Another email from Uncle Harrison’s lawyer popped up in my inbox. It was the eighth one. What did I want to do with the canal boat that my late uncle had left me? Uncle Harrison wasn’t really an uncle. He had been one of my late mother’s many paramours.
I didn’t want a boat. I had enough on the go. I would rather he had sold the thing when he was alive and had given me the money instead. With three growing kids all under the age of ten, I had my hands full. On top of that there was a global pandemic, and I was homeschooling, plus playing full time secretary to a husband who had made his home office of my kitchen table. I didn’t need a boat.
Roni the five-year-old glued to the TV, wiped her perpetually runny nose on the sleeve of her new jumper. Horace, the eight-year-old, was making flies. He was obsessed with fishing. Something he couldn’t do in December. Gloria sat with her phone, somewhere out of sight. Surrounding all this domesticity was a house that needed repainting, a tree that need trimming, a van that needed replacing.
This time the lawyer had included pictures of the boat. It was dark green with red and blue trim. Much like the tree that had to be decorated. It slept eight. Full kitchen and a tank full of gas.
The husband paced back and forth, wheeling and dealing with a computer screen. Roni sniffed and wiped, and Horace dropped another completed fly into his fishing kit. From somewhere in the depts of the house Gloria huffed. All the boat needed has a couple of strings of fairy lights and it would do.
“Pack your bags,” I declared. “We’re going on an adventure.”
Roni sniffed.
Husband stared.
Horace squinted.
Gloria groaned, “Seriously, mother. Christmas is two days away.”
“Exactly, Christmas Vac-cay! Time for a change of scenery,” I shouted at the unseen Gloria.
Roni, with tears in her eyes, asked, “But what about Santa? He won’t know where we are?”
“Nonsense, Santa knows where every kid is. He has Santa GPS on every one of them.”
The car was packed in under two hours. Roni had her tablet, Husband his laptop, Horace his box of fly making feathers, and Gloria hid in the back.
We stood on the dock in the unseasonably warm weather. There was no snow or ice. Uncle Harrison’s boat was the only one left in the water. All the others had been dry docked for the winter. It didn’t matter, it would provide us with a physically distanced vacation. We’d deal with dry docking afterwards.
“But mommy.” Roni tugged at my sleeve. “Santa won’t find me. It’s a boat. It doesn’t have a chimney.”
“Husband, the box with rope lights please.” I climbed up on the roof of the boat and carefully laid out the lights.
“Take Roni back up to the parking lot, Husband.”
When they were back up top, I turned the lights on.
“What does it say,” I shouted.
“Santa please stop here!” The three kids shouted.
