I open my mouth to greet him, when I realize the children are clustered round him like he’s the Pied Piper.
“Hello, Santa,” I say, smiling at him. “It’s so very nice to see you.”
He holds his belly—a fake one, if ever I saw it, as he’s incredibly fit like all the men of the Clan—and laughs out loud. “Nice to see you, too, Cait,” he says in a thick, raspy voice that isn’t Tully’s. He’s practiced well for his part.
Maeve goes up to him, beaming. “So glad you’ve made it,” she says with a grin. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“Were you? For old Santa?”
Maeve nods. “Of course. Wasn’t Santa bringing a guest?”
The door opens again, and McKenna, dressed in a little elf costume, comes in with a second sack of gifts.
“I’m Santa’s helper!” she announces.
He leans in and pecks her on the cheek, and she smiles to herself. The rest of the Clan are all heading into the dining room.
Still, no Malachy.
“Let’s get everyone seated,” I suggest, steering Keenan in the general direction of the dining room.
“Oh, aye, Cait.”
“Where’s Malachy?” Maeve wonders, not leaving her place by the doorway. She looks a bit more concerned than is expected. I’ve no doubt it has to do with the secret she holds, that neither of us have told any of her sons yet.
My God, though, it’s been twelve years since she buried her husband, the late Seamus McCarthy. Twelve years. And Malachy is a good man.
“We’ll find him, mam,” Keenan promises. “Let’s not disappoint the children.”
Santa comes into the dining room, promising the children that if they behave at dinner, he’s got presents for all afterward.
“Well played, Santa,” Megan mutters to me with a wink as we enter the dining room, and a collective gasp goes up.
It’s amazing.
The Christmas tree in here rises almost to the roof, bedecked with vibrant, multi-colored lights, twinkling silver tinsel, and frosted silver garland. The mantle’s decorated with holly and berries, and the scent of decadent, delicious food wafts through the air. Candles flicker, music plays the glorious, heart-warming tunes. The McCarthys know how to do Christmas right.
“Oh this is amazing,” Faidha says. She holds Tiernan’s hand, as she looks at the enchanted room before us. In one corner of the room, a table’s set up with a train set, little snow-capped trees and presents around the perimeter of the track. Another table is filled with sugar-topped cakes, decadent cookies, with Nutcrackers standing at attention, guarding the display.
“Aye,” Fiona says, her eyes shining as she takes in every detail. “I’ll never forget my first Christmas here.”
Holly berries and popcorn are strung up across the mantle, and on the table are mini sleighs filled with berries and greens. The scent of pine and cloves fills the air, and silver and gold Christmas crackers are atop each plate.
“What’s that, daddy?” little Eleanor asks Nolan. “Are they for Santa?”
She’s four years old, and finally old enough to really enjoy the anticipation of Santa coming and all the wonders the season brings. Nolan bends down and puts his arm around her tiny shoulders.
“What, love?”
She points to the crackers.
He grins. “Oh, those. You pull them open, and pop! Out pops a present you get to keep.”
Her eyes widen, and she runs to the table, but he calls her back. “Ah, not yet. Wait a few minutes.”
She looks to the table, back at him, then looks as if it kills her not to grab the shiny presents off the table and she’s wondering if it’s worth it anyway.
“Come with Aunt Cait, love,” I say, holding my hand out to her. “Don’t you want to see Santa?”
She takes my hand, and we head over. The children stand around him as he sits at the head of the table. He ho ho ho’s and pats them on the head, and asks them soberly what they’ve asked for for Christmas. One by one, he sends them to sit with their parents.
Keenan sits at the opposite end of the table from Santa, so I take my seat beside him. I sit to his right, Cormac and Aileen next to me, Boner beside her, and every chair is soon taken.
“Come here, Maeve,” Santa says, patting the empty chair beside him. Maeve sits on one side and McKenna the elf on the other.
“Granny’s sitting beside Santa,” one of the children whispers to Eleanor. I catch my eldest son Seamus’s eye, and he grins at me. Adorable.
The double doors to the kitchen open, and the servers march out, dressed smartly and carrying large platters heaped with food.
“Oh, lord, am I glad I skipped lunch,” Megan says. “This will be delightful.” She holds a fork in one hand and a knife in the other, as if she’s ready to dive in.
Carson kisses her cheek, and Aileen laughs out loud. “Always.”
I look around at the table of people I love, my large family who’ve taken me in as their own.