Following the direction of his gaze led to a scrawny man with wiry, unkempt hair sprouting out from under a red-and-green pointed cap, minus the white pom-pom that used to be on top. His pants were baggy red sweats, his coat a bright green with red sleeves, and his black shoes had curls at their tips. He slept, cheek against fist resting on the arm of a foldout lawn chair on the corner of Santa’s Workshop Mall, a red kettle that had no affiliation with the Salvation Army by his feet, with a sign that read HELP GET ME BACK TO THE NORTH POLE propped up. Though everyone knew the only pole he’d ever seen was two counties over and used as support for dancers named Sugar and Saxxxon.

“That’s Steve,” I explained. “Christmas’s resident homeless person.”

“Which is an oxymoron.”

I rolled my eyes, though that felt like Arthur’s objective. “He resides in town, just nowhere specific.”

“And he’s the only homeless person?”

“We’re not that big a town.”

“Can’t someone find a place for him?” He peered at Steve’s retreating image through the driver’s-side mirror.

“People have tried, but Steve likes to be outside. Says his spirit cannot be contained. Judge Roddy basically told him he wouldn’t be arrested for vagrancy again if he would just dress in Christmas theme.”

“Are you quite serious?”

“Yep. The judge said it was a way to have Steve contribute to society by contributing to the town’s overall ambience. I’m not sure that’s as effective as he envisioned.”

“Well, it’s a fascinating compromise, I’ll give him that.”

Arthur turned on the left signal and we carefully pulled into the CK parking lot, which was already packed despite it being still somewhat early in the morning. At the back, we found two empty spots beside each other and Arthur nearly broke a sweat to get the Hummer parked without taking out the cars on either side of us.

Claus Kitchen was like every small-town grocery store except there were painted images of a smiling Santa on one side of the forest-green CLAUS KITCHEN sign and a cheery Mrs. Claus on the other.

The moment we got inside I saw a transformation come over Arthur. He lit up, rubbing his hands together in excited anticipation. That boy sure liked to go shopping.

“Right. What is our objective?”

“We’re getting some ingredients to make Christmas cookies since I thought you and your aunt would like that,” I said.

It took all my effort but I pushed my growing animus for his possible-homewrecker aunt (who was nowhere near as pretty as my mother and growing less so by the second) out of my thoughts to focus on our goals.

“Brilliant! Auntie was inquiring about that possibility only this morning at breakfast.”

Oh, was she? How nice. Whatever.

I scowled at my paper with the recipe.