Santa Clawed

temples. The color, also a dark brown, suited his complexion, somewhat olive. She could see his wedding ring, plus another ring on the pinky of his right hand, probably a family crest. She hadn’t noticed it before. An expensive Rolex Submariner watch, gold with a blue bezel, flashed just enough money spent that an observant person would take that into account. Plus, Bryson gave off the air of a man accustomed to getting his way, not unusual in a doctor.
    Brother Speed stepped aside as an elderly man pushing a half-full cart careened dangerously close. When he did so, he saw Harry. His face registered pleasure at her presence, then he smiled, said something to Bryson, and the two men walked toward her.
    “Christmas dinner?” Bryson asked. “I don’t see the goose.”
    “Maybe you’re looking at her,” Harry joked. “I’ve been called a silly goose.”
    “Not you.” Brother Speed smiled again, for he liked Harry above and beyond the fact that she was a true horse-woman, as opposed to just being a rider.
    “You’re too kind. You all doing the same thing I am?”
    “Racquel gave me a short list and told me that I had to stop at Martin’s on the way back from Augusta Medical. Only Martin’s will do.” He showed Harry the list. “I think I can get this stuff, but I’m not sure about the plum pudding.”
    “If they don’t have it, try Foods of All Nations, if you can even get near it.”
    “That’s the truth,” Bryson commented.
    “Whole Foods.” Brother Speed mentioned another upscale market.
    “I never knew you were interested in food.” Harry recognized the sacrifices jockeys made.
    “I’m not. Brother Morris is, and he often gives me the shopping job because Brother Howard can’t be trusted not to dip into the bags on the way home.”
    “Come to think of it, what a wise decision.” Harry laughed, for Brother Howard was as round as he was tall.
    “We’re having a service tomorrow, just among the brothers, and Brother Morris wants the reception to be a feast of celebration, to remember Brother Christopher’s remarkable journey.”
    Bryson’s dark eyebrows came together for a moment. “Harry, is his family doing anything? Haven’t heard a peep, but under the circumstances it may take them more time.”
    “Oh, Bryson, that’s one of the things that makes this so sad. His family disowned him when the scandal broke in Phoenix.” She looked at Brother Speed. “I don’t know if he ever talked about it.” When Brother Speed shook his head, she continued. “His father, president of a bank that has been gobbled up like most of them, just turned his back on him. In a way I can understand it, because Mr. Hewitt believed passionately that anyone who dealt in money, whether a banker or a broker, had to be above reproach. Two years after the scandal, Christopher’s mother died. He was in jail, and his father didn’t even send him an obituary. He found out when Reverend Jones sent one to him after trying to persuade the old man to heal the wound with his son, given their mutual deep loss.”
    “Poor fellow,” Bryson, a man of high feeling as well as self-regard, said.
    “I had no idea.” Brother Speed shook his head. “Occasionally, Brother Christopher spoke of his ex-wife. A trophy wife, as near as I could tell, and when times got hard, she sailed on.”
    “That’s about it,” Harry said. “You two are coming to the St. Luke’s party. I’ll see you there. I want to knock this out in case the mountain gets worse.”
    “Good idea.” Bryson looked at Brother Speed, then clapped him on the back and rolled his cart down the bread aisle.
    “Harry, this spring I’d like to come out and see your yearlings. You and Alicia Palmer keep the old bloodlines going.”
    “Sure. Love to have you.”
    Brother Speed then headed toward produce.
             
    While Harry was in the grocery, Racquel was visiting Aunt Phillipa.
    Her oxygen bag, with a tube in her nose, helped the old lady breathe. She could speak without gasping.
    “Let it be,” Aunt Phillipa advised.
    “You’re right. I’m letting little things get under my skin.”
    “No man is worth this much worry.” Aunt Phillipa stopped. “You’re his wife. If he sleeps around, you still have the power. Remember that.”
    “Yes, Aunt Phillipa.”
    “You know, I’d kill for a cigarette, but I’d blow us all up.”
    “Not a good idea.” Racquel laughed, for she did love her old feisty aunt.
    Bill Keelo walked into the