Free The Ghost of Christmas Present by Scott Abbott Page A

felt guilty. Ten dollars dropped in the bucket wasn’t going to take that away. Was he stealing from people who really needed it? With or without the Coins for Kids Santa, was he stealing? Here he was pretending to be something he was not. But everyone knew the Ghost of Christmas Present was just a role, so perhaps he wasn’t stealing but playing a part and providing a service. Or perhaps he was convincing himself of his own lies?
    These questions took him around to the back alley where he set down the day’s to-go containers. Red-Beard in the Yankees cap and the rest of the squatters huddled in a cold circle around an ash-can fire. “What you serving this evening?” Red-Beard called out.
    â€œHaven’t had the chance to look,” Patrick replied.
    â€œPotluck? And on a Monday?”
    Patrick shook his head and turned back. “Good appetite, gentlemen.” He waved his hand and made his way out of the alley.
    Waiting at the entrance stood a large, familiar silhouette. Coins for Kids Santa stepped out of the shadows and blocked his way. He sported a great wide smile. Then suddenly the Santa grabbed Patrick and slammed him against a Dumpster.
    â€œListen to me, you begging sack of crap. That’s my intersection! I’ve worked it for years, and some street freak like you’s not gonna steal any of my action.”
    The Santa held Patrick by his green velvet robe, which began to rip.
    â€œHey!” The voice came from behind the Santa, who turned to see Red-Beard in his Yankees cap along with the other squatters standing in an imposing semicircle.
    â€œYou bums crawl back into your bottles.”
    Red-Beard stepped up to the Santa and pulled him off Patrick. Patrick straightened his robe as the squatters surrounded the man in red. “We don’t like it when Santa Claus gets rough,” announced Red-Beard.
    â€œDoesn’t feel natural,” said another.
    Red-Beard reached out and yanked the white beard from the thug’s face to reveal a stubble-covered chin. “Well, whaddya know?” Red-Beard said as he looked back to the others. “He’s not the real Santa Claus.”
    â€œThat’s a relief.”
    Red-Beard pulled off the Coins for Kids ID from the crimson coat and tossed it aside. “And I’m willing to bet this wasn’t made at the North Pole either. Hit the bricks.”
    The thug picked up his beard and badge and took off down the alley. Red-Beard looked at Patrick. “All right. We’ve been meaning to ask. We know you’re not the leftover food fairy. Who are you, really?”
    â€œI’m my son’s father,” Patrick said, and he headed the down the alley the opposite way.
    The squatters watched him go.

Chapter 14

    A TRUE LABORER
    P atrick sat by Braden’s hospital bed, but he looked out the night window instead of fixing his gaze on the boy as he’d always done. The day had shaken him.
    It had started out with such a glow of hope, with recalling Rebecca’s observation of pain being obligatory and suffering being optional. It was a strange refrain, but somehow her words offered Patrick the sense that life itself was dropping a whispered promise into his cup that his life as Braden’s father wouldn’t be interrupted after all.
    After Linda’s sudden death, being a father had been the most painful thing Patrick had ever experienced. But he had done everything he could think of to keep the suffering outside in the hospital hallway and not in his son’s room. He had never broken down into sobs just to hear himself cry. He had never cursed the night clouds just so he could hear his own voice shout, “You’ve stolen my wife, and now you come for my son?”
    Those would have been the outbursts of suffering. And it became clear to him through Rebecca’s words that when he had decided to beg in disguise, it was another way he had turned away from any self-­manufactured