17. Benji

BENJI

The entire town of Mulligan’s Mill began to gravitate toward Main Street, like fairies flitting their way toward a tree filled with Christmas lights.

Families rugged up in coats and mittens milled across the park and over the bridge and through the festoon-lit streets to take up their places on the parade route. A buzz of excitement filled the air as friends and neighbors joined in clusters on the sidewalk, sharing warm eggnog from thermos flasks and freshly baked gingerbread cookies.

“Coming through! Coming through!” said Bea, steering Great Nan to the front of the gathering crowd on one side of Main Street. “Wobbly old lady coming through… and no, don’t be rude, I’m not talking about myself.”

Connie towed me behind them. “Come on, Cuz. Keep up. We want a good spot, don’t we?”

“A good spot right now would be home in bed quietly reading a book by candlelight.”

“Who are you? Dickens? I know things have been kinda shitty, but at least try to shake the Ebenezer Scrooge vibes and get into the Christmas spirit. If not for you, do it for your Mom and Dad.”

“Speaking of which, where are they? I can’t see them anywhere. They love this parade, they wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“I’m sure they’re here somewhere. They definitely weren’t at home when we dropped poor Maggie off.”

After Maggie melted meters of snow with her barf-fest, we all decided it was best for her to skip the parade altogether. We made the detour past Mom and Dad’s house and left her asleep under a blanket on the sofa with a bucket on the floor beside her. We also asked Great Nan if she wanted to sit the parade out, but she was determined to go.

“I’m fine,” she insisted as we were leaving the house. “Just let me go to the bathroom first.”

“Great Nan, that’s the coat closet.”

“So?”

Once we made it to the front of the crowd, Bea called to Harry. As head of the town Christmas Committee, he was in the middle of the street checking run sheets and maps with another volunteer. “Harry! Oh yoohoo! Harry, you big hunk of handsome!”

Harry nodded to acknowledge Bea and made his way over to us. “Aunt Bea, you look dazzling as always.”

Despite the freezing cold, Bea let the shawl slip a little off her shoulder and giggled. “Oh Harry, I bet you say that to all the girls.”

Harry hitched one eyebrow. “And which girls would that be?”

“Oh, stop flirting and fetch us something for Great Nan to sit on, would you please? She’s not so steady on her feet tonight. Old age can be such a curse at times.”

At that moment Great Nan belched and the alcohol content in the air went from zero to forty percent.

“Old age, huh?” grinned Harry, waving the fumes away. “Let me see what I can do. Hang in there, Great Nan.”

Harry moved away quickly and soon returned with two folding chairs, popping one open for Great Nan and one for Bea. “Ladies.”

“Hey, what am I, chopped liver?” pouted Connie as Harry helped Great Nan then Bea into their seats.

“Connie, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Harry replied. “Besides, how’s that new wrench going?”

“New what?” Connie seemed confused, then realized, “Oh, you mean the thingamajig I bought.” My cousin gave a flat, unimpressed look. “It’s fine, if I ever work out what it does.”

Harry chuckled to himself. “Good luck with that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready. Mine is the first float.”

Connie crossed her arms. “Well the verdict is officially in. Harry’s gay.”

“Harry’s not gay,” I laughed.

“He’s totally gay, Cuz. He completely ignores me and instead gives all his attention to the drag queen and the old lady. Mark my words, he’ll be next to kick his way out of the closet with those big muscly thighs of his. What a waste of a perfect male specimen, no offence.”

“None taken. I think.”

“I tell you, if it wasn’t for my tantric yoga, a girl would go crazy in this town.”

That’s when Great Nan raised a waggly finger and said, “Hey Bobby, isn’t that your boyfriend over there?”

I turned, and there opposite us on the other side of the street I saw Bastian with Sterling hovering next to him, checking his phone and looking as bored as hell. I saw the sweater Bastian was wearing—the YMCA Elves—and instead of being angry at the sight of him, my heart gave the gentlest of flutters.

I wished I’d worn my Maca-reindeer sweater.

Just then Bastian glanced across the street and our eyes met.

And for a moment, everything but the falling snow and glittering lights and Bastian seemed to fade away.

I could no longer hear the ripple of festive excitement in the crowd.

I could no longer see the hundreds of people lining the street, or even Sterling standing beside him.

I could no longer remember the fights, not just from today, but from years gone by.

All I wanted to do was rush across the street to him.

I wanted to take him in my arms.

To kiss him.

To hold him tight and keep him safe forever.

As I saw him step forward, I felt as though he wanted to do the same.

As though nothing could hold him back.

Except—

With the quavering blast of a trumpet, the Mulligan’s Mill town band began to lead the parade down the street.

I had a flashback of the dream I’d had—the 1940s big band spectacular, their trumpets blasting, cymbals clashing, drums drumming, and flugelhorns flugeling as they razzle-dazzled their way through Andy Williams’s “ It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year. ”

The band was now playing the same song, but there was nothing spectacular about it.

Out of time and out of tune, the five members of the town band muddled and meandered their way along the parade route.

Merv Markowitz played his trombone with grating glee.

Abner Wiggins clashed his cymbals with apparent randomness.

Harvey Sutton pounded his drum as though he was headed off to war.

Miriam Ferguson blew into her French horn in a panic as though she was giving it CPR, trying to breathe life into a tune that was clearly dead on arrival.

While little Patty Sue Perkins stumbled along seemingly held hostage by the giant tuba wrapping itself around her. Nobody seemed certain whether her toots were part of the musical procession or cries for help, but we all clapped anyway, eager to hurry them along and see the first of the parade floats appear.

Soon enough, Harry’s float came into view, but once again, it was nothing like my dream. Yes, his attempt to recreate Santa’s workshop was admirable, and there was no denying that Harry dressed in coveralls as Santa’s head toymaker was anyone’s idea of a Christmas fantasy, sending knees buckling through the crowd. Unfortunately, any fires of desire were quickly doused by the sight of old Walt dressed as the creepiest Elf anyone had ever laid eyes on, hammering at a toy like he was trying to bash it to death.

Somewhere in the crowd a small child started crying.

Then another.

While next to me a little girl screamed, “Is that Elf the Devil?”

As Harry’s workshop float chugged by, the second float came into view.

I remembered from the dream that the giant snow globe in which Mitch, Gage, and Ginny skated around had appeared next, followed by Bud and Pascal’s flowers and friends float. But with Mitch, Gage, and Ginny away in Washington DC, and Bud and Pascal in the south of France, this year’s parade skipped straight to the third float in my dream—Clarry’s ice cream float.

Clarry’s float was little more than Clarry riding his ice cream bicycle cart down Main Street, but who needs anything ritzy and glitzy when you’ve got River Raven handing out free ice creams to the crowd, right? Dressed like a pair of pink-and-white striped twins, Clarry pedaled while River won over spectators by handing them tubs and tubs of free ice cream.

“Oh my God, White Chocolate Wonder Whip!” screeched Connie as River handed her a tub. “That’s my favorite! Aside from Clarry’s Nutcracker Nudge Fudge. You don’t happen to have a tub of that too, do you?”

River gave her a wink and handed her a second tub. “I sure do. Merry Christmas, Connie.”

Connie leapt up and down with joy.

“You took two tubs?” I said. “You don’t think that’s a little greedy?”

“I’m not being greedy, I’m being needy. There’s a difference. I fully intend to smother my sorrows later tonight, knowing I can never marry Harry.” She juggled her tubs in one hand and gave me a swift spank with the other. “At least I’ve still got your butt to smack, hey Cuz.”

“Can we please not?” I glanced across the street and caught Bastian’s eye again, knowing exactly who I wanted beside me giving me a good spank.

Bastian had his eyes locked on me, but Sterling was hissing something into his ear.

I could see that Bastian was trying to ignore him.

Suddenly my view of him was obscured by the float for Heather’s Hair Salon , an old pink Cadillac convertible carrying Heather and her three gum-chewing hairdressers—Tilly, Millie, and Billie—sitting in back, tizzing their hair with one hand and waving to the crowd with the other like they were Mulligan’s Mill royalty.

As Heather’s float motored by, I caught sight of Sterling standing with one hand in Bastian’s face, as though refusing to hear what Bastian had to say.

In the next moment, they vanished behind Clint’s Caravans , a float in which Clint Kincade sat in his rusty old Lincoln, its side mirrors entangled in tinsel as he towed a silver-bullet trailer decked out in Christmas lights behind him.

I craned my neck to try and see past Clint’s float as it spluttered by.

I caught sight of Bastian shaking his head vehemently, as though refusing to accept what Sterling had to say. It seemed every time I spotted them, their conversation was becoming more and more heated.

In the next moment, Nora’s Nifty Knitting Club rattled by, blocking my view of Bastian once more as Nora Carnegie and her nifty knitters—seated on haybales in the back of Dilbert, Lenny Carnegie’s rusty old pickup—threw skeins of wool into the crowd.

Unfortunately, nobody seemed concerned about the skeins unraveling as they flew through the air, creating streamers that began to criss-cross all over the parade route. It was only a matter of moments before several strands of wool caught around the tires of the pickup and were yanked up into the axle, twisting and jamming up the wheels.

A loud grinding noise drowned out the band.

Smoke began to snake its way out from under the vehicle.

“Something’s wrong,” I said to Connie, pushing my way out of the crowd as the pickup clunked and jerked to a halt. “Get out of the truck!” I shouted.

As I rushed toward the ladies in the back of the truck, I caught a glimpse of Bastian coming to help, pushing Sterling aside and shoving his way onto the parade route from the opposite side of the street.

From a little way down the road, cheers went up as the final float appeared, a grand red sleigh with two thrones atop it on which sat this year’s Mr. and Mrs. Claus.

But from where we were, it was not cheers but confusion that spread through the crowd when suddenly a puff of flames ignited under Lenny’s pickup.

Screams could be heard amid the rising chaos.

A wave of panic went through the crowd.

Bea and Connie were suddenly beside me, helping the nifty knitters off the truck while Bastian yanked open the driver’s door and pulled Lenny out.

“Stop the parade!” I shouted to the float carrying Mr. and Mrs. Claus. “Stop the parade!”

From the other end of the street I heard Harry’s booming voice. “Clear the area! Coming through!” He appeared with a fire extinguisher and sprayed a gush of dry chemicals under the pickup and over the haybales.

Bea and Connie helped the shrieking knitters away, while I glanced over to see Bastian coughing and gasping. He had managed to get Lenny clear, but then seemed dazed and was struggling to breathe as the cloud of extinguisher chemicals filled the air.

I raced around the pickup, through the veil of gas, and grabbed him just as he teetered.

His eyes moved slowly, trying to process his surroundings before he saw my face. “Benji.” His senses seemed to be returning to him. “I’m okay. I’m good. Just lost my bearings for a second there.” In the next moment, he began blinking and squinting at the light from the final float that squeaked to a halt a few feet behind me. He gazed through the illuminated clouds of gas and smoke and said, “Is that…?”

I turned in time to hear my mother’s panic-stricken voice. “Benji? Bastian? Oh my God, are you all right?”

Through the headlight beams of the float and the twinkling lights adorning the sleigh on which the two thrones sat, I saw Mr. and Mrs. Claus stand, urgently looking for a way off the float.

Only it wasn’t Mr. and Mrs. Claus, it was—“Mom? Dad?”

“We need to clear this area!” Harry was shouting, just as Sterling hurried onto the scene.

Sterling glared at me holding onto Bastian, and with a possessive glint in his eyes he said, “I can take care of my boyfriend, thanks very much. Let him go!” He snatched Bastian’s hand.

“It’s okay, I’ve got him,” I snapped, pulling Bastian back into my arms.

“People, the parade is over! Clear out!” Harry bellowed.

I tried to pull Bastian off the street, away from Sterling, but he wouldn’t let go. “He’s mine, Benji. It’s about time you let him go.”

Dad jumped off the float and helped my mother down. “Benji! We need to do what Harry says and clear the area.”

“I’m coming, Dad.” I turned to Sterling and added, “And I’m taking Bastian with me.”

“Oh no you’re not.”

Suddenly, being pulled in either direction, Bastian found his voice. “Guys, guys, guys! Stop it! I just need…” His head started to loll on his neck. “I just need to…” His eyes glazed over. “I think I just need to sit down for a while.”

That’s when his knees gave way beneath him.

Bastian slipped out of both Sterling’s and my grip and hit the ground.

I dropped to my knees. “Oh God. Bastian. Help! Someone help!”

Behind me, Mom shrieked. “Bastian!”

In the chaos I saw her try to push her way through the smoke-filled air but a volunteer held her back. “Mrs. Larson, we need everyone to step away.”

“That’s my family!” Mom shouted back at him, pulling away and rushing toward us.

“Mom? Help me!” I thought I was about to cry.

“We’re here, darling.” Mom dropped down beside me in her Mrs. Claus outfit.

Meanwhile Dad shouted into the confused crowd. “We need Doc Morgan, now! Has anyone seen the Doc?”

Harry joined in, calling for the Doc in his thunderous voice. “Doc! Doc Morgan! We need you here!”

Aunt Bea and Connie appeared, having helped the nifty knitters to safety.

“Oh God, is he breathing?” asked Connie.

“I think so,” I answered through the tears.

Bea knelt, yanked off her shawl and tucked it under Bastian’s head, but Sterling tried to stop her.

“Leave him alone,” he barked at us all. “Give him some air. He just needs some air.”

“No, he doesn’t,” came Doc Morgan’s voice, pushing through the crowd. “He needs an infusion.”

We made way for the Doc who knelt beside Bastian and placed an ear to his chest to listen for a heartbeat. “We need to get him to my clinic, right now. Harry!”

Suddenly Harry was scooping Bastian up in his arms.

He and the Doc were disappearing into the terrible Christmas commotion with the man I loved.

And suddenly a sickening thought flashed through my head—

What if this was it?

What if this was the last time I would ever see him?

How could I have spent the past few years hating him, when I should have been loving him?

Would I ever get that chance again?