LITMIR.BIZ

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against his dad’s rules and could result in punishment harsher than anything he’d seen in his life. But, technically, he hadn’t been alone. Raymond had been with him. And the trip had been for a very good reason. Even his dad would have to see that.

      Dalton’s Department Store was considered by everyone in the second grade at Patrick Henry Elementary School as a shrine to Santa Claus. From the day after Thanksgiving until the hours leading up to Christmas Eve, children flocked though the shiny brass revolving doors and up the ancient escalator to the magical spot on the second floor where Santa and his minions reigned supreme.

      Raymond claimed that a meeting with Dalton’s Santa was much better than a visit to any other Santa in New York. Those others were all just “helpers,” pretenders dressed up like the real Santa to help out during the Christmas rush. But this Santa was special. He had the power to make dreams come true. Kenny even knew a kid who’d gotten a trip to Florida just because his dad had lost his job right before Christmas.

      Eric reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the letter. He’d used his very best penmanship and sealed the note in a colorful green envelope. He’d even added some of his favorite smelly stickers to decorate the outside, just to make sure the letter stood out from all the others. For this was the most important letter he’d ever written and he’d stop at nothing to make sure it got into Santa’s hands.

      He watched as a little girl in a blue wool coat slipped her own letter into the ornate mailbox outside the Candy Cane Gate. She’d sealed it in a plain white envelope, addressed in sloppy crayon. Eric smiled. Surely her letter would be passed over for his. He closed his eyes and rubbed the lucky penny he always kept in his pocket. “Don’t mess up,” he murmured to himself. “Just don’t mess up.”

      The line moved forward and Eric shoved the letter deeper into his pocket. First, he’d plead his case with Santa, and if the opportunity presented itself, he’d slip the letter into Santa’s pocket. He could imagine the jolly old man sitting down at dinner that night and tucking his glasses into his pocket. He’d discover the letter and read it immediately.

      Eric frowned. If he really wanted to do the job right, he’d come down every night after school with a new letter each time. Santa would have to see how important this was to him and grant his wish. Maybe they’d even become best friends and he’d invite Eric over to play at the North Pole. And he could bring Santa to school for show and tell! That old sourpuss, Eleanor Winchell, would be so jealous she’d have a cow.

      Of course, Eleanor had read her letter to Santa out loud in front of Miss Green’s class, a long recitation of all the toys she’d need to have a satisfying Christmas, the pretty dresses she’d require. She’d also informed the class that she planned to be the very first in line to give her letter to Santa once the Gingerbread Cottage opened for business at Dalton’s.

      Secretly, Eric hoped that Eleanor’s letter would get lost in the shuffle, and that she’d fall through the ice on the Hudson River and she’d be swept downstream to torment some other kids at a grade school in faraway New York City. She was greedy and nasty and mean and if Santa couldn’t see that from her letter, then he didn’t deserve to drive a magic sleigh! Eric’s wish for Christmas didn’t include a single request for toys. And his Christmas wish was anything but selfish; it was as much for his dad as it was for himself.

      Two years had passed since Eric’s mom had walked out. He’d been five, almost six, years old and Christmas had been right around the corner. The stockings were hung and the tree decorated and then she’d left. And everything had turned sad after that.

      The first Christmas without her had been hard, mostly because he thought she’d be coming back. But last Christmas had been even worse. His dad hadn’t bothered to get a tree or hang the wreath on the door. Instead they’d left Thurston, their black lab, in a kennel, and flown to Colorado for skiing. The Christmas presents hadn’t even been wrapped and Eric suspected Santa had passed them right by because their condo had a fake fireplace with a really skinny chimney.

      “Hey, kid. You’re next.”

      Eric snapped his head up and blinked. A pretty elf, dressed in a puffy red polka-dot jacket and baggy green tights, stood at the gate and motioned him closer with an impatient expression. Her name tag said Twinkie and he hurried up to her, his heart pounding. He was so nervous he could barely remember what he wanted to say.

      “So,” Twinkie said, “what are you going to ask for?”

      Eric gave the elf a suspicious glance. “I think that’s between me and Santa,” he replied.

      The elf chuckled. “Ah, the old Santa-kid confidentiality agreement.”

      Eric scowled. “Huh?”

      Twinkie sighed and rolled her eyes. “Never mind.”

      He shifted back and forth between his feet, then forced a smile at the elf. “Do you know him pretty well?”

      Twinkie shrugged. “As well as any elf,” she said.

      “Maybe you could give me some tips.” He opened his pocket and showed her the envelope, making sure that she saw his name scrawled in the upper left corner. If Santa didn’t remember who he was, he’d be sure Twinkie did. “I really need him to read my letter. It’s very, very, very important.” He pulled a bright blue Gobstopper out of his other pocket. “Do you think if I gave him—”

      She studied the envelope. “Well, Eric Marrin, I can tell you this. The big guy doesn’t accept bribes.”

      “But, I—”

      “You’re up, kid,” Twinkie said, pushing him forward, then quickly turning to the next person in line. Eric approached slowly, reviewing all he planned to say. Then he crawled up on Santa’s lap and drew a steadying breath.

      The smell of peppermint and pipe tobacco clung to his big red coat and tickled Eric’s nose. His lap was broad and his belly soft as a feather pillow and Eric leaned closer and looked up into the jolly old man’s eyes. Unlike the elf, Eric could see that Santa was patient and kind. “Are you really him?” he asked. Some of the kids at school claimed that Santa wasn’t real, but this guy sure looked real.

      Santa chuckled, his beard quivering in merriment. “That I am, young man. Now, what’s your name and what can I do for you? What toys can I bring for you this Christmas?”

      “My name is Eric Marrin and I don’t want any toys,” he said soberly, staring at a coal-black button on the front of Santa’s suit.

      Santa gasped in surprise. “No toys? But every child wants toys for Christmas.”

      “Not me. I want something else. Something much more important.”

      Santa hooked his thumb under Eric’s chin and tipped his head up. “And what is that?”

      “I—I want a huge Christmas tree with twinkling lights. And I want our house all decorated with plastic reindeer on the roof and a big wreath on the door. I want Christmas cookies and hot cider. And Christmas carols on the stereo. And on Christmas Eve, I want to fall asleep in front of the fireplace and have my dad carry me up to bed. And on Christmas Day, I want a huge turkey dinner and cherry pie for dessert.” The words had just tumbled out of his mouth and he’d been unable to stop them. Eric swallowed hard, knowing he was probably asking for the impossible. “I want it to be like when my mother lived with us. She always made Christmas special.”

      For a long moment, Santa didn’t speak. Eric worried that he might toss him out of the Gingerbread Cottage for demanding too much. Toys were simple for a guy who owned his own toy factory, but Eric’s request was so complicated. Still, if Raymond was right, this Santa was his best shot at granting his Christmas wish.

      “My—my mom left us right before Christmas two years ago. And my dad doesn’t know how to do Christmas right. Last year, we didn’t even have a tree. And—and he wants to go skiing again, but if we’re not home, we can’t have a real Christmas! You can help me, can’t you?”

      “So you want your mother to come

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