Forever Christmas

by Christine Lynxwiler

  “I’m not really sure. Uncle Gus has been the mayor ever since I can remember. And his daddy was the mayor before him.”

  “Your drawl seems thicker here.”

  I nod. “Yours too.”

  “I never noticed how huge the house is,” Ami says, still whispering. “Remember those watercolor paintings you did of the mansion and the grounds when you were first learning to paint?”

  I nod. I still have them in the back of my closet, to be honest.

  “You used to want to be married here.”

  “I had good taste.” A new flare of anger raises my voice to normal and gets me back in the real world. “And Uncle Gus should be ashamed. Willing to sell out his heritage. . .our heritage.” I grab her arm. “C’mon.”

  At the front door, I bypass the doorbell button and grab the handle on the lion’s head doorknocker, happy to bang it against the door several times. Somehow the loud hollow knocking suits my mood more than a delicate chime.

  Inside the house, we hear a familiar male voice yell, “Where’s my jacket?”

  “The lion is in his den,” I murmur.

  A minute later, Mrs. Harding opens the door. “Can I help you?” For every ounce that Uncle Gus is “good old boy” Mrs. Harding is “high society”. I always thought the phrase looking down her nose was just an expression, but she really does it, her beady eyes glinting.

  I give her my own glare. “We need to see the mayor.”

  “I’m sorry, but he’s not here,” she says beginning to close the door.

  Chapter Two

  With half of my jean-clad leg uninvited in the mayor’s house, I think of my mother and all the lectures she’s given me about proper manners. Even in a criminal case, when she goes in with guns blazing (figuratively of course), she’s always polite, however thin the veneer.

  I gently push against the door and try to sound courteous, but firm. “It’s urgent that I see him, right now.”

  Mrs. Harding pulls the door open a little farther, probably to tell me again how he’s not home or so I can get my leg out, but I slide my body into the foyer and Ami follows me. I’ve never been inside the mayor’s mansion before, and I try not to gawk at the vaulted ceiling and spiral oak staircase behind the lady of the manor. I was raised with money, but it’s new money, spent on modern art pieces and sleek design. This is the Southern opulence of old money. I can almost smell the jasmine and honeysuckle.

  Mrs. Harding’s mouth opens and closes, and she narrows her eyes. “I believe I told you he’s not home.”

  Yes, and I never did like to be lied to. “I know better. So unless you want me to—.”

  “What’s going on here?” Uncle Gus’s voice booms from behind his wife.

  I look up in time to see him recognize me. A variety of emotions flit across his face. Surprise, annoyance, the need to appease, and maybe just a little bit of fear. Of course, my sudden Rambo impersonation might have made me imagine that last one.

  “Kristianna, what a surprise.” No matter how many times I see him, I’m always startled by the mayor’s resemblance to Colonel Sanders.

  “I bet it is.” I wave the letter. “What is this?”

  Mrs. Hardy clicks the front door shut then exits the room without a word, leaving the three of us facing each other.

  Uncle Gus folds his arms across his ample stomach and smiles. “Now, Kitten, calm down. I think it’s fairly self-explanatory, don’t you?”

  I inhale and feel like a blowfish about to explode. No one but my grandmother has called me “Kitten” since I was old enough to wear big girl panties. “Well, Mayor Harding. . .” He hates to be called anything but Uncle Gus by the townspeople, I’m convinced because he thinks the nickname makes him seem trustworthy and kind. “Please. Explain it to me anyway. Exactly who is the Summer Valley Corporation?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Who owns it? Why do they want Jingle Bells?”

  “I have only met a couple of the company representatives.” He strokes his white goatee. “If the sale goes through, though, there was mention of a non-disclosure agreement.”

  “Is it someone famous?” Ami asks, speaking for the first time since I pushed our way into the house.

  The mayor’s face reddens. “I have no idea. But I do know this company is talking about investing millions.” When he says “millions”, his face scrunches up dramatically. “This is exactly what Jingle Bells needs. Our saving grace.”

  I snort. “How can it be our saving grace if it destroys us? If this happens Jingle Bells won’t even exist anymore.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard. . .‘That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet. . .’”

  I glance at Ami. Am I the only one who thinks it’s ludicrous that Colonel Sanders is quoting Shakespeare to me? “You’re kidding, right?”

  He frowns. “I’ll have you know I’m quite a fan of the Bard.”

  “Yes, me too, but if you’ll remember, Romeo and Juliet ended tragically.” I slip my stocking cap off and stuff it in my jacket pocket. I’m hotheaded enough now as it is. “What if Bill Gates wanted to rename Seattle? Think the residents would be just as happy to live in Gatesville? Somehow I doubt it.”

  “You really should reconsider going back to law school.” He lifts his hand and looks at his Rolex. “Would you look at the time? I have an appointment.” He steps to the front door and opens it. “Thanks for stopping by, Kristianna. Ami. We’ll see you at the town meeting.”

  “We’ll be there.” We walk out the door, but as we reach the gate, I turn back to where he is standing on the porch. “But this name change will never happen.”

  “Remember, sometimes, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.” He slips back in the house and closes the door.

  “Star Trek, second movie, Wrath of Khan,” I mutter. “From Shakespeare to Spock in one conversation. He has eclectic tastes, I’ll give him that.”

  “Look who’s talking,” Ami jokes as we huddle together and walk into the bitter wind. “You recognized the quotes.”

  “Hey, whose side are you on?”

  She tucks her arm in mine. “Always yours. Never doubt it.”

  Just as we approach the store, Ami pulls me behind the live Christmas tree, the pine branches brushing my jacket. “There’s Mark’s car. He’s probably waiting in your shop.” Is that panic in her eyes? Our very town is threatened and she’s calm, but her fiancé comes to visit and she freaks out. I’m having trouble connecting the dots.

  A pine needle pricks my face. “Ouch. And we’re hiding behind a tree why?”

  “Sorry. One of his friends is with him. I forgot to tell you, I told him we’d eat lunch with them.”

  No doubt, visions of matchmaking dance in Ami’s head even as we speak, but after the morning’s fiasco, I’m too exhausted to care. “Okay. His roommate from college, right?”

  “Yes. But I need to tell you something before you meet him.”

  I brace myself. “What? Is he five feet tall?” I laugh, but she doesn’t. In fact her face gets redder, so I backtrack. “Not that I would care. . . . It’s just I always seem to end up being escorted by guys that are shorter than I am. . .Guess that’s what I get for being five foot eight.” I sigh. “C’mon, Ami, I’m dying here. Cut me some slack. You know I’m not really prejudiced against short guys. It was a joke!”

  “I know. It’s not that. He’s normal height.”

  “Then what?”

  She looks at the Christmas tree branches, then over my shoulder, avoiding my eyes as if she’s a doctor trying to figure out how to break the news that I have six weeks left to live.

  I gasp. “He’s a lawyer? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She holds up her hand and stares at me in mock horror. “Don’t be mad, you’ve been on this lawyer rampage for six months. And your case is settled now. You won. Maybe it’s time to move on.”

  Two days after Gran’s funeral, I was served with a lawsuit. A tourist claimed she’d
tripped on the way out of the store and deserved thousands in pain and suffering. The woman’s lawyer, who also happened to be her husband, went for my jugular. I give Ami something I hope resembles a smile. “What is this? Shock therapy for my attorney aversion?”

  She shrugs. “Maybe. Your parents are lawyers.”

  Yes, they are. First and foremost. But even though he didn’t understand why I wouldn’t let the insurance company pay the fraudulent claim, my father had reluctantly represented me in court. I give him points for that. My mother, on the other hand. . .well, it’s hard to give her points for much of anything these days. “Wow. All these years and I didn’t know.”

  “Atticus Finch was a lawyer and you loved him.”

  I laugh. “Fictional characters don’t count.” Although the only time I ever really liked the idea of the path my parents had chosen for me was when I read To Kill A Mockingbird.

  She looks up at the sky, apparently beseeching help from above. “I couldn’t tell Mark that we needed to choose another groomsman because of this one’s profession.” Her weak grin says “how silly is that?”

  I can’t wait to meet him. I know lawyers. Stuffed shirt, expensive shoes, big mouth. “Good thing he’s not the best man.”

  “So you won’t have to walk down the aisle with him? Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  I shoot her a grin. “Nah, it just wouldn’t work. Best man/lawyer. Talk about an oxymoron.”

  “Be nice, Kristianna. He’s a Christian. Plus you’ll have to be around him a lot at the wedding. I need you to get along with him.”

  She’s right. After the wedding, I’ll never have to see him again. Unless Ami and Mark renew their vows in fifty years, in which case, maybe I’ll have mellowed. “No worries.”

  “While you’re in a ‘no worries’ mood, you need to think about forgiving your mom, too.”

  “Don’t push it.”

  She glances at me. “I know the things she said were awful, but when someone apologizes, you have to forgive them. Funerals are an emotional time.”

  Everything is so black and white for Ami. She would be a good lawyer. As a Christian, I agree with her theology. But with my mother, it’s different. “She didn’t mean the apology.”

  Ami gives an exasperated sigh and pushes ahead toward the door. This verbal ground is almost as familiar as the physical ground we’re walking on. I follow more slowly. I can’t remember ever being less in the mood for having my match made.

  A siren wails in the distance as I walk into the shop to find Sarah and Mark talking to a gorgeous guy in jeans and a button-up flannel shirt.

  Ami rushes past me to Mark’s waiting arms and the two steal a fairly discreet kiss.

  “Thanks,” I say to Sarah.

  “If you need to go out again, that’s fine. I’m going to be here all day.” She retreats to her quilting corner, leaving me to stare at the man in front of me.

  Ami turns around, still in Mark’s embrace. “Shawn, this is Kristianna Harrington, my best friend and Maid of Honor.”

  I nod and give him my best Maid of Honor smile.

  “Kristianna, meet Shawn Webber, Mark’s college roommate.”

  I extend my hand and he takes it in a firm handshake. His short dark brown hair stands on end, in a style that looks amazingly unplanned, but equally just right. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too. Cool weathered look on your storefront sign.”

  Ami laughs. “Forever Christmas has been around since long before Kristianna was born.”

  I nod. “I inherited it from my grandmother.”

  “I see.” His gaze flickers over the ornaments and knick knacks, then back to me. “Interesting place.”

  I suppress a grin. Does he think I don’t know “interesting” is code for: I can’t think of anything nice to say? “How interesting that you think so.”

  Mark clears his throat. “You ladies want to get some lunch?”

  Ami gives me a pleading look. “That sounds good. Okay with you, Kristianna?”

  The siren grows louder outside.

  “Sure. But it’ll have to be the North Pole so we can walk.”

  “North Pole?” Shawn asks.

  Ah, the fun we can have with a non-native in our midst. “Yes, it’s a short walk to the North Pole from here. The North Pole Café, that is.”

  “I should have known.”

  Is that a grimace? I shoot Mark a look to let him know what I think about his friend, but he’s too busy staring soulfully into Ami’s eyes. I cut my gaze back to Shawn. “Ever tried a polar bear burrito?”

  “No, but I’ve been craving some fried penguin tenders. Lead the way.”

  Mark snorts and I’m pretty sure Benedict Ami giggles.

  Sigh. So, he’s not an easy target. “Anyway, the fire engines will make it hard to drive.”

  “There’s a fire?” Shawn steps toward the window. The red fire trucks are parked around Mark’s car and mine, effectively blocking us in.

  “Mr. Pletka owns the laundry and dry cleaners. When he lived in Czechoslovakia, his apartment burned. He smells smoke occasionally.”

  “And sees it sometimes, too,” Ami adds.

  Mark glances out the window at the commotion. “At least once a week.”

  “And the fire trucks come every time?” Shawn’s tone indicates he thinks we’re playing some elaborate practical joke on him, that maybe the whole polar bear burrito thing was just a lead in.

  We nod.

  “Doesn’t that seem a little ridiculous?”

  I bristle, but Mark and Ami just laugh. “Welcome to Jingle Bells, man,” Mark says and claps his friend on the back as they head for the door.

  I double back to make sure Sarah really doesn’t mind watching the store. When I get outside, they’re ahead of me on the sidewalk, discussing the fire department’s priorities.I clutch my coat against the wind and throw a wave to where Mr. Pletka and the firemen are sniffing the air then jog to catch up with the others.

  “Candy cane parking meters?” Shawn is saying as I join them.

  “So?” After the letter, I feel especially defensive of Jingle Bells. “Tourists love them. And the revenue helps pay for the town upkeep.”

  “Yeah,” Ami’s eyes are dancing and I know what’s coming. Conveniently, she doesn’t notice the “cut” motion I’m making with my hand across my neck. “Kristianna is a big fan of the parking meters. She doesn’t bother actually putting coins in them, though. She’s a bit of a collector.”

  “Collector?” Shawn looks at me curiously. I hope he thinks my red face is from the wind. “You collect parking meters?”

  Mark guffaws. “Not exactly.”

  Ami laughs, too. “Parking tickets. She gets them every day. Stuffs them in an envelope and just sends a check at the end of the month.”

  Great, I’ve gone from living in a town full of eccentric characters to being one of them. “My apartment is above the shop. And there’s no other place to park. I’m trying to work out a deal with the town council. . .”

  “Which shouldn’t be so hard since you’re a council member,” Ami chimes in again.

  Where did her loyalty go? She’s airing our dirty laundry—okay, my dirty laundry—in front of this. . .lawyer. Would Ethel do that to Lucy? I don’t think so.

  She and Mark have forgotten the whole thing and are walking arm-in-arm in their own little world. I sneak a sideways glance at Shawn. He’s smiling. As a matter of fact, I’m almost positive that’s a chuckle.

  I cross my arms in front of me and hurry past him into the North Pole Café. The smell of French fries and cheeseburgers mellows me, until Shawn speaks again.

  “Where’s the fire?” he murmurs.

  “Didn’t you hear? False alarm.” I skid to a stop inside the busy restaurant. No empty tables. Just one cozy booth in the corner.

  “What about that booth?” Ami offers from behind me.

  I ignore her. “Look. Four empty stools at the counter.” I nod toward where Rosemary,
her Santa hat askew, is ringing up orders.

  “Come on,” Ami grabs my arm and heads toward the booth. If she thinks I’m cozying up to—. Before I can complete that thought, she drags me into one side of the booth beside her, making up for the whole parking-ticket betrayal.

  Mark and Shawn slide into the seat across from us and grab menus. “What’s good?” Shawn asks the table in general.

  “Everything,” Ami and I chorus.

  Mark shrugs. “When they’re right, they’re right. Nobody beats Geraldine’s cooking.”

  After we order, Ami gasps and bounces up and down. “I just remembered. Tell Mark about the letter.”

  “Oh.” I’m strangely more reluctant to air our town’s dirty laundry in front of Shawn than I was my own. I thoughtfully examine the green wreath that’s been painted on the window. “It was nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Ami does indignant really well. “Some crazy company wants to change the name of Jingle Bells to Summer something.”

  Mark spews tea out his mouth.

  Ami leans across the table and beats him on the back. “I know. I couldn’t believe it either.”

  Shawn looks at us like we’re Larry, Curly, and Mo.

  “Never gonna happen.” I stand up to get some lemon for my tea, effectively ending the floorshow.

  An hour later, we’ve finished our lunch, and had some good conversation, mostly about the wedding, but Shawn’s been really nice.

  Ami and Mark excuse themselves to speak to the florist at the table next to us. And I’m left alone with a silent Shawn. Probably afraid to say anything in case I take offense. Guilt settles uncomfortably in my stomach.

  Gran would be ashamed of me. She would have never judged someone based on their profession.

  “So, what’s your specialty?” I’m trying, Gran.

  A smile flickers across his face. That rascal knows how hard this is for me. I bet Mark warned him how I feel about lawyers. “I just graduated from U of A. I’m doing some temp work right now until I pass the bar and find a position.”

  Okay, so there’s hope for him. Maybe he won’t pass the bar. Who knows? Something that on the surface would seem bad, could be good, and lead him down a whole different path. A much less litigious one.“Mark said—” He says.