by Nancy Naigle
This morning seemed so long ago now.
She stepped over to the half-opened door. Joy flipped the light on, and the ceiling fan took a lazy loop above the light.
The room was exactly as she’d left it when she’d moved. Everything. Even the fountain pen that Uncle George had given her during her senior year. Even though she’d ruined the nib, she’d never been able to throw it away. Just being in this room made her feel like a teenager again.
It was still a pretty room. And the posters and memorabilia would lead any casual observer to think it was the room of any happy teen, but beneath that façade, she’d been in such a state after Mom died. Her whole world seemed to have gone black.
In the closet still hung her graduation cap and gown in her high school colors, her prom dress, and other clothes she must’ve decided weren’t fit for her big venture to the city. The flannel and long-sleeved T-shirts would come in handy, and she might even fit into a pair of those old blue jeans. At least she’d have something to wear while she was here. Hopefully at least one pair of those pants would still fit, or else she’d have to resort to wearing some of Ruby’s stretchy old-lady pants.
She caught her reflection in the full-length mirror. The dress dazzled and sparkled just behind her. She sure didn’t look like the same woman who had tried on the extravagant gown just this morning. It felt like days since she’d been standing in Wetherton’s—the beadwork glistening under the fancy lighting in the lush dressing room. She took a moment and unzipped the fancy clear bag and removed it. The sequins shone extra bright, like they appreciated being freed. She lingered for a moment, imagining herself dancing at the gala in that gown.
With a flip of the switch, the room was dark. But the day reminded her very clearly just how quickly life could change.
Across the hall, the door to the room where Mom had slept was closed. Did Ruby leave that room untouched too? If she’d visited like she should have over the years, she’d probably know the answer to that question already.
She stood there for a moment, but couldn’t bring herself to look. Maybe she’d sleep in the guest room tonight.
After closing her old bedroom door behind her, she went downstairs and out to the sunroom. The bunny scurried around in her cage, startling her. “Sorry, Molly. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Joy walked outside and sat down on the back stoop and tilted her chin to the sky. For a split second, it was as if her mom were sitting next to her. She could almost smell the perfumed powder she always wore.
Mom used to point out the Little Dipper and the North Star. It wasn’t like Joy couldn’t find them on her own, but she loved it when Mom held her hand and pointed out the stars. They’d done that hundreds of times. And wished on them. Together. So many times. Every night that Mom was able to come outside.
Tears fell to Joy’s cheeks. She really missed Mom tonight. This feeling, the heaviness in her chest, was why she’d made such rare visits back here.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She didn’t even have to look to know it was an alert from work. Seven days a week, that alert sounded to let her know the day’s reporting had been completed and was available for review.
Joy clicked through the automated dashboard report. Everything had been updated today. Thank goodness for Renee. She hadn’t missed a beat. The projects were all still in green status, and Joy trusted her team to make good decisions in her absence.
An e-mail from Renee was the last one that had come in.
It read,
I’ve got your back. I hope Ruby is fine, but take all the time you need. Everything happens for a reason. You’re always telling me that. Maybe this was the only way of getting you to take a break before you get that promotion and everything gets even busier. Rumor has it the new director is not only going to get the whole Wetherton’s account, but also the theme park we just landed. We’re talking major travel and lots of work. Don’t forget me!
Best~ Renee
Joy shoved the phone back in her pocket. Maybe Renee was right. Even on the off chance that Ruby came home tomorrow, these little farm chores added up to hard work. Sticking around a few days was the least Joy could do for family.
After scanning the night sky for the brightest star, she squeezed her eyes shut, then clutched her hands together, pretending one belonged to her mother as she made her wish. She wanted that promotion to director so badly.
Wishing to the night sky, she quietly said, “Please let this be the right stepping-stone on my journey.”
* * *
The next morning, Joy stood at the kitchen sink, sipping a cup of coffee. The house was chilly. An old hooded sweatshirt jacket that had seen better days was draped on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. She slipped it on and pulled her braid free from the back. In so many ways, this place was exactly the same; it made her feel like a teenager again.
She stared out the window at the familiar property in the daylight. Ruby had always been an animal lover, but Uncle George would flip out if he knew that she’d adopted all these wayward animals.
She glanced at the worn edges of the oversized sweatshirt jacket. Had it been one of Uncle George’s? Maybe the animals were Ruby’s way of filling the gap that Uncle George had once filled. Couldn’t blame her for that. Had to get lonely out here by herself, but the place was beginning to look like a petting zoo. The smell was farm-y too. And at the moment, every single one of the motley crew was lined up side by side, like they’d rehearsed the formation all night long.
Seven o’clock wasn’t early. Joy would normally be up, dressed, and out the door by now, but last night’s farm duty had kicked her butt, and she had a little trouble getting a move on. Another twenty minutes of coffee time wasn’t going to kill those animals.
She turned her back on them and held the warm mug between her hands.
Feeding the animals had sounded like a real cakewalk, but Joy was feeling it this morning. In fact, she was sorer this morning than the last time she got cocky and went for the ninety-minute hot yoga session with Renee.
The sound of the front door swinging open caused the hot coffee to catch in Joy’s throat. The animals were definitely getting restless, but without thumbs, it wasn’t likely to be one of them coming in to drag her outside. So what—or who—was it? But this was Crystal Falls. And she hadn’t heard a car.
“Ruby-rooo-roooo.”
Now, that was one sick rooster, or someone was messing with her. She relaxed a little, fairly certain that no one was ever murdered after a See ’n Say sound check.
A fast clippity-clomp came charging down the hall, getting closer to the kitchen.
The only image Joy’s mind could muster, besides that giant Foghorn Leghorn from the cartoons, was that pesky goat, Waddles, kicking and galloping down the hall. Now, that could be a mess.
Rushing toward the ruckus to limit the damage, Joy stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of a little girl standing in the hallway, looking like she wasn’t sure whether to scream or scram.
Only about six feet separated Joy from the blond-haired child. “Who are you?”
The little girl clutched a black lunch bag in one hand against her blue jumper with a fancy M monogrammed on the front, and two chubby orange yarn hair ties hung from the other. The freckle-faced child looked so fragile standing there.
“What’s your name?”
“I’m … I’m Molly.”
“You’re…” Like the rabbit? Joy noticed the hand-painted rabbit on the little girl’s lunch bag that looked an awful lot like Molly the Bunny. This can’t be happening.
Little-girl Molly’s mouth hung wide and her eyes darted like a wild animal’s. Cornered and desperate. “Wh-where’s Ruby?”
“She’s not here. She’s in the hospital with a hurt ankle.”
“But I come here every day. Ruby makes my lunch and we go to the bus.” Tears welled in Molly’s eyes.
Maybe the goat running down the hall would have been better than this.
Oh
no, please don’t cry. “Where’s your momma?”
The little girl pointed toward the door, her hand shaking.
“It’s okay. I’ll straighten it out.” Joy whipped around Molly and ran toward the front door just in time to see a blue compact car back out of the driveway. She waved her arms spastically as she took the porch steps two at a time. “Excuse me. Hello!” She raced out to the front yard, but the driver of the car seemed completely unaware of her yelling and hailing. As Joy ran to the end of the driveway, the car became a dot in the distance, then disappeared.
Out of breath, and out of her element, she turned and walked slowly back to the house.
What am I supposed to do with a little girl? There are certainly no instructions in the barn about that.
Chapter Eight
Ben couldn’t remember the last time he’d lazed around in bed. Except on a Saturday. Or maybe he could, but he’d had a woman in his bed back then. No sense lolling around alone.
Then again, he wasn’t complaining. Because alone suited him just fine. Not having to fight for mattress real estate was just one of the perks of bachelorhood.
Between the to-dos he had piling up and thinking about the girl from the hospital parking lot last night, he may have gotten a total of three hours’ sleep—if he was lucky.
She was pretty. Her hair had shimmered under the moonlight, and her waist was so petite that he was certain he could’ve wrapped his hands around it easily. He wondered if her eyes sparkled like that even when she wasn’t flustered. Green? Maybe blue. It was hard to tell, but the way her thick lashes lay against her cheeks when she was looking down had made him want to tip her chin up and pull her in close. Waking up to her this morning might not have been half bad either. But the sun streaming through his window was all the wake-up call he’d needed on this Friday morning.
He swept back the sheets, sending them into the air, then landing in a soft parachute over the black Lab still snoring on the other side of the bed.
“I keep you up last night, P?”
Profit belly-crawled out from the covers and shook his ears. The nickname P suited him better once Ben had realized people thought he’d named the dog Prophet. Totally different thing. Profit had seemed like a cool dog name for an accountant, but maybe he was the only one who got the joke.
“Sorry about that.” Ben showered, and P was still right where he’d left him, lying with his chin on top of his paws as if watching while Ben got dressed. Ben pulled his belt through the loops of his jeans, then reached over and gave the dog’s head a scratch.
After a long lazy stretch, the dog bounded to the ground and padded behind Ben to the kitchen. Ben poured a cup of coffee and dropped three pieces of wheat bread into the toaster.
He checked his planner and sipped coffee until the toaster popped. Slathering crunchy peanut butter on all three slices, he stood at the sleek granite counter and munched, tearing pieces from the third slice of toast and tossing them into the air one at a time for his pal. P never missed a bite.
Ben popped the last morsel into his mouth. “Sorry, man. All gone.”
P didn’t look convinced.
“I didn’t ask you to share your kibble with me.” Ben held out his hands like a blackjack dealer proving himself. Why am I having to prove anything to my dog? Who’s really the boss here? “It’s tree day. You ready to go?”
P spun around in a delighted canter, and then leapt in the air, nipping at Ben’s sleeve.
“Thought you’d forgive me.”
The dog danced and pranced, matching Ben’s gait all the way to the front door.
Ben grabbed his keys off the hall table and locked the door behind them. P dashed through the yard, kicking up crunchy dry leaves in his wake while Ben went around back to the shed.
By the time Ben made it to the truck, P was already waiting, stomping his feet impatiently by the driver’s-side door. With the chain saw safely secured in the bed, Ben opened the truck door. P leapt into the front seat, hopped over the console, and settled in the passenger seat to ride shotgun. Ben started the truck, then lowered the passenger window for Profit.
With a twist of the knob, the radio speakers filled the cab with holiday tunes. Ben pulled out of his driveway and then took to the back roads toward Murfees Corner. He knew these roads well. He’d driven them for so many years that he knew where he could exceed the posted speed limit, and where not to dare go even five over. P’s shiny black ears flew back as he chomped at the wind and squinted against the breeze.
By the time they made the hour drive west to pick out trees, P would be asleep from all the fresh air.
Ben whistled along with the Christmas carols on the radio, his thoughts wandering back to the first year he’d been married to Cecilia. She’d demanded that they have an artificial tree. His first ever. Damn thing was still in the attic. That should have been a red flag, warning him that things were going to go downhill from there, and they sure had. At the speed of an Olympic downhill ski race.
P was the best thing he got out of that relationship.
He reached over and gave P a pat on the back of the head. The girl from last night looked like a real-tree kind of gal, even if she did drive a hybrid. Washington, D.C., tags. That meant she was either visiting or new to town.
Hopefully new in town.
Where the heck had that random thought come from? He snagged his sunglasses from the visor and put them on. Maybe to shield the sun, but more likely to distract the thoughts of that girl who kept leaping to mind. After the debacle with Cecilia, the last thing he had interest in was a woman.
But then why had he noticed her ring finger was bare?
He always picked the wrong girls, and he’d pretty much decided alone was better. But a few dinners out with Joy wouldn’t be a half-bad way to spend some time. Everyone needed friends, right?
He pushed that thought aside too, putting blame squarely on the fact that the holidays were closing in. No question that holidays were more fun when you had someone to share them with.
White’s Christmas Tree Farm had been around since Ben’s dad was a boy. Passed down through generations, with old cedar fence posts and rusty twisted barbwire still surrounding the vast acreage. Not that it was needed for Christmas trees, but the original Farmer White had been a cow farmer. Unfortunately, it seemed that every time he’d gone to town, those darn cows would find their way out of the fence, leaving his wife stuck with trying to round them up. After a while, enough was enough, and the little missus finally demanded they pick something else that would be less of a hassle. Since Mrs. White was a Christmas fanatic, always decorating several trees herself, they’d made the choice to grow trees.
Ben slowed as he neared the turnoff.
The sign, an engine-less shell of a red 1950s-era Chevrolet step-side pickup flaunting straight block lettering along its soft curves, marked the entrance near the road. The truck bed held what looked to be at least twenty small four-foot trees—stacked one on top of the other. A stripped tree trunk rose from the center bearing a sign in the shape of a star nailed to the top, boasting a price of ten dollars each, payable on the honor system. Just toss your money in the slot cut in the glove compartment of the truck.
Ben wondered how many people took advantage of that convenience. Either way, it was a cool idea and a pretty awesome deal. He pulled his truck into the lane and idled through the open red gates, kicking up a rooster tail of dust as he cruised.
He passed two painted milk cans with the same color and lettering as the pickup truck, pointing the way to the parking area.
The old homestead had once stood where the tree attendants hung out. The brick two-story chimney and firebox was about all there was left of it. Sturdy and strong, it still served a purpose, stoking up a fire for whoever was working the cutting station that winter. They wouldn’t need a fire today. The sky was as blue as the waters off the Caribbean coast, and it was more like football weather on a September afternoon than mere weeks from Christmas.
Ben and P got out of the truck.
Dave White met them halfway. “Good to see you again, Ben. The tree I sent over for the hospital worked out okay, didn’t it?”
“It was perfect. Already have it decorated. Wait until you see it.”
“Good. I measured it twice to be sure.”
“Right to the top of the skylight.”
“Good. Hey, you haven’t met my grandson. This is his first year out here with me. Mike, this is Ben Andrews. He gets his trees from me every year. He wasn’t any bigger than you the first time his daddy brought him out.”
“Put her there, Mike.” Ben shook the young boy’s hand. Kid couldn’t be more than eleven or twelve, but he looked ready for business, standing proud next to his grandpa.
“Thought you wouldn’t be here for your own trees until this weekend,” Dave said.
“That was the plan, but things have gotten so busy, I thought I better work this trip in while I could. Besides, I figured it wouldn’t be so busy here on a Friday.”
“Got that right. The usual?”
“Yep. Tabletop size for Mom, three five-foot and two seven-foot trees for Miss Ruby, and a ceiling scraper for my place.”
Dave’s white Santalike beard bounced against his chest as he laughed. “Right. Twelve-foot ceiling. I remember.” The huge man bent over and patted P on the head. “You gonna dehydrate trying to christen every tree we walk by again this year?”
Mike giggled at his granddad’s comment.
P barked.
“It is tradition.” Ben lifted his chain saw out of the truck bed and shoved a pair of gloves into his back pocket.
“It’s quiet here this morning. Mike and I’ll help you.” Dave walked over to a John Deere Gator UTV. Mike sat in the front, and Ben and P slid into the backseat. They rode off through the trails between the precisely planted trees. “There are some awesome trees back here!” Dave hollered over his shoulder. “Haven’t opened this lot up to anyone else this year.”