December 11th

(To read this story from the beginning, click here.)

Each year Klink reappeared, in a moment, in a song, in the twinkle of lights and the slow rise of the morning.

She was there the first time I saw Santa in the flesh. We were singing carols at a Rotary breakfast, my grandpa belting loudly over my grandma’s soft choir voice. It was a mid-December Saturday and Santa was expected with some early tidings. I could see the nameless presents under the big tree at the front of the Hall, waiting so much more patiently for Santa’s distribution that I.

I jittered, I moaned throughout breakfast. “When? When?” Soon.

And sure enough, before the French Toast had even begun to digest in my tummy, Santa burst through the double-doors shouting “Ho ho ho!”

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