Рита Браун - Santa Clawed

“Me, too.” Tucker sighed.

Harry returned to the truck and drove up Main Street, turning left at the light where Burger King, McDonald’s, Rite Aid, and a BP station clustered.Traffic proved heavier now. She finally turned into the parking lot of Martin’s, a good supermarket. Fortunately, she didn’t have a lot of shopping, but she never looked forward to any kind of shopping.

Once inside, she grabbed a cart and headed for produce. She threw in carrots and apples—for the horses as well as for herself—varieties of lettuce and oranges, then she raced to the meat department.

She slowed when she noticed Brother Speed and Bryson Deeds at the far end of the meat section. Putting her new vow into practice, she studied their body language. They looked like two people who knew each other very well. She racked her brain to think how these two disparate souls would know each other. Bryson, not a horseman, couldn’t even be induced to attend the steeplechase races, a social event above and beyond flat racing at Colonial Downs. She knew Bryson treated the brothers pro bono. She hoped Brother Speed didn’t have heart problems, although the handsome jockey appeared the picture of health. Given that they both worked at the hospice, they’d had plenty of opportunity to take each other’s measure.

Fascinated, she watched these two as they leaned toward each other in deep conversation.

She remembered Brother Speed’s compact body when he was in racing silks. His monk’s robe covered up everything.

She wouldn’t have minded squeezing Brother Speed’s buns back in his racing days, not that she wanted to go to bed with him, but he was once so cute. It occurred to her at that very moment that she lived in a culture where most forms of touching were taboo. She wondered what it would be like to live in a culture where people didn’t have mental body armor.

Bryson’s body displayed the signs of a middle-aged man. Well fed. A potbelly sagged over his pants. Not bad, but no six-pack, that was for sure. He was a tad under six feet, reasonably well built. Had he been fit he would have been better- looking. His face’s strong features gave him a commanding look. His dark brown eyes were deep-set. His hair, receding, showed signs of gray at the temples. The color, also a dark brown, suited his complexion, somewhat olive. She could see his wedding ring, plus another ring on the pinky of his right hand, probably a family crest. She hadn’t noticed it before. An expensive Rolex Submariner watch, gold with a blue bezel, flashed just enough money spent that an observant person would take that into account. Plus, Bryson gave off the air of a man accustomed to getting his way, not unusual in a doctor.

Brother Speed stepped aside as an elderly man pushing a half-full cart careened dangerously close. When he did so, he saw Harry. His face registered pleasure at her presence, then he smiled, said something to Bryson, and the two men walked toward her.

“Christmas dinner?” Bryson asked. “I don’t see the goose.”

“Maybe you’re looking at her,” Harry joked. “I’ve been called a silly goose.”

“Not you.” Brother Speed smiled again, for he liked Harry above and beyond the fact that she was a true horsewoman, as opposed to just being a rider.

“You’re too kind. You all doing the same thing I am?”

“Racquel gave me a short list and told me that I had to stop at Martin’s on the way back from Augusta Medical. Only Martin’s will do.” He showed Harry the list. “I think I can get this stuff, but I’m not sure about the plum pudding.”

“If they don’t have it, try Foods of All Nations, if you can even get near it.”

“That’s the truth,” Bryson commented.

“Whole Foods.” Brother Speed mentioned another upscale market.

“I never knew you were interested in food.” Harry recognized the sacrifices jockeys made.

“I’m not. Brother Morris is, and he often gives me the shopping job because Brother Howard can’t be trusted not to dip into the bags on the way home.”

“Come to think of it, what a wise decision.” Harry laughed, for Brother Howard was as round as he was tall.

“We’re having a service tomorrow, just among the brothers, and Brother Morris wants the reception to be a feast of celebration, to remember Brother Christopher’s remarkable journey.”

Bryson’s dark eyebrows came together for a moment. “Harry, is his family doing anything? Haven’t heard a peep, but under the circumstances it may take them more time.”

“Oh, Bryson, that’s one of the things that makes this so sad. His family disowned him when the scandal broke in Phoenix.” She looked at Brother Speed. “I don’t know if he ever talked about it.” When Brother Speed shook his head, she continued. “His father, president of a bank that has been gobbled up like most of them, just turned his back on him. In a way I can understand it, because Mr. Hewitt believed passionately that anyone who dealt in money, whether a banker or a broker, had to be above reproach. Two years after the scandal, Christopher’s mother died. He was in jail, and his father didn’t even send him an obituary. He found out when Reverend Jones sent one to him after trying to persuade the old man to heal the wound with his son, given their mutual deep loss.”

“Poor fellow,” Bryson, a man of high feeling as well as self-regard, said.

“I had no idea.” Brother Speed shook his head. “Oc casionally, Brother Christopher spoke of his ex-wife. A trophy wife, as near as I could tell, and when times got hard, she sailed on.”

“That’s about it,” Harry said. “You two are coming to the St. Luke’s party. I’ll see you there. I want to knock this out in case the mountain gets worse.”

“Good idea.” Bryson looked at Brother Speed, then clapped him on the back and rolled his cart down the bread aisle.

“Harry, this spring I’d like to come out and see your yearlings. You and Alicia Palmer keep the old bloodlines going.” “Sure. Love to have you.” Brother Speed then headed toward produce.

While Harry was in the grocery, Racquel was visiting Aunt Phillipa. Her oxygen bag, with a tube in her nose, helped the old lady breathe. She could speak without gasping. “Let it be,” Aunt Phillipa advised. “You’re right. I’m letting little things get under my skin.” “No man is worth this much worry.” Aunt Phillipa stopped. “You’re his wife. If he sleeps around, you still have the power. Remember that.” “Yes, Aunt Phillipa.” “You know, I’d kill for a cigarette, but I’d blow us all up.” “Not a good idea.” Racquel laughed, for she did love her old feisty aunt. Bill Keelo walked into the private room. “Merry Christmas.” “What a beautiful amaryllis.” “I remembered that you liked the white.” Bill’s tie—little Santa Claus figures against a green background—gave him a seasonal air.

“You remembered correctly.”

Alex Corbett stuck his head in the room. “Two good-looking women.”

“What are you doing here?” Racquel wondered.

“Bill does the hospice’s tax work. I’m looking for a larger piece of land down here for them.”

“No kidding.” Racquel was surprised.