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Ocean View

A family handles a package that arrives at their house.

By Skyler SaundersPublished about a year ago Updated about a year ago 5 min read
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Ocean View
Photo by Javi on Unsplash

Eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit weather was extremely rare for that time of year in Sussex County, Delaware. Winter had allowed the beachgoers to be as far away as possible. The town of Ocean View in the small state soaked up the sun and the warmth of Christmas Eve.

We have lived in a large home minutes from Millville, and Bethany and Rehoboth Beaches. In my thirty years, I was not planning to go to the sand this time of year because I had brought out my winter gear.

My husband, Mayer Friar, thirty-nine, tall and dark skinned with locks, and our children Helios, six; brown skinned with cornrows; Aston, four, light skinned like me with an Afro; and the baby Simula, six months and the color of cocoa butter, settled into this cozy little place ten years ago. Things are already pretty sleepy in Lower Slower Delaware (LSD) but things almost drag to a halt during this time of year.

I was taken aback by the fact that a large drone the size of a competition bicycle had dropped an umarked nine foot seven inch long, eight inch high, and twenty inch wide black box on our doorstep. I had an idea what it was but I wanted my boys to figure it out for once.

I pulled the box inside. It was rather heavy but I managed.

“You sure were out here for a while,” Mayer mentioned. “What do you have there?”

“What do you think?” I retorted with a wink and a smirk.

With just a half a second, I noticed the faculty of logic wash over his face and he nodded in a knowing way.

“We’re going to let the kids guess tonight and let them open it tomorrow.”

“Who’s it from, though?” Mayer asked.

My brow furrowed. “I don’t know. It doesn’t say. This address isn’t even on it. Someone somewhere wants us to have it, however.”

“Should we call the cops?” he asked.

“No, no, no,” I said. “This is benevolent. Someone has brought a gift of great joy. Please put it under the tree.” He followed the command.

Simula cooed in her automatic rocker. I smiled. I lifted her up and held her in my arms. Her warmth and soft murmurings made me glad I was a mom. The rough and tumble of her older brothers then came into the scene. The two of them came down the stairs like a herd of elephants.

“What’s that?” Aston asked.

“Oh, that? Can you tell me?”

Like his father, his face turned into a puzzle. This time, it was not solved.

“Do you know what it is?” Aston asked.

“I have an idea,” I answered.

“Is it a bicycle?!” Helios burst out with enthusiasm.

“Not quite,” I replied. “I think.” I mean, I had an idea of what the box held. I thought I knew, anyway. The light of curiosity shone in my four-year-old’s eyes. “It’s a spaceship!” Aston said, bouncing all around. I hoped he would expend enough energy so he went to sleep that night. I chuckled at his enthusiasm. “Keep trying, boys.”

“I know what’s in there,” Helios remarked.

“It’s a sled. I think we can go down a hill with it,” he surmised.

“We’ll see.”

It was getting late in the evening and Mayer had baked some cookies from scratch and mint hot cocoa, despite the weather.

“It’s like sipping a cappuccino in the summertime,” Mayer told me. The kids didn’t care. They tore into the cocoa and cookies like ravenous hyenas.

We took pictures of the giant box with all of us standing behind it. Like adventurers claiming a rare artifact, we allowed for the phone to snap the whole family in front of it.

Mayer read A Visit from St. Nicholas. The winking lights on the tree enchanted the eyes of my boys until they became leaden. I held Simula. She was in rapturous slumber. Mayer put the two boys over each of his shoulders and marched upstairs ever so gently.

He placed them in their beds with a simple, soothing hand. I placed Simula in her tiny bed and we headed back downstairs and talked in hushed tones as we cleaned up the kitchen.

“I think it’s a lifetime supply of Jell-O,” Mayer said.

I scoffed. “You’d need a much bigger box than that, sir.”

“I know. What the hell is it, Nikki?”

“Shh…the kids….”

“Of course,” he whispered.

We finished up in the kitchen and retired to our own room for the night.

Once Christmas morning arrived, we worked purposefully around the other gifts like saving a juicy bit of steak for the last bite.

Amid the crumpled pieces of paper and the shiny new toys and brand new clothes and sneakers, we as a unit pounced upon the box like pumas. My husband had the best idea with a boxcutter. He sliced the cardboard and finally unveiled the contents.

“Surfboards!” Helios shouted. “Merry Christmas!”

Yes, in fact there was a custom made board for Mayer and me and for Helios and Aston. A tiny bathing suit for Simula rounded out the haul.

“Who sent this to us Mommy?” Aston asked.

After we extracted the boards from the box, we noticed a small note.

It read:

You thought you’d be out of reach.

That simply was not true.

You’ll have more fun at the beach.

Merry Christmas to you!

It was addressed to the Friars. The initials spelled S.C. in red cursive letters on a white background. Mayer and I looked at each other as our boys marvelled at their boards.

“Do you think—?” Mayer started.

“But if—?”

We kept looking at each other. Then, we shrugged.

“Who’s ready for the beach?” Mayer asked.

We just looked at him blankly, knowing that our summer clothes were packed away in the attic.

I chimed, “It’s alright, boys. Momma can fetch those clothes and we’ll all get dressed and make a day of it on the beach…on Christmas!” I said.

“Listen to your mama, boys. She knows what she’s doing.”

I laughed.

Mystery
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Skyler Saunders

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