and hoping that some guy in a red suit would give her all her dreams.
May Belle at six was already too wise. She was just hoping for that stupid Barbie.
He was glad he'd splurged on it. Joyce Ann wouldn't care that he only had a hair clip for her.
She would blame Santa, not him, for being cheap. He put his arm awkwardly around Joyce Ann.
“C'mon Joyce Ann. Don't cry. Old Santa knows the way. He don't need a chimney, does he, May Belle?”
May Belle was watching him with her big, solemn eyes. Jess gave her a knowing wink over Joyce Ann's head. It melted her.
“Naw, Joyce Ann. He knows the way. He knows everything.” She squenched up her right cheek in a vain effort to return his wink.
She was a good kid. He really liked old May Belle.
The next morning he helped her dress and undress her Barbie at least thirty times.
Slithering the skinny dress over the doll's head and arms and snapping the tiny fasteners was more than her chubby six-year-old fingers could manage.
He had received a racing-car set, which he tried to run to please his father.
It wasn't one of these big sets that they advertised on TV, but it was electric, and he knew his dad had put more money into it than he should have.
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