Page 102 of The Santa Claus Con

Nathan doesn’t look swayed. “Can I?”

I nod. “It’s never too late to do the right thing.”

“As soon as I get back, I’ll return the money.”

“I’m glad you told me. Whenever you feel yourself slipping, tell me something true about yourself. Something that Nathan—not Nate—Lambros truly feels or believes or does. Promise me.”

“You know I can’t make promises like that,” he says, repeating my words back to me.

“Promise me,” I insist.

“I only promise if you do, too.”

I let out an amused sigh. “Okay, fine. I promise, too. We’re already trying new things. What’s one more?” I gesture around. “I must be slipping already because, shockingly, I don’t hate this. It’s kind of festive.”

He groans. “Time to tell me something true about yourself.”

“You know who I think the real criminals are? People who put out Christmas decorations on November first. Straight to jail.”

We both laugh too hard at this, the release feeling as relaxing as our view. Why didn’t Nathan think he could talk to me about this earlier? Maybe because we’ve always been trying to appear better to each other. More skilled, more accomplished. Or maybe because we’ve cared too much what we think about each other.

“In the spirit of truth-telling,” I start, “I wasn’t entirely honest with you that night in the elevator shaft about why I got into the FBI.”

Nathan shifts in the sand, scooting closer to me.

“The Coopers used to sit out on their front porch, rain or shine. They never got to sit still their whole careers as agents, so they insisted on doing that every day after they retired. One year, we were going to go tree shopping the day after Thanksgiving, but they weren’t on their porch. They were always there. I just, I don’t know, I thought it was strange. Something felt wrong about it.”

“Your gut instinct,” he comments.

“Yeah, and I was right.” I grab another macadamia-nut chocolate. “I broke in through their living room window and saw them passed out on the couch. I tried to pull them out of the house, but their bodies were too heavy. I used the landline to call the police. I tried calling my parents, but they weren’t home, and then I grabbed a pot and spatula and banged it on the porch to get attention. I guess I thought a neighbor could help me drag them out?” Chocolate melts onto her skin as she turns the candy between her fingers. “Then someone did open their door to see what all the noise was about. I ran over to explain the situation, but by then it was too late. The carbon monoxide poisoning got them.”

“Jesus,” he mutters. “I’m so sorry, Scarlett. That must’ve been scary.”

I focus on the horizon in front of us. “What’s strange is that it was a scary situation, and I was only twelve, but I wasn’t scared. Maybe it was the years of confidence-building, but I knew what to do. I sprang into action.” I release a shaky breath. “Still, it wasn’t enough. The Coopers lived such exciting lives but then died like that. Feels wrong.”

“Sounds like you did everything you could. It’s not your fault,” he says.

My voice is soft when I say, “In so many ways, they saved me, and I couldn’t save them.”

“It’s not your fault,” he emphasizes.

I nod. “From that point on, I knew I wanted to join the FBI. I became an agent to honor them, to become someone they’d be proud of, to help people who can still be saved.”

“I didn’t know them, but I have no doubt they’d be proud of you.”

“Thanks.”

Gut-wrenching. That’s what the silence feels like right now. And then I remember earlier, when Nathan shared a happy memory about his brother. I wonder what that would feel like…

“Pancake Day,” I say. “Every New Year’s Eve, the Coopers had a Pancake Day where they’d eat pancakes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner—out at diners and homemade. I got to join in. They wanted to end the year with what they loved. Pancakes and each other.”

“Sounds like a delicious tradition,” Nathan says, smiling. “How did the Coopers do it? Stay married after a long career in the Bureau?”

I consider this. “They taught me how to be a convincing liar, how to hold a poker face, and how to deliver a line convincingly, but they didn’t tell me secrets like that.”

“Maybe they were trying to figure it out, too.”

Probably true. “From what I saw, though, they never kept things from each other, about the big or small things. They were straightforward when something irritated them, but I think they also told each other the good kind of truths. Whenever they appreciated something the other had done, they’d say so. They never seemed to miss an opportunity to tell each other ‘I love you.’ The lies can be overwhelming, but the truths are there, too. You just have to look, and when you find them, hang on.”