Home for the Holidays by Gary Reilly

Author:Gary Reilly
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: comedy, humor, colorado, taxi, denver, cab, taxi driver, cab driver, gary reilly
Publisher: Gary Reilly

Chapter Fifteen

“Tell me, Brendan, have yeh finished yer Christmas shopping?” Maw said, as Gavin and I helped her clear the table for the last do of the night.

“‘Finished’ isn’t the word,” I said. “I haven’t even started yet.”

“Yeh put it off until the last minute again, eh?” Maw said. “Just like yer homework when yeh were in college.”

“Aw Maw, I never did homework in college. You’re thinking of grade school. I plan to take care of it tomorrow.”

“The stores close at six o’clock in the evening,” she said.

“I know, I know, don’t worry, Maw, I got it under control.” “Yeh needn’t buy presents for every blessed relative,” she said.

I liked that.

“I know, Maw. I never buy presents for anybody I don’t have to.”

“I always told the good sisters at Blessed Virgin that yeh were smarter than yeh looked, boy-o.”

“Thanks, Maw,” I said. Then I paused a moment. “Say Maw?”

“What is it, Brendan?”

“I ran into Jimmy Callahan this evening at Duffy’s Pub.”

“Did yeh now?”

“Yeah.”

She smiled and said, “Did yeh say hello to Duffy for me?”

“Oh sure. But the reason I bring it up is that Jimmy told me that Mister Olsen hasn’t played Santa Claus at the parish pageant for the past five years.”

“A painful case, that Mister Olsen,” Maw said, drying her hands on a towel.

“But the thing is,” I continued unabatedly, “Jimmy told me that he applied for the Santa job but Monsignor O’Leary turned him down …”

Maw’s hands slowed on the towel.

“… because Jimmy apparently has a drinking problem and …”

Slower and slower writhed my mother’s hands.

“… so Jimmy wasn’t able to play Santa this year,” I said, but my voice had begun to wither. My mother’s hands stopped moving. The towel was now gripped tightly in her fists.

Were the two of us in total mother/son synch at that moment on that night in Wichita? All I know is, I suddenly didn’t feel like bringing up the subject of the fifty-dollar fee that a Santa Claus got paid to pinch-hit for Mister Olsen. I looked Maw in the eye. I became uneasy. Have you ever seen Mount Rushmore? The George Washington part I mean? The way George seems to stare without moving? I know that’s just an illusion, but my mother held an eerie resemblance to the father of our country right at that moment.

I glanced at Gavin.

He seemed to sense “the vibe” even though he hadn’t heard Jimmy mention the fee back at Duffy’s. I didn’t see fear in Gavin’s eyes, but I did see something like a nervous runner crouched at a starting line waiting for the crack of a pistol.

Maw spoke softly: “What are yeh getting at?”

Her hands began moving again, wringing the damp towel, twisting and squeezing until something that might have been blood dripped to the floor if it had been red instead of clear.

“I told Jimmy that I ended up playing Santa for Mister Olsen this year and he couldn’t believe the irony of the whole situation,” I said with a grin. “We sure had a good laugh over that one.

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