Page 66 of Meet Me at Christmas
“Jackson Cole?” she asked, the name slightly ringing a bell.
Mama came into the living room. “Oh, hello,” she greeted Mr. Ferguson, holding out her hand. “I’m Anna Fisher.”
“Herbert Ferguson.” He shook her mother’s hand.
“It was a little spur of the moment,” Stella said, hanging up her scarf.
Mama beamed, clearly delighted to have company. “I’ll make us all some dinner.”
“Who’s Jackson Cole?” Stella asked again while helping Mr. Ferguson with his coat.
“The grand marshal for the parade.”
Stella hung Mr. Ferguson’s coat next to hers. “Oh, yeah.” She’d seen Mr. Cole’s name on the parade list and had copied him on emails.
“He’s wondering if we have everything squared away, and he asked where he should deliver the Santa suit.” An uneasy look on her mother’s face, she gestured toward Pop’s Santa hat on the table and the red and white suit hanging in plastic on the kitchen doorknob.
There was an air of loss that tightened Stella’s chest at seeing the suit, knowing Pop wasn’t there to wear it. She eyed her mother, apprehension setting in. “What did you say?”
“I told him we were almost finished. Because we are, aren’t we? And I told him I’d have to call him back with Santa’s address.”
Stella took in a deep breath, trying to find the calm she’d been chasing in the car. “We need a Santa. Where are we going to find one at this late date?”
Mama chewed her lip and shook her head. “Think Henry would do it?”
Stella let out a sarcastic laugh. “I doubt it very seriously.” She redirected the conversation to Mr. Ferguson. “So sorry. We got sidetracked. You’re welcome to sit on the sofa. Want some tea or coffee?”
“I’d love a good cup of tea, if you don’t mind.”
Mama piped up. “Oh, I can make you peppermint tea. How does that sound?”
“Delightful.” Mr. Ferguson wriggled into a comfortable position while Stella moved his walker out of the way.
“I’ll be back. Stella, do you want anything?” Mama asked over her shoulder.
“I’m okay. Thanks.” Stella sat next to Mr. Ferguson.
“So, would you like to tell me what’s been bothering you today?” Mr. Ferguson asked.
Stella’s chest tightened. “A lot, really, but I don’t want to burden you with it all.”
“You won’t. I’ll forget in an hour, and you can pretend you didn’t say anything,” he teased, giving her a wink.
Stella shook her head, smiling, his cheerfulness contagious. “Not funny.”
“Seriously, though, let me be your sounding board.”
She didn’t want to burden Mr. Ferguson with all her baggage, but something about him made her feel like she could talk to him the way she used to talk to Pop.
“Well, for starters, I’m planning the Leiper’s Fork Christmas parade, and I don’t have a Santa for the final float.”
Mr. Ferguson frowned. “The big guy busy or something?”
“He had a knee replacement, apparently.”
His eyes widened. “Oh, no.”
“The parade is in three days and Santa has always been the big finale. Everyone expects to see him.”
