I have already given up on Santa Clause by the time my old man leaves, but Roberta is only six, and she does the whole routine: leaving cookies, writing a note, sneaking to the window, pointing at stars and asking "Is that a reindeer?"
The first December we are on our own, my mother wants to do something special. She finds a complete Santa outfit: the red jacket, red pants, boots, fake beard. On Christmas Eve, she tells Roberta to go to bed at nine thirty and to not, whatever she does, be anywhere near the living room at ten o'clock-which of course, means Roberta is out of bed at five minutes to ten and watching like a hawk.
I follow behind her, carrying a flashlight. We sit on the staircase. Suddenly, the room goes dark, and we hear rustling. My sister gasps. I flick on my flashlight. Roberta whisper-screams "No, Chick!" and I flick it off, but then, being that age, I flick it back on again and catch my mother in her Santa suit with a pillow sack. She turns and tries to bellow, "Ho! Ho! Ho! Who's there?" My sister ducks, but for some reason I keep that light shining on my mother, right in her bearded face, so she has to shield her eyes with her free hand.
"Ho! Ho! Ho!" she tries again.
Roberta is srunched up like a bug, peeking over her fists. She whispers, "Chick, shut it off! You'll scare him away!" But I can only see the absurdity of the situation, how we are going to have to fake everything from now on: fake a full dinner table, fake a female Santa Claus, fake being a family instead of three quarters of a family.
"It's just Mom," I say flatly.
"Ho! Ho! Ho!" my Mother says.
"It is not!" Roberta says.
"Yes it is, you twerp. It's Mom. Santa Claus isn't a girl, stupid."
I keep that light on my mother and I see her posture change-her head drops back, her shoulders slump, like a fugitive Santa caught by the cops. Roberta starts crying,. I can tell my mother wants to yell at me, but she can't do that and blow her cover, she stares me down between her stocking cap and her cotton beard, and I feel my father's absence all over the room. Finally, she dumps the pillowcase of small presents onto the floor and walks out the front door without so much as another "ho, ho, ho." My sister runs back to bad, howling with tears. I am left on the stairs with my flashlight illuminating an empty room and a tree.
