Free The Bark Before Christmas by Laurien Berenson Page A

that there’d been yet another wife between me and Claire, and I decided to let it go.
    â€œOh that,” said Claire.
    â€œYes, that . It’s a big deal. Hopefully you’ll only do it once in your life.”
    â€œThat’s the plan,” she agreed. Then her brow furrowed. “Though Bob doesn’t exactly have the best track record in that regard.”
    â€œOnly because he didn’t meet you first,” I said firmly.
    Claire started to reply. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her lower lip quivered slightly. “If you make me cry,” she said after a moment, “I will rescind my offer of assistance. And then where will you be?”
    â€œI’ll be very sorry,” I told her. “But not about the bazaar. Just that I made you cry.”
    â€œI’m not crying.” Claire sniffled. “I hate to cry.”
    â€œSo you always say. Your actions speak differently.” I reached over and patted her arm. “I’ve seen documentaries set you off.”
    â€œIt was about whales, ” Claire blubbered. “And it was very sad.”
    I gave her a minute to regain control, then said, “Seriously, you and Bob make a great couple.”
    â€œThank you for that.” Claire drew in a deep breath and managed a smile. “And for . . . you know . . . not making things awkward.”
    â€œBob loves you,” I said. “And you’re wonderful with Davey. I think we’re all very lucky to be adding you to our family.”
    â€œWhat a lovely thing to say.” Claire bit her lip.
    I hoped she wasn’t about to start sniffling again.
    â€œYou see, ” she said earnestly. “That’s exactly why I want to help with the bazaar. You and Bob and Davey and Sam, you’re all my family now. And families should pull together when things get tough.”
    In my experience, families tended to fracture and fight when problems arose. And I was well aware that Claire’s family had once done the same. But I loved the fact that she was trying to build better relationships than the ones she’d known in the past.
    â€œI’m happy to be able to say that the bazaar seems to be in pretty good shape,” I told her.
    â€œBertie mentioned that you might need help with a photo booth . . . ?”
    â€œShe’s coming to assist with crowd control. We’ve invited kids to bring their pets . . . I’m pretty sure that a little pandemonium is a given. Unfortunately Bertie drew the line at wearing an elf costume.”
    â€œI could do that,” Claire volunteered.
    â€œReally?”
    â€œSure. I’ve worn worse at children’s parties. I’d rather dress up like an elf than the Leaning Tower of Pisa or the back half of a Chinese dragon.”
    â€œI don’t think I even want to know,” I said with a laugh.
    â€œDragons are hard, elves are easy.” Claire smiled happily.
    And so it was settled.
    Â 
    Friday morning when I arrived at school, there was a note in my box asking me to present myself at Russell Hanover’s office at my earliest convenience. Not surprisingly, communication among the staff at Howard Academy still relied on a system that had served the institution well since the early twentieth century. Mr. Hanover’s secretary, Harriet, had both my e-mail address and my cell phone number. And yet I’d still received a handwritten message in my in-box. You had to love it.
    The note hadn’t sounded urgent, so I waited until I had a break midmorning before walking over to the main building where the headmaster’s office was located. It’s always a pleasure to stroll through Joshua Howard’s former home. With its soaring ceilings, antique crown molding, and polished hardwood floors, the mansion still retains a great deal of old world charm despite its change in circumstance. The original front hall serves now as a reception area. Mr. Hanover’s office, once