A Callahan Carol Read Online Free Page A

time.”
    John nodded briskly, his little boy’s eyes round and wide.
    “He’s right, Mom. Remember? Mark put it all over me and said it was blood.”
    Margaret clicked her tongue. “Yes, I remember. He got into trouble for it, too. This year we’re not going to fight over frosting colors. You each have your own set of colors.”
    “Yeah.” Matt darted toward the door. “We can all get bloody.”
    “The Christmas Spirit is alive and well at the Callahans,”
    their mother joked.
    The children slid into their customary chairs around the kitchen table and for the next hour, with Christmas carols playing softly on the stereo, labored over turning sugar cookie Christmas trees into works of iced art. Branch came home just as the boys were finishing up the last of the cookies, and as his sons competed to offer him first taste of their edible works of art, he stacked the four cookies, and did a Cookie Monster impression by shoving them all into his mouth at once and saying, “Cookies.”
    The children dissolved into fits of giggles. Margaret sighed, shook her head, then poured him a glass of milk. After Branch washed down the cookies, he asked his family about their day. The older boys told him about the pick-up football game they’d had at the elementary school playground. Margaret relayed a story about the Angel Tree project the church did for the local nursing home.
    Branch then shared details about his workday but as soon as he shifted to the subject of mineral rights acquisition, the older boys wandered off.
    John hung around. Pretty soon, he crawled into his father’s lap. “Would you read me a story, Daddy?”
    “Sure. What do you want?”
    “The Grinch!” John exclaimed. “He’s my favorite!”
    “Why is that?” Branch asked his son as if this weren’t an exchange they held every single time Branch read the book to the boy.
    “Because he reminds me of you.”
    At that point, as always, Branch attacked with tickles. John giggled, squirmed, and giggled some more. When his mother finally handed the beloved book to his father to read, he curled against Branch, stuck his thumb in his mouth, and listened quietly and intently.
    When Branch finished, he shut the book and expected John to scramble down and wander away or ask for a second story.
    Instead, his youngest son remained where he was.
    Branch glanced down at John. The boy wasn’t asleep.
    Branch could tell by his expression that something was bothering him. “What’s wrong, Buddy?”
    Another thirty seconds dragged by before John spoke.
    “Daddy, Brett Parker said Santa Claus isn’t real. I asked Matt and Mark and Luke if he was fibbing, but they wouldn’t tell. Was he, Daddy? Is Santa Claus just a story?”
    Branch sucked in a breath, then lifted his head to gaze with wild, worried eyes toward his wife. Santa Claus? What was he supposed to do? This wasn’t his job!
    Margaret took care of the hard stuff with the kids. She handled these sorts of questions. Shoot, she probably knew the complete text of “ Yes, Virginia there is a Santa Claus” letter by heart!
    But judging by the sympathetic smile she gave him, she had no intention of handling this one.
    Branch gazed down into his son’s pleading eyes, and sent up a silent prayer. Just one more year. One more Christmas.
    Please?
    Quickly, he arrived at a plan. “You don’t listen to Brett Parker, John. What you need to know is that I believe in Santa, but I understand how a man can have doubts. Tell you what let’s do.
    I’ll put on my thinking cap and try to come up with a way to prove it. Would that help?”
    The boy brightened. “Sure, Daddy.”
    “Good. Now, go find your brothers and tell them I’m in the mood to play catch. I’ll meet everyone in the backyard in ten minutes.”
    “Yippee!”
    When he was alone with his wife in the kitchen, he took her in his arms, buried his face in her hair, and groaned. “That was awful. I want one more year. I want this Christmas.”
    “I do,