A Small Town Christmas

by Sheila Roberts

  It was after five now, and the Christmas lights on the houses they passed twinkled in the winter darkness like fat jewels.

  “Looks like the guys have already been out and done their part,” Rick observed.

  “One afternoon with the ladder,” Rosemary mused. “It doesn’t seem like much.”

  “Yeah? You try getting out there and freezing your butt off for a day and then we’ll see what you have to say.”

  “Whoa,” Rosemary teased. “Does seeing the Christmas lights bring back bad childhood memories?”

  “Let’s just say if I ever want lights outside at my place I’m paying someone else to put them up. Are we there yet?” he added.

  Rosemary shook her head at him. “I’ll bet you were fun on road trips.”

  “Still am.”

  She checked the address on her tablet. “I think it’s one more block.”

  “I can hardly wait to hear what this one has to say,” Rick muttered.

  Five minutes later they walked into the Frederickses’ living room. The room could have been in a magazine with its carefully grouped new furniture and the vase with the Christmas floral arrangement on the sofa table. There was only one drawback: The entire floor was a holiday explosion of boxes of ornaments, tissue, tinsel, and tree lights.

  “My husband and the kids went to get a tree,” Laura Fredericks explained. “He took off work early hoping he’d be able to get it up before you got here.”

  “So, your husband is doing everything?” Rosemary asked.

  Laura Fredericks nodded.

  If this mess was any indication of how her husband operated, Laura Fredericks was in trouble. Rosemary wisely kept the thought to herself. Instead, she asked, “And how does he feel about that?”

  Laura smiled like she was remembering a really good joke. “He thinks he’s got it all under control. Doing Christmas is a piece of cake.”

  Rosemary wrote fast. “Really.” This should prove interesting.

  “We have small children,” Laura continued, “and I work. It’s just too much for me to do everything myself, especially since my husband likes to entertain a lot. He doesn’t know how much work goes into making the holidays happen.” The woman’s smile became positively devilish as she added, “But he will.”

  “So, what all will he be doing?” Rosemary asked.

  Laura began ticking off chores on her fingers. “Putting up the tree and decorating, baking, doing the Christmas cards, cooking Christmas dinner.”

  Next to Rosemary, Rick’s mouth fell open.

  “Shopping, wrapping presents,” Laura continued. “Oh, and he needs to make the costumes for the kids’ holiday performances.”

  “Costumes?” Rick squeaked.

  Laura just shrugged. “That’s the deal. I’m not doing any of it. My husband wants to experience firsthand everything I do every year.”

  Rick looked disgusted.

  “Well, I’m sorry he doesn’t have the tree up,” said Rosemary, “but this would actually make a pretty cool picture. Don’t you think, Rick?” She didn’t give Rick time to answer. Instead, she said to the woman, “How about we move that easy chair over by the boxes and put you in it, say, relaxing with a mug of coffee?”

  Laura grinned. “Works for me.”

  “Rick, could you get the chair?” Rosemary commanded.

  He obliged, and in another couple of minutes Laura was curled up in it, posing with a mug and a magazine.

  “Would you be open to us following your family through the season?” Rosemary asked after they’d finished the interview.

  “You mean like a reality show?” asked Laura.

  “Yeah, only in print.”

  “Sure.”

  “Great,” said Rosemary. “I’ll talk to my editor and get back to you. We’ll want an exclusive, of course.” She’d have to remember to talk to Joy Robertson about that, too.

  “Okay.”

  Rosemary beamed. “People are going to love this.”

  The new star of her series grinned.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Rosemary promised as she and Rick walked out the door. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. I think my husband will need it.”

  Rosemary was practically chortling as she and Rick walked back to her car. “Let’s see,” she said, flipping through her notes, “I’ve got the woman who’s married to the Scrooge. Her main thing is no shopping. Then I’ve got Sharon Benedict.”

  “Yulezilla,” Rick interjected.

  Rosemary ignored him. “And I’ve got Laura Fredericks and Joy Robertson. This is going to be awesome.”

  Rick shook his head. “This is all dumb, if you ask me.”

  “Well, no one asked you,” Rosemary said. Then she couldn’t resist adding, “But let’s pretend someone did. What’s your problem, anyway?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just dumb. These woman are making a big deal out of all this, threatening to do nothing, like the guys care.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Guys don’t.”

  “Of course they do,” Rosemary insisted.

  Rick shook his head. “Most don’t. At least not the way women do. Yeah, we’ll eat the cookies and stuff, but if it was up to guys we wouldn’t do all that other crap. I mean, how many men do you know who send out Christmas cards? And you won’t see a bunch of angels and Santas sitting around my place.”

  “Don’t tell me you don’t like getting presents.”

  Rick shook his head as if over the folly of it all. “Do you know how out of hand that gets? A guy buys the wrong thing for his woman and he’s in deep shit. He doesn’t get something big and cool enough for his mom, she looks all disappointed. He’s got to fight all those crowds on Christmas Eve—”

  “He wouldn’t have to do that if he shopped before Christmas Eve.”

  The only answer Rick had for that was another shake of the head.

  “Don’t you like to give your friends presents?”

  “No. I’d rather just take ’em to a ball game.”

  “You are not normal,” Rosemary decided. He looked normal enough—average height, nice, buff body, cute smile, brown eyes. But beneath that normal guy facade lurked a real Scrooge.

  “I think I am,” Rick insisted. “Most guys don’t want hassle. Christmas with the chicks in charge usually means hassle. That’s all I’m saying. Most of these guys will be perfectly happy if the women don’t do anything.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Trust me. I know what I’m talking about.”

  Was Rick typical? Rosemary got a sudden image of all the hungry guys swarming her three-layer bean dip and Martha the food editor’s red velvet cake at the newspaper’s annual Christmas party. And they sure fought over the presents when it was time to play that white elephant gift-stealing game. Of course, they expected the women to organize the party.

  Now, was that fair? It wasn’t like the women didn’t work the same number of hours as the men. When did it become an unwritten rule that the guys did nothing while the women brought in the holiday eats and organized the party?

  Maybe the Holly Herald needed a strike, too.

  “You just missed the reporter,” Laura informed Glen as he wrestled the Christmas tree through the door.

  His eyes shot to the mess in the living room. That was supposed to have been gone and he was going to have the tree set up and looking good. “Aw, crap,” he muttered.

  “What took you so long, anyway? What happened?”

  “What didn’t? I lost Tyler in the trees. Then Amy had to go potty. Then…” Someone was being a very poor sport here. He pointed a finger at his wife. “Hey, what are you laughing about?”

  Laura sobered. “Sorry, nothing.”

  “You know, you never have to go to the tree lot alone. I go with you. It wasn’t exactly playing fair making me do it all by myself.”

  “I had to stay here in case the reporters came,” Laura said.

  Glen looked at her suspiciously
. Was she jerking his chain?

  “Okay, so you want me to help you with the tree?” she offered.

  He stuck out his chin. “No, I can handle it without any help. Piece of cake. Right, kids?”

  “Right, Daddy,” Amy chirped.

  “Well, okay then, let’s get going,” he said, rubbing his hands together. He went to the entertainment center and put on a Christmas CD.

  “I’ll just sit here and watch,” Laura said, sauntering over to the couch. Translation: And give you a bad time.

  “Oh, no you won’t,” Glen said.

  She shrugged. “Fine. I’ll go start dinner.”

  “Don’t bother. We got Monster Meals at Burger Land.”

  She nodded sagely. “That would take some time.”

  “Why don’t you go watch a chick flick or something,” Glen said irritably.

  “I think I’ll go over to Joy’s.”

  “Good idea.” He didn’t need any witnesses.

  She left him alone with the tree, the ornaments, and the kids and suddenly he wished he hadn’t told her to go. Don’t be stupid, he told himself. You can handle this.

  But he soon felt like he was in a chick flick as he wrestled with the tree and tried to keep an eye on the kids at the same time. He didn’t even have the thing secure in the tree stand before Amy was trying to put on ornaments.

  “Not yet, baby girl,” he grunted, wobbling the trunk into place. “We’ve got to put the lights on first.” Maybe Laura was right. They should get one of those fake trees that came with the lights already on. He gave this one another tweak. It wiggled and he suddenly heard a gasp from Amy and a soft plop that sounded like an ornament falling on the carpet. Great. All he needed was to break a bunch of Laura’s good ornaments. “Amy, wait,” he commanded.

  “It’s okay, Daddy. It didn’t break. Tyler, look out. Tyler, no.”

  Glen heard a crunch. Looking from under the branches, he saw that Tyler had crushed something on his way to the ornament box. “You guys, stay out of those.”

  “Tyler, Daddy said no.”

  This was followed by a wail of protest and the stamping of feet.

  Glen gave the tree one final adjustment, then scooted out. “Okay, you two. You have to wait till I get the lights on. If you don’t wait, you can’t help. Got it?”

  Tyler stopped his stamping and they both looked at him. Amy nodded solemnly.

  Okay, that was settled. He opened the carton with the Christmas lights and pulled out a string. Lifting it carefully, he went to a back branch and set it in place. Then he started, very carefully, winding it around the tree. All right. Lookin’ good. Laura made such a big deal out of this, but it wasn’t that hard. He was almost to the back of the tree again when he felt a tug on the light string like someone had found an end and was playing tug-of-war. What the heck?

  “Tyler,” Amy scolded. “Daddy, Tyler’s caught in the lights. Tyler!”

  Glen looked around the tree just in time to see his son with his foot in the string of lights, stumbling backward. Now both feet were caught. The light string went taut and the tree began to tip right along with Tyler.

  There went the tree, there went his kid. Which to grab? Glen opted for the tree, figuring Tyler’s fall would be a lot less painful if he didn’t have a six-foot Douglas fir on top of him.

  Tyler landed with a yelp, managing to push Amy backward in the process. She landed in the box of ornaments, creating a chorus of crunches.

  Shit. Glen leapt from around the tree, hauled up Tyler, then pulled a crying Amy out of the box.

  “He pushed me,” she sobbed.

  “He didn’t mean to,” Glen said. He lifted the tissue padding and peered into the box. The whole top layer of ornaments was a flattened mess of shattered pieces. Thank God Laura was out of the house. Glen picked up the box and took it to the kitchen, the kids trailing behind him.

  “What are you doing, Daddy?” asked Amy.

  “Destroying the evidence,” Glen muttered. “We’re just going to get rid of these broken pieces,” he told her, “so nobody gets hurt.” He shook out the broken shards into the garbage, then went back into the living room, the kids skipping along behind. He set down the now half-full box and pointed to the couch. “Okay, you two. You sit there until I tell you that you can move. Got it?”

  “But we want to help,” Amy protested.

  “You can. As soon as the lights are up.”

  Glen went back to the tree and raced around it with the remaining tree lights. This was always a time-consuming production when Laura was involved. She liked the lights strung just so, so that they had a nice balance of color all around the tree. Well, this year Glen was more concerned with keeping the tree itself balanced and off the kids. He plugged in the lights and stepped back to survey his work. Not bad, actually.

  “Okay, guys. Time for the ornaments. Now you can get up.”

  The kids were off the couch and to the tree in about one second, and digging through the box, sending tissue paper everywhere.

  Glen had a vision of more broken decorations. “Take it easy. We’ve got lots of time.” He pulled an ornament out of the box, put a hook on it, and handed it to Tyler. “Okay, big guy. Put that up.”

  “I’m hanging up my special ornament,” Amy announced, putting up a Disney princess.

  “Good job,” Glen said, and felt himself relax. Okay, they were going to make it through this just fine now.

  Five minutes later, he wasn’t so sure. He was just trying to decide when, in this process, he was supposed to hang the tinsel garland when Amy cried, “Tyler!” then burst into tears as Tyler ran off with something in his mouth.

  Oh, no! Glen caught him in two steps and found he was munching on what looked like a gingerbread boy.

  “My ornament,” Amy sobbed.

  “It looks like a cookie,” Glen said, thoroughly confused. And then he remembered Laura and Amy making some useless dough you couldn’t eat last Christmas and baking up a batch of stuff to hang on the tree.

  “Mommy and I made that!” Amy was practically going ballistic now.

  Glen took the ornament from Tyler. “Hey guy, you can’t eat this. It’ll make you sick.”

  Tyler let out a howl of protest and now Glen had two of them crying. “Okay, okay, let’s take a break. Who wants eggnog?”

  Amy’s cry settled down to a whimper. “Can we have the Christmas mugs?”

  “Sure, sure.” Anything. “Um. Where are the Christmas mugs?”

  Amy pointed to the buffet in the dining room. The buffet. That was total woman territory. Glen never got into it, never went near it. It was filled with Laura’s fanciest dishes and crystal and decorations. He hesitated, undecided.

  Amy, however, had no reservations. She scampered over to the buffet and opened the bottom door, then started pulling stuff out. It was bad enough they’d broken ornaments, but if any of that broke, Glen could just start planning his funeral.

  He jumped into action and raced over to the buffet. “Here, let Daddy do it.”

  Getting the mugs felt like disarming a bomb. There were any number of delicate plates and dishes he had to move. Oh, God, please don’t let me break anything. Please, please, please.

  His prayers were answered, and he made it out with two Christmas mugs. He breathed a sigh of relief, then went to the kitchen where he poured the eggnog. “Okay,” he said, “back to the tree.”

  And back at the tree, Tyler dropped his mug. It hit the carpet with a sick thud, making Glen’s heart stop in the process. The mug looked like it survived in one piece, but he now had an eggnog lake on the carpet.

  The music from the CD filled the room, mocking him. “Deck the halls with boughs of holly…’tis the season to be jolly.”

  In what universe?

  Six

  Wednesday morning a fresh pang of regret struck Joy when Melia called to find out when they were going to make their traditional Christmas bonbons. She and her daughter had been making the candies together ever sinc
e Melia was in grade school. They had started out giving the bonbons as gifts for the kids’ teachers; then, after Melia got older, she gave them to the aunts and uncles and her best girlfriend. Joy had tired of the candy making, but her daughter still enjoyed it and she enjoyed being with her daughter.

  So, what to say? “Um.”

  “We are making them, aren’t we?” Melia’s tone of voice betrayed a sudden suspicion of unpleasant news.

  “I can’t make the bonbons this year,” said Joy, feeling like arat.

  Suddenly, she needed chocolate. She pulled open the junk drawer where she had half a bag of Hershey’s Kisses stashed. Nothing. Bob must have found them and polished them off.

  “Why?” asked Melia. She sounded hurt.

  “I’m taking Christmas off,” Joy said, keeping her voice light. Phone to her ear, she hurried to the dining room and opened the top drawer of the buffet, her favorite chocolate hiding place. Thank God. Three little Dove dark chocolates winked at her. She took two.

  “So, what does that mean? Are you, like, taking off for Hawaii or something?”

  And miss Christmas Eve with her family and Christmas Day with her children and her new grandbaby? Not unless she’d been drugged and kidnapped. She already had presents she’d bought months ago stashed away to give the kids at Al’s on Christmas Eve, just in case Bob failed to find any Christmas spirit.

  “No.” She walked back to the kitchen, unwrapping her chocolate as she went. “I’m just not doing anything. I’m leaving it all up to your father, and that includes all the Christmas baking and candy making.”

  “Mom, no offense or anything, but are you out of your mind? All Daddy can make is toast, and he usually burns that.”

  “It’s time he learned how to burn something else. If anything happened to me he’d be helpless,” Joy said, and popped the chocolate in her mouth.

  “I don’t understand why you have to have him learn at Christmas. And why can’t you do this one thing? Let Daddy do everything else.”

  “I can’t because I’m kind of on strike. Making bonbons would be cheating and if I cheated it would end up in the paper.”