Benny: A Tale of a Christmas Toy by K. C. Scott

Author:K. C. Scott
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: holiday, fantasy, christmas, santa, teddy bear
Publisher: K. C. Scott

Chapter 2

THE NICE LADY in the paint-spotted blue overalls was informing Carol that Carol was going to be late. Not exactly in those words, of course. What she was actually saying was that Red Barn Daycare was closed for renovations, and for the last month this fact had been included in the newsletter, typed at the bottom of the invoices, and posted on the door. And, the nice lady insisted, pointing with a finger caked with white paint, the sign was still taped to the inside of the glass. Carol looked and saw that the yellow butcher paper was faded and wrinkled from the sun, but the words written with a thick red marker were still unfortunately clear: PLEASE MAKE OTHER ARRANGEMENTS. WE WILL BE CLOSED THE FIRST WEEK OF FEBRUARY.

"But I didn't know," Carol pleaded.

The woman, a redhead so slender and perfect even in paint clothes that Carol was sure that she had never given birth, smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, dear. I wish I could help."

Rain tapped on the metal awning above them. If it was February in Delburg, Oregon, Carol knew you could almost always count on rain. She liked how it kept everything green, but she could have done without the oppressive dreariness. Especially when it was coupled with a cold, stiff wind, the case that particular Monday. The frigid air clamped down on her nylon-covered legs. She never wore nylons. She almost never wore a dress either. But this was for an interview. And she was going to be late. And she had worn nylons. She wanted to cry.

"What if I said please?"

"That would be nice. But I'd still say no."

"Pretty please?"

"No."

Sam tugged on the hem of Carol's dress, and she looked down at him. His blond hair nearly covered his eyes. In his faded denim jacket and pants, he looked like a young James Dean. His only negative was that he looked like Alex. Of course, she would never hold that against him.

Even though Alex was a prick, he had been a good looking prick, and he had passed those good looks on to Sam. If Carol ever saw her ex-husband again, she'd have to thank him for that. She doubted she would see him again, though. The last she'd heard, Alex was smoking pot on a reservation in Nevada with a Navaho girl whose named rhymed with ho. Spring Row? Water Flow? She could never remember exactly, but it had definitely rhymed with ho.

"I don't mind paint smell, Mrs. Jorgan," Sam said. "It kinda smells nice. And I can help. I like painting. I pro'ly have my own paint brush in my bag. I have lots of stuff in my bag."

He slipped off his blue backpack, which looked about to burst, and set it on the concrete stoop. Carol had been trying to get Sam to thin out the contents of his bag for months, with no luck. He insisted he wanted everything with him in case they had to move again, which was

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