Exploits of the Kringles

Exploits of the Kringles
a short story by Valarie Josephine1

There was a light in the middle of the room, as well as a chair; but with the former turned off, all one could see was black. There was a door, of course, and a loudspeaker on one wall: the gateway to an unknown source—an unknown world.
A heavyset old man turned on the light and thunked into the rusty seat. The single light bulb rocked back and forth, allowing for very minimal vision. With a sigh he rested elbows on knees and face in hands.
“Good morning, Mr. Kringle.” The loudspeaker crooned to him in a calm and supportive manner, like dark honey over dark toast.
“What else? What else am I bound to fail at?” Kristofer Michael Kringle lifted his head up well enough to talk and let the dim light show the dark purple bruises around his left eye. “Was a marriage not enough? I can’t have any family anymore?”
Silence. “What did the boy do, Mr. Kringle?”2

Winds, remembered Kris. Cold, piercing winds brought the bitter, icy snow and the harsh, terrifying eyes. Those eyes that used to brighten at his presence now broke him—the eyes of his only son. He had not meant to burden William as he had been burdened. He had not meant for anyone else to have to run his company—his holiday. “Take your Christmas back, Your Freakin Highness. And good riddance.” The words Bill had said, shaking his still-hungry fist as he stared at his father crumpled in the snow, hurt almost as much as those eyes. And Bill walked away—probably the last thing Kris would ever see of him.3

“It’s not even about the boy.” So much trauma… so much pain… how could he even know the source?
“Perhaps it is the child, then? Your dear Katherine?”4

Yes… little Kathy Bryant. He imagined her angelic blonde hair and twinkling blue eyes as thoroughly as if he had actually met her. That Wisconsin air is even more brutal for the pure at heart.
“If you were real, my mommy would still be here… she’s in heaven now…”
Her angel-white hair wasn’t so pure anymore. The twinkling blue had been tainted with death and betrayal, thanks to his selfishness—his UnChristmas. How many tears had been shed for him? How much innocence was slaughtered on his account?
“I guess you didn’t really care…”
He DID care! He cared, he cared, he cared, he… no. If he cared, the impure eyes wouldn’t have turned away from him, forever broken, forever scarred, never to write again…5

“No, it isn’t about Kathy.” He wished it was. He wished on every shooting star in the world that he had the energy to care about someone’s pain other than his own.
“Ah, so we have returned to Bridget, then.”
There was nothing mocking or threatening in the tone of the man in the loudspeaker. And yet…
Kris jumped to his feet and kicked the chair away. “Well what do you know?! What do you know about Kathy or Bill or… or… YOU AREN’T EVEN REAL!”
Silence. By some unknown force, the chair slid back to its original position, but Kris sat along the wall now—hating the loudspeaker, hating this room, hating himself above all of that…
“Perhaps that is true. But she is very real, is she not?”6

The flowing dark chocolate of her rich, silky hair…the beautifully cold green eyes against porcelain complexion…the glory of her slim figure and perfect hips…she was too perfect to be real. Too perfect for him. And yet he had her once; he had her all to himself, and it was real, and it was beautiful, and she was beautiful.
Bridget…
He was so SELFISH. He always had been. He loved his work at the expense of all the things he loved more: her cooking, her laugh, her love, those eyes…7

“Yes, she’s real. And I need her.” He whispered it as if no one could know his pain… no one but himself and the anonymous man in the loudspeaker.
“Then you know what you need to do.”
“It’s not that easy. What if she doesn’t want me back? She doesn’t—she doesn’t need me anymore. I can’t go back to her, I’ll…”
Sudden flame replaced the dark walls. The room was no longer there; only fire, fire and that voice that he hated more than anything else. He coughed from the heavy smoke and wondered if he would ever get out alive.
“It is not what you can do, Mr. Kringle. This time, it is what you must.”
He thought he heard her call out for him in the moments before it all disappeared. She needed him… maybe this was his final chance…8

“Baby, wake up, you’re starting to scare me.”9

He sprang up out of bed, hoping to see her dark hair lying next to him, hoping to have her in his arms again…
“Kris, baby, you okay?”
“Anita….” Everything he wanted, everything he asked for in a woman was lying beside him. And yet… and yet…
“I’m sorry, Anita, I have to go.”
He ran out the door before she could begin to say anything, much less ask for a goodbye kiss. He ran out of her apartment—out of her life. He ran for the innocence and the glory of Christmas. He ran for blazing fires and the newly noticeable smell of smoke.
Smoke…
He ran faster. He ran for her, and for the face that Rosebury Manor, his gracious abode, was off in the distance—glowing orange and roaring with deceit.
The snow melted with hot tears. His thick legs burned and ached in aging protest, but he ran still, wanting to rescue his fair maiden, ready to be the hero for once, praying to high heaven that he wasn’t too late.
The steps… the door was unlocked.
Nothing but fire was visible; fire and a lonely rocking chair holding a newly-unconscious woman with long graying hair. He scooped her up and ran outside, stopping only when he knew she would be safe. He fell to his knees and ran a rough hand over her forehead. She would be alright here.
And so he rested, fair maiden beside him and feeling whole for the first time in almost a year. They would both be alright there.10

* * *11

She slept for nearly two weeks in a cold, uncomfortable bed of the Ashland University Medical Hospital. Kris feared at first that she would never wake up; then, a bit more rationally, that she was in a coma; until at last the doctor told him that his dear Bridget Crocker would be fine as long as he stopped pacing back and forth in front of her room.
For those bitter two weeks, he lived on the hospital lobby payphone, as close to his love as he could be. He called the North Pole Major Ruling Court to beg the rights of his holiday back; he called his previous barn-keepers to hire them for the upkeep of the reindeer; he called William to make amends. Slowly the rumors on the headlines were infiltrated with the hope of a holiday and the reappearance of Santa Claus, their long-awaited hero from the shadows. And slowly Kris began to put his life back together—his life with the job, without the multiple love affairs, without the cold evening liquor. And yet, his life could not be quite the same without his angel beside him.
So, after two weeks of waiting, when the intern at last gave him leave to visit her, Kris tried to look his very best. He felt like a teenager again; dressing up and adorning overpriced cologne to impress the woman he was attempting to court. But he needed that small advantage. He would do anything to convince her that their lives could be as they once were—happy and carefree and, most of all, in love. He had to believe she was still in love with him, too. They only needed to build on what they already had so much of.
Kris timidly entered the room and closed the door behind him. He sat in the chair next to her and waited for her to initiate conversation.
Weakly, she breathed, “Why are you here?” much to Kris’s dismay. This was not the warm welcome he had prepared himself for.
“I—well, I… I saved you from that awful fire, Bridget. I…well, I don’t know, I just wanted to—“
“To collect your gratitude?” She grimaced. “I suppose I do owe you that much. So, thank you. And the door is that way.”
“Don’t be so cold, Miss Crocker. I only wanted to be sure you were alright.”
“Well, clearly Mr. Kringle, I am fine. And I am sure you are as well, with as many women as you have had to replace me since I left—“
“Oh, don’t start that game with me.” He caught the growl in his throat only after it was too late to prevent it. He sighed inwardly, not wanting to lash out at her, but quite unwilling to give up so easily. “Besides, my dear, I believe you have had a few love affairs of your own in my stead.”
She laughed outright at his stubbornness. “I am not your dear, Your Highness. Rudolph is the only living thing to ever earn that title, save maybe Kathy.”
“Kathy’s mother is dead. She wants nothing to do with me anymore.”12

Bridget closed her eyes to hide the pain she felt from his words. She had read many an endearing letter from the little bright-eyed beauty, and had grown as fond of the child as the child had of Santa Claus. But who was Santa Claus now? Surely not the suited old man that stood by her bedside full of remorse. Definitely not his only son—the lawyer whose intelligence was countered only by his harsh temper. Where was Christmas to those who needed it the most? Where was Santa when Kathy had needed him—when Bridget had needed him?
“I’m sorry,” she whispered at last. It wasn’t something she had wanted to say to him. Not after she had walked out on him as she did…13

She remembered running into him and Bill and Caroline’s condo after the last of the petitioners had lost hope in the return of Christmas. She had gone to return Caroline’s fine china plate, not knowing Kris was living there for the time being. And yet there he was, brandy in one hand, staring at the floor from the royally purple couch. Caroline looked from one to the other, and then busied herself in the kitchen. The tension threatened to break down the walls as it struggled to escape from their awkward reunion.
He slowly raised his head to look at her, as she had been staring at him since she walked in the door. He looked terrible; the months had not been kind to him, and he hadn’t been taking care of himself at all. His crystal blue eyes met hers for only a second. She immediately rushed out the door to hide the intense pain she had felt from his glance.
Kris Kringle had held all of the purity on earth on well-cushioned shoulders, depending solely on her to hold him in turn. She left him for her own selfish reasons, and now he’d fallen—depending on his brandy and rebound women to hold him in her stead. How on earth do you apologize for that kind of damage?
“You alright, baby?” Hunter was worried when Bridget rushed back into his Sudan, practically gasping for air—oxygen to numb the intensity of the look Kris had given her.
“I’m fine, let’s just go.”
“Alright, princess, just know I love you.” She couldn’t even hear him anymore.14

Kris hadn’t said anything to her apology. Bridget closed her eyes again; she was still so tired from the fire—from the excess of heat and carbon monoxide that threatened to consume her inside and out. And yet that had been just what she wanted when she emptied the bottle of kerosene onto the carpet.
“I need you back in my life.” His response seemed to startle him just as much as it did her. Then, more quietly, he used the already-tender moment to add, “I miss you, Bridget”.
It threw her off; she laughed brutally in a natural defense.
“You don’t need me. ‘Anita Rose Kringle’ looks much better on a marriage certificate.” And yet… and yet…
“You know I could never care for her like I care about—“
“Oh, now, don’t go professing your love all over the place.” Her tone was even bitterer and icier than the snows outside. She had no idea what inner regret she felt the need to cover up, but she hated it, and she hated herself, and before she knew it she was snapping at him. “I started that fire, Kris. I started drinking every once in a while, I’ve gained at least twenty pounds—“
“And you’ve always hogged the covers. You’ve probably lost all your old recipes by now, and your hair is slowly turning grey, and you snore like a coyote with a broken arm.”
“I don’t sn—what point are you trying to make here? How the hell is this supposed to make me skip gleefully into your inviting arms?”
“We all have our faults. Age may be hitting you harder than most, and you may be gaining faults faster than most can see your assets. It happens to the best of us, but I don’t see that when I look at you. I see every good thing about the last seven girls I was with plus a thousand others. No, don’t interrupt, I’m not done.” He took a deep breath to make sure she wouldn’t try to continue. “I see your amazing Crocker cooking from your mother and the piercing green eyes from your father. Your porcelain complexion and calm demeanor. The way you dote upon your little terrier as if he were the reincarnation of baby William. I love you, Bridget, and I think even your faults add something to your personality—to your entrancement. I came here to see if you felt the same way.”
He looked at her, expecting an embrace, or at least some sort of an answer. She tried to look back at him, to see if she could sense the truth in his eyes, but the look of anticipation chilled her every bone. She looked away, thinking about the past, and wondering if she could answer him in the same way that he did for her.
Kris sighed and turned to walk away. She knew from her countless years of experience that he wanted her to call after him, to run to him, to tell him to stay with her. But her pride wouldn’t let her give in that easily. She couldn’t give in. Not again.15

And yet…16

“Don’t go.”
For a split second, she didn’t know whether her mind was yelling at her, or she had actually spoken to him. When he stopped walking and looked at her, she assumed the latter, and added, “Please. I need you too.”
The flock of interns gathered outside the room breathed a sigh of relief. One young doctor that had been watching carefully squeezed the hand of the doctor next to her; they exchanged long-awaited smiles, recognizing their love for the first time. All over Ashland, desperate young children gazed out their windows, and almost all of them would swear they saw a shooting star pass overhead. Little by little, the innocence was being repaired throughout the world. For now, it would start small. But Kris knew, and Bridget knew, and even the reindeer knew, that this Christmas would be one of the most peaceful in years.17

“But I DON’T snore,” Bridget concluded, trying to scowl through the laugh in her eyes.18

-fin-19