by Nancy Naigle
What was the harm in seeing how many cars were in the parking lot? One quick little drive-by and then she’d be back home in bed for some real rest.
She started her car and pulled out of her driveway. If the world was awake shopping, you sure couldn’t tell it from here. Her neighborhood was dark. As it should be.
Maybe Christmas Galore had experienced a big flop tonight. That would serve them right.
No. How could I wish that on them?
A few cars passed by in the other direction.
That doesn’t mean anything. She’d never perused the streets of Pleasant Sands in the middle of the night. It didn’t necessarily mean everyone who was out tonight was shopping at Christmas Galore. That traffic could be a nightly occurrence. Night shift at the hospital, maybe? But as she got closer to Christmas Galore, more than just streetlights lit the sky.
The parking lot was full, and cars were even parked across the street in front of an ice cream shop that was closed for the season. She eased into the parking lot, watching people come and go. No one was coming out empty-handed either. A car backed out just a few spaces ahead of her. She swung into the vacated space and took her key from the ignition.
Her heart raced.
What the heck was she doing here? She could just hear the local gossip if anyone she knew saw her. And why put herself in the position to get her feelings hurt if she did see someone she knew?
But all the self-talk and warnings couldn’t stop her from needing to know just what the big deal was. She stared in her rearview mirror. From here she could see how busy the store was. Even the grocery store before a hurricane wasn’t this busy.
She opened her door and got out of the car.
The bright lights from the building beckoned her closer. The people passing her as they left seemed so pleased with their deals.
As she got closer the differences between her store and Christmas Galore were clear. She had subdued lighting to show off the twinkle lights, candles and lighted villages. Christmas Galore was as bright as an operating room. Her displays were all custom-quality furnishings, constantly dusted to a high shine. Christmas Galore used those metal shelving units and bins with huge fluorescent starbursts announcing discounts. Even the music was different. At Heart of Christmas the music was a backdrop—soft, soothing and inspirational. Here at Christmas Galore a rock-and-roll version of “Jingle Bells” played so loudly it had taken a moment for her to recognize the song.
One thing was certain: she’d been right about Christmas Galore being completely different from Heart of Christmas. This was bright and had a warehouse feel to it, where her store was homey and full of history and tradition.
She was about thirty feet from the front door when a man wearing a button-down shirt and carrying a sport coat over his arm walked out of the building.
Angela recognized him immediately. A smile played at her lips. She’d hoped she’d run into him again. She sucked in a breath and took a step closer. He didn’t have a shopping bag. He probably had the same attitude about this kind of store that she did. Something in common.
I’ll just say hello. She wiped her damp palms on the back pockets of her jeans and started his way, wishing she’d put a little bit of effort into what she’d worn.
He started walking toward her.
Just as she started to lift her hand to wave and say hello, a young man in a Christmas Galore vest came running to the parking lot. “Hey, boss. Chandler said you forgot this.”
The man spun around.
Boss?
He was thanking the employee when he turned and saw her.
He works at Christmas Galore? She spun around and race-walked back to her car. She jumped in and started the engine, hoping he hadn’t recognized her.
Serves me right for spying.
“Hey!”
The voice came from behind her. He had recognized her, but there was no way she could face him now. What would she even say to him?
He was still standing near the door. She threw her car into reverse and got out of that parking lot as quickly as she could. Maybe he’d think she’d been leaving all along. When she got home she was still shaking.
She’d almost befriended the enemy.
Back in bed, she crawled under the covers and closed her eyes, thankful that she hadn’t already said hello when his employee walked out. Now, that would’ve been awkward.
She hugged her pillow close, wishing she’d stayed put when the temptation had struck to snoop.
When she woke up, it was still way before the time her alarm was supposed to go off, but she’d gotten a couple hours of decent sleep.
Angela climbed out of bed and went into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee and start the day. While sipping her first cup, she preheated the oven, then took the gingerbread cookie dough out of the freezer. She rolled the frozen blocks out onto her quartz countertop and began carefully slicing whisper-thin rectangles with a cheese slicer.
Like a one-woman assembly line, she slid cookie sheet after cookie sheet into the oven. With each ding of the timer she moved cookies from the tray to the cooling rack.
The whole kitchen suddenly smelled like the holidays, and it wasn’t even sunrise yet.
She dusted the cookies with the powdered-sugar stamp in the corner, then started stacking them in a large storage container to take over to the store. She may have gone a little crazy. There were a lot of cookies to pack. Finally, she pulled out the huge metal pot she used to cook a bushel of blue crab in the summer. She lined it with a linen tablecloth then began stacking the cookies inside. She tucked the box of small plastic sandwich bags into the top of the pot so her staff could take home any leftovers.
Surrounded by the warm scent of gingerbread, she felt a burst of energy. Somewhere between realizing Blue-eyes was connected to Christmas Galore and baking cookies, she was finding peace in the decisions that she needed to make.
Opting for a short jog on the beach before work, Angela put on her running gear and pulled on a ball cap.
She used her back door and took the stairs two at a time down to the beach in her bare feet. The morning was mild, and the cool sand felt good between her toes. She stretched, then took off into a slow jog, taking the short route, only a mile round-trip. When she got back to her house, she sat down in the damp sand and pulled her knees to her chest, then wrapped her arms around them.
November was her favorite time of the year in Pleasant Sands. All of the tourists had finally drifted back to their hometowns, and at this early hour she was the only person on the beach for as far as she could see.
The power of the crashing waves got closer as the tide began to roll in. She wasn’t sure if she was daring the water to reach her and sweep her away, or just feeling fearless.
Last night’s storm had left the ocean angry. Growing up here she’d come to know the ocean and its emotions as if it were an old friend—a moody one, but wonderful all the same.
Sometimes the waves lapped the shore gently, like an invitation. Then there were the days when the waves were rounded, creating a playground for the porpoises along the shoreline. But today was different.
The ocean was aggressive and unforgiving today, almost like the ominous music in a movie when something bad was about to happen.
All she could do was get through the day. The sales would tell her whether to keep fighting to keep the store afloat, or close at the end of the season.
As she blinked away tears, the water seemed to take on a darker, more ominous hue, like it was sad too.
The salt air dampened her skin as the wind pushed through her hair. She grabbed the out-of-control strands into a bunch, twisted them and tucked them under her ball cap, ducking her head to protect her face from the sand that stung her arms with each gust of wind.
Finally, just a tiny sizzling slice of fluorescent orange peeked over the horizon.
It was getting close to seven. Time to pull herself together and start the day.
She’d get through
this. It wasn’t the first time she’d been dealt a difficult hand.
Her phone buzzed. It had to be her sister. No one else would ever call this early. She slid the phone from her pocket and put it to her ear. “Good morning.”
“You home?” Marie asked.
“At the beach.”
“Of course you are.” Marie laughed. “I should’ve known you’d be there.”
“Couldn’t sleep anyway.”
“Sorry, sis.”
“Not your fault.” Taking in long slow breaths, she thought back to the days when she was just a beach kid skimboarding the waves under her grandmother’s watchful eye, without a care in the world. “Do you remember how relaxed Momma Grace always was? Why didn’t we inherit that gene?”
“Because Momma Grace was either a, an excellent actress, or b, plum crazy and didn’t know to worry.”
“She might’ve been a little crazy, but she was happy.” Think positive thoughts.
“You’re not unhappy,” Marie said. “You’re just having business challenges.”
“Well, that doesn’t make me happy.” Angela glanced across the water. The whole fiery ball of sun danced above the horizon, painting the clear sky with broad, bold strokes of pink, gold and orange. In a little while those vibrant colors would fade into blue. Magic. “Did you call for a reason?”
Another wave rolled in with a thunderous crash. Somehow it was peaceful the way that filtered out all other sound. She pushed her feet deeper into the sand, trying to warm them. If only she could push her troubles away so easily.
“Just checking on you, and wanted to let you know that if you need extra hands at the shop, Chrissy and I are home today. Just let us know. We’ll be right over.”
Angela wondered if that was her sister’s way of saying she wouldn’t be at Christmas Galore shopping today.
She felt stupid for getting bent out of shape just because Marie bought a few cheap decorations from another store.
“Thank you.” Angela took a deep breath of salty air, then rose to her feet and walked over the dune toward her house. “I’ll let you know.” Marie always had taken her big-sister role seriously. Even though she had her own family, and Brad and Chrissy sure kept her busy, she wanted to be there for her little sister.
“Are you okay?” Marie asked. “You sound kind of down.”
“Down” was an understatement. “After admitting the store will have to close unless there’s some kind of miracle today, I’m feeling torn.”
“Torn about closing?” Marie asked. “I can understand that. It’s a part of who you are.”
Angela walked up the stairs to her back deck, remembering the mornings she and Marie raced up them. She’d always left Marie trailing behind her.
“That too,” Angela said, “but more about how to handle today. Do I slash prices even further than I’d planned to boost sales today and get rid of inventory, or hope for the best with a better margin of profit? At this point, loss leaders are out of the question.”
“I see what you mean. That is a difficult decision. I wish I knew what to tell you. Angela, I’m sorry I was so hard on you yesterday. I’m just worried, and I don’t like seeing you so unhappy and stressed. I didn’t mean to ruin your day. I wish you’d stayed.”
“Thanks, Marie. I know your motivation was sincere. I love you.”
“Call me if you need me.”
“Count on it.” Angela ended the call, then sat in one of the Carolina-blue rockers on her porch. She brushed the sand from her feet, then retrieved the big bottle of baby powder out of the deck box that sat next to the rocker. She shook some across both of her feet. She wasn’t even in school yet when Momma Grace had taught her that a little baby powder was the best way to get damp sand off of your feet and keep from tracking it into the house. Pawpaw hated sand in the house, so Angela and Marie had learned quickly how to minimize it. Using the towel hanging by the door, she twisted it into a rope and gave her feet a good brushing side to side, like the shoeshine man, and then she was ready to go inside to shower and get ready for work.
A half-hour later, dressed in a festive Christmas cardigan over her favorite black slacks and a white blouse, she carried the big crab pot out to the porch and set it down so she could lock the door behind her. She took the steps slowly, peering over one side of the pot as she did, then made the short commute to Heart of Christmas over her personal boardwalk, which connected her beach house property to the parking lot of Heart of Christmas.
Down the beach road things were still quiet. Some of the houses had been battened down for the season for a well-deserved winter rest after the hot summer.
The year-rounders would soon be decorating with lights and holiday flags. But today you couldn’t tell one house from the other, except that there weren’t many cars in driveways.
There was a bustle in the air and cars were already moving down the beach highway. People were on the move this Black Friday. Tonight the six and eleven o’clock news would tell of people behaving badly to nab limited-supply deals, and show shelves in disarray from frantic customers.
People never behaved badly in her store, and that was the way she liked it. If good manners were out of style, then maybe it really was for the best that Heart of Christmas should close.
Walking the boardwalk was like a walk down memory lane, especially with the batch of cookies in her arms.
Her great-great-grandfather had walked that wooden path to work every day. Every night. Proud to be the lighthouse keeper until the day he died. Her great-great-grandmother took his place as the keeper after he died, but it wasn’t long after that the lighthouse had been decommissioned.
Last year, Brad had sent his crew over to take a look at the boardwalk and rather than patch it, they tore it out and put in a fancy path that was as nice as a real boardwalk in a fancy tourist city, and even added a bridge to help preserve the dune line. It was so well built, she wouldn’t hesitate to drive her car over it had it been just a little wider.
Momma Grace would’ve loved the updated version. Especially now that it had electricity. Not only to light her way home, but because it meant she could now add holiday lights to it too.
Angela counted off her steps to guesstimate how many strands of lights and pine roping she’d need to decorate the handrail. It seemed a fitting tribute to light a path to Heart of Christmas on what might be its last Christmas.
As Angela crossed the parking lot, Emma tooted her horn and waved as she swung her car into a space farthest from the store.
Across the way Jeremy and Stephanie, her other employees, stood chatting by the door, ready to get the day started.
At ten o’clock, if all went her way, this lot would be as full as Christmas Galore’s had been last night, and customers would make joyous noise among the holiday music inside as they noticed their favorite holiday items on sale.
Angela’s best customers had been eyeing their favorite things all year, just waiting and hoping they’d be on sale on Black Friday.
She’d be lying if she didn’t admit that sometimes those coveted items only went on sale because she knew they were a splurge at the regular price for her favorite customers. She loved making them happy.
As she made her way across the parking lot toward Jeremy, Stephanie and Emma, she felt so blessed. She couldn’t ask for three more faithful employees.
Chapter Eight
DID YOU KNOW?
1941 was the last time Pleasant Sands had snow on BLACK FRIDAY.
Come inside and enjoy snow today.
SNOW VALLEY
GRAND OPENING
TODAY
“Good morning, y’all!” Angela called out as she got closer.
Jeremy rushed over and took the crab pot from her. “I’m guessing these aren’t crabs?”
“Nope. Momma Grace’s famous gingerbread cookies.”
“They smell so good.” Jeremy lifted the lid and sucked in a breath. “You’re lucky I’m still stuffed from Thanksgiving dinner.”
/>
“Good morning,” Stephanie and Emma sang out as they too gathered around the crab pot.
Angela slid her key into the stiff lock. There wasn’t enough graphite in the world to keep these old locks working smoothly in the salt air. She worked the key to the left and to the right, then one good push and the heavy oak door finally creaked open. There were years of history in every groaning board, drafty window, and this door too.
“Did everyone have a nice Thanksgiving?” Angela asked.
Jeremy squeezed past her to put the pot of cookies down on the counter. “I brought a turkey sandwich for lunch, but I’m not even sure I’ll be able to eat it. And now cookies?”
“We know you better than that.” Stephanie grabbed a sale diagram and a handful of discount signs, and began placing them on the clips on the edges of the shelves. “You’re always hungry.”
Emma climbed on the step stool to switch on the steam engine that chugged around the room with happy horn blasts. “You might not have time to eat all day anyway if this year is anything like the past few.”
“Jeremy, can you help me get the warming box out of the back room?” Angela asked. “I thought we’d channel my grandmother today with her famous gingerbread cookie recipe.” Angela paused and made a slow, sweeping glance around the room. “Momma Grace will always be the heart of this place.”
Emma stepped off the ladder and placed a hand on Angela’s shoulder. “You are the heart of this place, my friend.”
Angela pressed her hand to Emma’s. “Best compliment ever.”
Jeremy went back to the storage room and walked out carrying the glass-paneled warming box. He hoisted the heavy glass cube to the checkout counter. “Over here?”
“That’ll work perfectly.” Angela clapped her hands and then ran behind the counter to plug it in. The light came on, and there was still a ribbon with a gingerbread cookie pattern hot-glued around the edge. “Why haven’t I done this the last couple of years?”
“Because some traditions are hard to carry on,” Emma said, patting Angela’s heart then wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “It already smells like Momma Grace is here again.” The aromas of cinnamon, clove and sugar filled the space.