes from a guy who looks like he could be a professional basketball player.
    He grins from ear to ear as he waits to get close enough to greet Reason. Once I’ve loaded his plate with two biscuits, he moves along in the line. Dark burn scars pepper the right side of his face and arm.
    “That’s the Reason. There he is—the reason I’m working. The reason I got me a place. The reason I’m not laid up in the VA sucking on med drips. The reason for the Season.” He presents his forward facing fist to Reason. “Knuckles, bro.”
    They touch their fists together and follow up with some kind of complicated hand maneuver. It ends with both men leaning in to bump their right shoulders in what looks almost like a half hug/half handshake.
    Reason grins. “The only guy I know taller than me. What up big brother?”
    “I knew you was gonna be here today. I just had that feeling. Nick had me working up on Long Year Road this week. ‘Preciate it man.”
    “That’s good news, Rashaun. It’ll be steady from here on out.”
    “I’ma hold you to it.” Rashaun laughs and takes a step back. I load another plate and something shiny catches my eye. I look down. A steel prosthetic device occupies the place where the lower half of his right leg should be. I move my eyes away. His military dog tags clink together as he steps out of the way to let the line move forward.
    “Who’s this lovely lady?” Rashaun smiles at me.
    “Erin, meet Rashaun—Rashaun, Erin. Rashaun’s a friend of the Society.”
    Rashaun looks closely at Reason as though deciphering a coded message stamped in his smile. “I hear ya, bro.” He looks at me with wonder. “Somebody’s finally stole the man’s heart. Well, well, I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Ms. Erin.” He tips an imaginary hat.
    “It’s nice to meet you.” I steal a glance at Reason whose cheeks have turned bright red. He looks a little like he wants to strangle Rashaun—in a brotherly way.
    I can’t help but feel flattered, and it’s even nicer to hear I’m not just another Reason admirer. Thank you, Rashaun, for making my morning. He claps Reason on the shoulder and heads for a nearby table.
    When I look back again, a pair of small hands lifts a plate to me. I see only the top of a red head just above it. When I take it, I almost drop the spoon of eggs.
    It’s Callie, and Tammy and Holly stand beside her, waiting their turn in line.
    “Erin!” Her face beams with excitement. “I didn’t know you worked here. Did you make the eggs and biscuits?”
    “No, I’m not a very good cook. I’m just here to help out.”
    “I came to eat.” She states the obvious. “We don’t gots much food, cause my daddy lost his job,