“He’s an adult, about to graduate college. He should be able to handle it,” Grandma Lillian replied.
“Tell that to my father,” Darrell cut in.
Ezra peered at him over the metal rim of his glasses. “Your father must think you’re very responsible if he has you managing his business.”
“It’s not that, exactly. And by the way, he calls or sends a text message every ten seconds. Would you say that shows a mammoth amount of trust?”
“He’s probably bored, stuck in the house all day. He’s normally such an active man. I wouldn’t take it personally,” Ezra advised. “What is it, exactly? Did you two have an argument?”
His grandmother was looking at him now, too. Darrell felt put on the spot. He didn’t want to talk about his father behind his back, but he knew that his mother was bound to tell his grandmother and Aunt Emily sooner or later. And his father would definitely tell Aunt Molly. There were few secrets in his family.
Darrell explained how he had noticed the cannery and had the idea to renovate it and turn it into attractive, affordable housing. And how the town council was even willing to donate the property, but his father still wouldn’t let him take off a semester to see the project through and actually build it.
“He said if I don’t go back to school, he won’t support me.”
“My goodness.” Ezra stared at him, his fork in midair. “That’s serious. Don’t you think that’s serious, Lillian?”
His grandmother didn’t seem as alarmed. “Your father has a temper. Everyone knows that,” she said curtly. “Did you know that cannery was once owned by the Warwicks? It was part of your grandfather Oliver’s inheritance.”
“I did learn that. I’ve been doing a lot of research about the property. And about grants I can apply for to finance the building.”
“Have you really?” His grandmother looked impressed. “That’s a very ambitious project. Though I’m not sure I like the idea of affordable housing. What exactly does that mean? If one can’t afford a neighborhood, why should one be able to live there?”
“Lillian, please, none of that talk. Darrell has the right idea. I’d love to see the plans, if you have the time to show them to me.”
Darrell was pleased by his grandfather’s interest. “Everything is on my laptop. It’s out in the truck. I’ll bring it in after dinner.”
“Really? That would be splendid. I’d love to sit down and look it over. Much more fun than watching the news on TV.”
“I’d like to see it, too.” His grandmother put a few spoonfuls of white rice on her plate. Darrell spotted one shrimp with most of the sauce scraped off. “How did you leave it with your father? Did he say he wouldn’t support you as of today? Or only if you don’t go back to school?”
“If I don’t go back . . . But I said it could start right now if that’s what he really wanted. I’m going to spend the night at a friend’s house. If he ever answers my text.”
“At a friend’s house? When we have more empty rooms upstairs than the Charles Hotel?” His grandfather shook his head. “No, sir. You stay right here. We’d love to have you.”
Darrell hadn’t even thought of it. He looked over at his grandmother. After all, it was her house.
“You may stay if you’d like, for as long as you’d like,” she said. “If you’re lying low, it’s much better to hide out with relatives. No need to give strangers a chance to gossip about our family.”
“Good point, Grandma,” Darrell agreed, hiding a smile. Leave it to his grandmother to consider the gossip angle. He also knew she might be enjoying undermining his father.
He was sure that if he stayed with his grandparents, it would soon get back to his family. But he wasn’t out to worry them. He just wanted to get some distance from his father and this endless argument. Sam was trying to teach him a lesson, but if he thought Darrell would give up this easily, his father was the one would who would be learning the lesson.
• • •
“I had a big fight with Darrell yesterday,” Sam told his sister, Molly. “He got so mad at me he didn’t come home last night.”
They were sitting in her bakery on Wednesday morning.
Sam had been eager to get out of the house, and Jessica needed to take care of some Christmas errands in town, mostly shopping she couldn’t do when Tyler and Lily were around.
Sam had felt like a dog who loved to ride in the car, hopping on his crutch and cane as soon as he heard Jessica jangle the car keys. He would have preferred to be out with Darrell, visiting the jobs, but that card was off the table. For today, at least.
Sunday was Christmas Eve. Sam hadn’t given Christmas much thought, he’d been so wrapped up in his injuries, and now this problem with his son. But in the village, there was no escaping the Christmas spirit. Every inch of his sister’s bakery was decorated with pine garlands, wreaths, red bows, and big ornaments that hung from the ceiling. Sam ducked down and sat at a table near the window, content to visit with Molly and watch the world go by while Jessica swept Main Street.
“What was it this time? Did he smack up the truck?” Molly had already served him a coffee and a banana nut muffin. She set down a frothy cappuccino at her place and took a seat across the table.
“I would have welcomed a dented fender compared to this debate. He’s so fired up about a plan he’s put together to renovate that old cannery off the Beach Road that he doesn’t want to go back to school.”
“The cannery, right.” Molly nodded. “He told me about that place. I think it was the first day he spotted it. He was definitely excited about it. As if he struck oil in your backyard.”
“The town council looked over his plan and decided they would donate the building. He would pay them back over time. And that was all the boost he needed to put him over the top.”
“That is a big problem solved,” Molly said in her most reasonable tone. “You can’t blame him. He must have inherited the Morgan gift for gab. Actually, he learned it from watching you.”
Ordinarily, Sam wouldn’t have let his sister’s teasing dig get by without a comeback, but this was no time for one of their very childish—but fun—insult contests.
“So, where did he sleep? On a park bench?”
“He stayed over with Lillian and Ezra.”
Molly made a sour face. “Ouch. I would have taken the bench.”
“Me, too,” Sam agreed
“I’m sorry, Sam. This is a big one. If one of my kids refused to go back to school so close to graduating, it would make me crazy, too. But I’m also very proud of the boy. He’s not just book smart; he’s a real doer. And he’s so young. Imagine what he’ll do once he’s older.”
“Not just older. Once he has his degrees,” Sam corrected her.
“A piece of paper doesn’t make you an adult, Sam. You and I know that. I know you have the best intentions and still want to protect him. But he’s not that scared little boy you rescued anymore. He’s an adult and you need to start treating him that way. If he takes a leave from school, he’ll be the one to pay the consequences.”
Sam knew there was some truth to her words. Of all his children, he worried about Darrell the most. Darrell was smart, capable, responsible—all those things. But it was just a habit Sam had, ingrained from the time when Darrell was very young. Sam still felt a fierce love and protectiveness toward him, toward all his children. But for some reason, especially for Darrell.
“I do tend to worry and hover about him,” he admitted. “I want him to benefit from my experience and bad decisions. You want that, too, Molly.”
“We all do,” she replied. “But there are limits. At a certain point you have to let go and let them make their own mistakes.”
Molly had four girls, two from her first marriage, a stepdaughter from her second marriage, and her youngest, the child of her second husband, Dr. Matt Harding. Tw
o of her girls were older than Darrell, and further on in life. Molly had been through some dramas with them, and he knew he should respect her advice.
“I know what you’re saying, Moll, and mostly, I agree. But this is one mistake I don’t want Darrell to make.”
“Obviously. But how can you stop him?”
“I really can’t,” he admitted. “I can see that now. But there’s one more big hurdle for the apartment project. The county has to approve the area for multiple-unit occupancy. If the review doesn’t go Darrell’s way, all this arguing will be for nothing.”
“And so will all of Darrell’s hard work, sounds like to me,” Molly pointed out.
“I’d feel bad about that, honestly. But I still hope the project won’t get that approval. That would solve everything.”
“For you and Jess, you mean. Darrell will be crushed. He might even dig in his heels and fight it. I wouldn’t bet against that happening.”
Sam didn’t want to think of that possibility. He knew how persistent his son could be. “I hope not. I hope he finally sees reason,” Sam said. “In time, Darrell will realize it’s all happened for the best.”
“Okay, that’s a good attitude. And if it the approval goes Darrell’s way, I hope you have the same outlook.”
Sam didn’t know what to say to that.
Chapter Fifteen
By Friday, Cynthia was greatly improved, spending most of the day out of her bedroom, sitting in the kitchen or living room. She even talked about going into her studio to paint, though she wasn’t quite ready for that effort.
She was definitely well enough to supervise Jean and Kevin’s efforts at decorating the house, which began after lunch.
“I always put fresh greens along the mantel. With the brass candle holders and wine-red tapers. A shade close to maroon or burgundy. Not bright red, please. That looks garish.”
“I’ll look for wine-red candles at the store,” Jean promised. “I’ll put the candle holders there for now.” She had found a few boxes of decorations in the attic, and her brother helped carry them down. Her mother seemed surprised at the project, then pleased. “We don’t need to put everything out. But a few good things would be nice,” she said as Jean rummaged through the first box. “I can decorate the wreath. There’s a bag with the ribbons and pinecones. I like to put sprigs of fresh holly in the branches. There are some angel ornaments I hang on it, too.” Her mother rolled her wheelchair over to the box, as excited as a child to pick through it. “You must put this one out. The music box with the ice skaters.”
She held up a stained, dented box. Jean knew what was inside. The mirror of the ice skating lake was cracked and one of the skaters was missing a foot. But she set it up on the coffee table nonetheless.
Her brother had been stringing lights outside, around the front door and on the bushes in front of the porch. “I cut some fresh greens. That should come in handy,” he said as he came inside.
He showed the bunch of branches to their mother, who looked as if she had been presented with a dozen long-stemmed roses. “Lovely idea. Put that in the white Lenox vase. Get some baby’s breath at the florist, Jean, and some white flowers to mix in . . . Not carnations. You know how I hate carnations.”
“Yes, Mom. I remember.” Jean had taken out several more boxes and flipped open the lids to examine the contents. Most were ornaments, not useful this year since there was no tree.
“I should string some lights in here,” Kevin said. “Small lights around the bay window?”
“That would be great,” Jean said. “I can hang some of the ornaments on ribbons in front of the window, too. Don’t you have a tabletop tree somewhere, Mom?” Jean turned to a carton that wasn’t opened yet. “I think it’s all decorated and you just plug it in . . .”
“That old thing. I don’t want to put that out this year. I’m sure we can do better.” Cynthia turned her wheelchair around to face them. “I want a real tree. A big one. Kevin can move the side table and put it in that corner.” She pointed to the corner of the living room, to the left of the fireplace. The spot where the Christmas tree always stood when Jean was growing up.
She recalled many nights around Christmastime, lying on the floor in front of the fire, with no other lights on in the room but the burning embers and the colored lights on the tree. Seen through the prism of her drowsy, blurred vision, the sight was magical; the ornaments of elves, reindeer, and angels looked as if they might very well be alive and watching her, too.
Kevin stood near their mother’s wheelchair, a bunch of lights in his hands. “Great idea, Mom. A tree makes it really feel like Christmas.”
Jean thought so, too. “Kevin and I will go to Sawyer’s and pick one out.”
“You can’t go without me.” Her mother’s expression was indignant. Jean glanced at her brother. Some help here, please? she tried to telegraph. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mom,” she said as tactfully as she could. “I know you’re feeling better, but it’s so cold outside.”
“You’ll be too tired to help decorate later,” Kevin agreed.
“If I’m tired, I’ll rest for a while. We can put the ornaments on tonight. Or tomorrow. You need to let the branches fall a bit if it’s a fresh tree.” Cynthia looked over at Jean. “I’ll stay in the car and watch from there. You can even cover me with blankets.”
Jean sighed. She could tell from her brother’s expression he was ready to give in, too. “All right. But you have to dress warmly. Pants, a sweater, and boots. Two sweaters,” she added, half joking and halfserious.
“Whatever,” her mother replied, in a rare moment of agreement. “Let’s get going. There’s not much time before Christmas. I hope there are some good trees left.”
She turned her wheelchair and began to roll toward her room with more energy and strength than Jean had seen her display for days.
• • •
“It’s still the same,” Kevin said, as Jean pulled up to Sawyer’s Tree Farm. She had to agree. From the white split-rail fence that surrounded the rows of trees to the hand-painted sign in front and the Christmas Cottage, where she recalled tree trimmings of all sorts were for sale, along with hot chocolate and rides on a horse-drawn cart or sleigh. The tree farm had not changed one bit from the image in her memory.
“Jack Sawyer still runs it with his wife,” Cynthia clarified. “He has a nursery and landscaping business in the summer.” She was cozily seated in the back seat, with her feet up and a pillow to support her back. Jean had covered her with a quilt and an afghan, making her complain that she felt like a mummy.
“I want a big Douglas fir,” Cynthia proclaimed. “Not one of those spindly pines. Bring the good ones here and show me.”
Jean nearly rolled her eyes at the instructions but left the car without comment. As she walked toward the rows of trees with her brother, they both started laughing.
“She’s impossible, isn’t she?” he said.
“She’s very strong-willed. Difficult for us, at times. But it has gotten her this far.”
Jean saw a sign for the Douglas fir section, and they walked into rows of trees that were already on stands. She also saw more trees stacked against the fence, tied up with plastic netting.
In the first row she found a nicely shaped tree. Not too tall, with a classic Christmas tree shape. She walked around to the other side, checking for any empty spots in the branches.
And came face-to-face with Laurel Milner. “Hi, Laurel. Out tree shopping?”
“I am. With my kids, though I may have lost them,” she joked. “We usually get our tree earlier, but we just moved into our new place. We’ll have a lot of unpacked boxes and a Christmas tree in the middle, I guess. Kids need a tree on Christmas morning.”
“How else is Santa going to come?” Jean agreed. She glanced around, wondering where her brother had disappeared to. The situation was awkwar
d. Should she tell Laurel she was here with him?
“Jean, I think I found a good one. What do you think?” Kevin walked toward them, gripping a large tree with both hands. The branches blocked his vision, and it wasn’t until he set it down that he realized Jean was not alone.
“Look who I found Christmas tree shopping,” Jean said. “It’s Laurel.”
From the look on her brother’s face, Jean knew he had already realized that. He stared at Laurel as if she’d just dropped down from another planet. She was staring at him the same way.
“Kevin . . . Jean didn’t mention you were visiting.”
“I came in on Monday night. Our mother’s been ill, but she’s made a good recovery.”
“I heard that in church,” Laurel replied. “I’m glad she’s feeling better. I’m sure she’s thrilled that you’re home for the holidays.”
“It’s good to be back.” When he smiled at Laurel, Jean could see his shock had melted into sheer happiness at seeing her again. “How about you? Are you here visiting your parents for Christmas?”
Jean drifted down another row of trees. They didn’t even notice. She found a nicely shaped tree a few rows back and brought it over to the car to show her mother.
Her mother examined it through the window. “Not bad. Let me see the other side.”
As Jean slowly turned the tree for her inspection, Kevin walked over to the car, carrying two more. He looked very happy, and Jean knew why.
A few minutes later, they had selected a tree, and one of the tree-farm helpers tied it to the top of the car. Jean added some pine garlands and a big wreath for her mother to decorate.
“That was fun,” Jean said as she started her Subaru.
“It was,” Kevin agreed. He was looking out the window. To catch a last glance of Laurel? They would have to talk about that later, out of their mother’s earshot.
But Jean couldn’t help saying one thing. She turned on the radio, so her mother couldn’t hear. “She’s still just as pretty, isn’t she?” Jean asked quietly.
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