Three Christmas Wishes. Sheila Roberts

had sent flowers for her birthday.

      Especially no more thinking about Sean!

      Thankfully, the bell rang, and within minutes rosy-cheeked children were pouring into the room, laughing and talking and still hyped up from chasing each other around the playground. The room smelled of sweaty little bodies and fresh air. She quickly took care of crowd control and got them settled down. It didn’t take much because Monday after recess they always played Wise Old Owl, the trivia game she’d created from past assignments. Her students competed for such treasures as lip balm, glow bracelets, tentacle balls and stickers. She loved this game as much as the kids did, and soon they were deep into it, and thoughts of Sean the disloyal and Emily the Man-Stealer fell away. Thank God for work.

      But then work ended and the orange school buses chugged off with her thirty-two distractions and Riley was left alone with her sad self. What would she ask Santa for when she and Jo and Noel went to the mall? How about a stocking full of happiness? She could use some.

      You need to refocus, she told herself. You still have lots of good things in your life.

      It was true. She did. She loved her job. She had a great family. She was about to become an aunt, for heaven’s sake. And she had close friends. Faithful friends. Well, most of them were. The thought of Emily’s betrayal left her needing a cookie. Maybe she’d bake some brownies. Yes, chocolate cured all ills. She’d barely gotten home when her mother called. “How are you doing?” Mom asked.

      “Fine,” Riley lied. Tears began to spill and she sniffed.

      “It’ll get better once you have a little distance from this. Would you like me to call the golf club?”

      She was tempted to hand off the ugly chore of canceling her venue to her mom, but she resisted. “No. I reserved it. I’ll cancel it.”

      “All right, if you’re sure. I think we’ve gotten hold of all the family now.”

      Goody. All her relatives knew about the great Thanksgiving dumping. “Thanks, Mom,” she managed.

      “And your sister’s got most of your friends covered. But you’ll probably have to let your fellow teachers know.”

      Ugh. Telling the people she worked with every day was going to be the hardest.

      “I’m really sorry this happened,” Mom said.

      That made two of them.

      “But remember, all things work together for good.”

      Riley was sure this dilemma was the exception to the rule, but she said, “I know.”

      “Meanwhile, pamper yourself.”

      “I am. I’m going to make some brownies.”

      “Good idea,” Mom said. “That can be your reward after you call The Pines.”

      Subtle. She’d call and cancel the venue, but first things first.

      She ended the call with her mother and got out her ingredients and got busy. Soon her apartment was filled with the aroma of chocolate. She baked up half a batch of brownies (a girl had to have some self-control, after all) and then ate half the pan. So, if Riley baked half a batch of brownies and only ate half, how many brownies did Riley eat? Too many!

      After she’d fortified herself, she sent out a group email to the Whispering Pines Elementary School faculty. Due to circumstances beyond my control... Scratch that. I hope you haven’t bought a wedding gift yet. LOL. Ugh. Someone among us is a traitor, therefore... She hit delete again. She finally settled on:

      Just a quick note to let you know Sean and I have called off our wedding. It would appear we’re not a match, after all. Thank you for your understanding.

      By the time she hit Send she was emotionally drained. She’d cancel the venue tomorrow. Or the day after. She’d get to it soon.

      Riley didn’t get around to canceling the venue, but over the next few days she did create more story problems with new batches of cookies. If Riley eats half the package of gumdrops before putting them in her gumdrop cookies how many pounds did she add to her thighs? And... If Riley makes a dozen sugar cookies and takes them to school tomorrow, how many would she have to force-feed Emily to put even an ounce on her thighs?

      When December 1 rolled around, she was sick of story problems, sick of cookies and sick of having to see Emily. And more than ready to pick up Jo and Noel, go to the mall and see Santa.

      They’d all agreed to dress Christmassy for their holiday photo op, and Jo was looking chic in a cream-colored sweater accented with a red scarf and her maternity jeans. Her hair fell in a shimmering cascade to her shoulders, and she wore gold ballet slippers and a gold bracelet and earrings. Noel had donned a green sweater, a pair of Jo’s pre-pregnancy black leggings and her new black boots.

      Riley was in a red sweater, jeans and her favorite ankle boots. No shimmering highlights. Maybe if she’d highlighted her hair, gone more blond like Jo...

      Okay, now you’re just being stupid, she told herself. You look fine. Well, except for the extra cookie pounds she’d put on.

      “We look good,” Jo said, confirming it, and Riley smiled.

      It was pushing six as they made their way to Santa’s Play Land, and most people were home having dinner. The few left in the mall were down at the food court stuffing themselves with cheap Chinese food, hot wings, blended drinks and cookies, so there was no line of parents and offspring waiting to see Santa, who was sitting all by himself on his holiday throne in front of his red shack.

      This year’s version was sure authentic-looking, down to the nose like a cherry. Or berry. Or tomato. Whatever. His beard was full, but well-trimmed, and both that and the hair under his hat were white as new-fallen snow. The photographer wasn’t your typical photo-snapping twenty-something. This year Mrs. Santa had come along for the ride. She appeared to be somewhere in her seventies and was as round as her famous spouse. Her hair was equally white and done up in tight little curls, like grandmas in the fifties used to sport. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose and she wore a ruffled white blouse and a red skirt over which she’d tied a ruffled and beribboned candy-striped apron. The pair looked like they’d stepped right out of the poem that had made the modern Santa so popular.

      Santa watched the three women approach with a cocked head and a grin. “I’ve been expecting you ladies,” he greeted them.

      “I think the only one expecting here is me,” Jo cracked and patted her gigantic baby bulge.

      “Ah, yes. You are about to experience a lot of Christmas joy, young lady,” he told her.

      They gathered around him. What kind of aftershave was the man wearing? It was great. He smelled like peppermint and balsam.

      “So, Santa, can you guess what we want?” Jo asked.

      “I have a pretty good idea. I keep a list of who’s naughty and who’s nice.”

      Jo snickered.

      “You’re the easiest of all,” he told her. “I suspect you’d like that baby to come soon.”

      “You got that right.”

      “And you two ladies,” he said, turning his benevolent gaze on Riley and Noel. “How about you? Old Santa knows what you want but you go ahead and tell him.”

      I’d like a man, Riley thought. A perfect man. “I’ll just settle for having my picture taken.”

      Santa lifted a bushy, white eyebrow. “You’re not going to come right out and ask for that perfect man?”

      “What?” Riley stammered. Had she spoken out loud and not realized it?

      “Ladies, it’s time Santa brought you all what you deserve.” He held out a hand, beckoning them to come closer. Then he settled Noel on his leg. “Tell me what you’d like, my dear.”

      “A house,” she