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"Please, dear. I had months to make it, knowing you were coming. I'd love for you to have it, to have a little something to remember us here in Christmas Tree."
"You mean Singletree."
The woman's mouth dropped a bit in surprise and I felt guilty for a moment. If this little old lady wanted to believe her town was called Christmas Tree, maybe I shouldn't have corrected her. "You haven't heard, then?"
I shook my head. "Heard what?"
"Some little ruffian, probably hopped up on goofballs and moonshine and a bit too much holiday spirit, spray painted the town sign to say Christmas Tree instead of Singletree. The town council voted to change the name of the town officially in the month of December."
"Won't that be confusing for the post office?"
The woman gave me a disappointed look and said, "It's only a month, dear."
"Sure, you’re right. Thank you so much, Mrs. Easter," I said.
I handed her the check from the network and found myself eager to wrap up and get over to Callan's. I just had time to dash through the inn and get a shower.
Mrs. Easter stood in her front yard as I drove away, looking sweet and happy, holding the check in one hand and waving with the other.
I sighed. I was staying in a town called Christmas Tree for a month. Because of course I was. This was how a universe that split up my family on Christmas operated, wasn't it?
Only…
Only I didn't feel that same deep gutting sadness this year. I didn't feel broken and heavy and empty inside. I wasn't dreading seeing my mother and trying to pretend we weren't both reliving that Christmas morning so many years ago when we’d argued about where Dad was when it was time to open gifts. I had been sure he was just out with Santa, still delivering gifts on the other side of the world where it was still dark. And Mom had suggested that the whore's name was probably not Santa, but that if he did come home, she'd definitely kick him in a place where it was still dark. And then there had been a lot of crying.
This year, my mind wasn't hanging on that memory, circling it like a masochistic shark after its own tail. This year, any time I thought about that morning, the memory came, but it was foggier, misty. And when I thought about all things Christmas, my stomach didn't clench painfully. Instead, a pleasant tingle went through my body and I pictured Callan Whitewood—his house, his face, his touch, and just…him. And it made me smile.
Back at the inn, I had a hard time finding parking in the lot, thanks to boxes stacked in half the spots. Something was going on. There were people in and out of the lobby, the steps crammed with boxes and flustered bellboys trying to shuffle them around. Annabelle stood at the top of the steps, her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. I was in a rush to get a quick shower, but my friend looked upset.
"What's all this?" I asked.
"This," Annabelle said. "Is all the decorations I ordered." She didn't sound happy about it, which was weird because if anyone loved decorations, it was Annabelle.
I gave her a frank look. "There's more? Annabelle, I don't think you can decorate a single thing more. The place is crammed with Christmas already!"
This earned me an eye roll. "I know. That's why I'm mad."
"But you said you ordered these?"
Annabelle turned to me, breathing out a sigh that told me she was gathering her patience for the explanation. "I ordered ahead. These are the decorations for the next thirty years."
Shock nearly made me drop my wreath. "Thirty years? Why would you order that far ahead?"
"The shop I order from was closing this year. I bought out their inventory."
I glanced around. It was a lot. Like really a lot. "Wait, then why are you mad?"
"They told me they'd ship it out of a storage facility over the next thirty years. A couple boxes a year. It would be like a fun Christmas surprise each time a box came. I planned it. It made sense." I had the distinct impression my friend had defended this choice more than once already today. "But evidently the guy who ran the store moved to Tahiti and sold the contract to someone else who either didn't understand or didn't care."
Aha. "Okay. So you just need a new storage facility."
"We don't have those in Christmas Tree." It seemed she'd gotten the memo about the name change already.
"There must be one around here somewhere."
"I'd have to pay for it. The storage was part of the deal." She sighed. "I can fit some of this in the basement, but…"
My mind went to Callan's house—the empty rooms, the scattered outbuildings out back. I was willing to bet he might have room. I was less sure about his willingness to store thirty years of Christmas décor. "I might be able to help. Can you give me until tomorrow?"
