'Tis the Season for Love: A Charity Box Set

by Maggie Dallen

  My neck pops as I move it side to side. “I’ve been awake. Just thinking.”

  “What have you been thinking about?”

  How my whole entire life is about to change. “The inn.”

  Dad sighs. “The next few days will be difficult, but we’ll figure it out.”

  “Just promise me something.”

  “What?”

  “You and uncle Todd will think about all the options available and selling the inn will be a last resort.”

  He drags out a breath. “I can’t promise we'll put selling on the back burner. Neither Todd nor I can take over. Someone’s got to run it.”

  “I can run it.”

  “Holland, you’re eighteen. Your focus needs to be on finishing high school then enjoying college. The inn is too much of a responsibility.”

  A bubble starts in my lungs and slowly drags up my throat.

  He places his hand on top of my fisted ones. “I know the inn means a lot to you. Let’s enjoy it as a family and honor G-Daddy as we say goodbye and plan for the future.”

  I look out the window to hide my tear-filled eyes. Closing them, I imagine what I’ll see as we round the next bend. The steel bridge over the Anorak River will be in view, covered in red and white lights with the welcome sign flashing green, inviting us in.

  If this could possibly be my last trip here, I'd better make the most of it. But somehow I know it won't be. I'll observe and do what I do best over the next week.

  Take notes. Make plans. Put them into action.

  One thing my grandfather always taught me: if you put your mind to it well enough, you can accomplish anything.

  The road opens up and my heart sinks. The bridge is there but not in all its glory.

  No twinkling. No shimmering. No welcoming.

  “Why aren’t the lights on?” I ask, more to myself.

  “Maybe they haven’t had time to get them up yet.”

  “But they're always up by the weekend before Thanksgiving. It’s Sunday.”

  After crossing the bridge, the inn comes into view. One lowly tree covered in white, non-twinkling lights appears. Other than the yellow glow peeking through the windows of the three story 100-room inn, the landscape is dark. It should be so bright that I'd need to pull out my sunglasses.

  Dad pulls around and parks in the portico as my stepmom, Kate, rustles the boys awake. I count to ten to hold down the rage that’s trying to surface. I’m sure it’s just a personnel problem. G-Daddy did tell me he hired a new caretaker in the spring after Mr. Vine, the caretaker for thirty years, retired due to health problems.

  It's a simple reason and a simple solution. The new caretaker doesn’t know the tradition of the lights. Todd is too busy with his chiropractic practice to take it on. My cousin Blake, well, he's too busy worrying about what lighting looks best for his daily--and sometimes hourly--selfies.

  We’ll get it resolved in no time. I’ll help get everything in order the way G-Daddy always had it for the holidays.

  I exit the vehicle and open the paned double doors with bronze handles and kickplates, not caring that I’m leaving my family behind. I’m on a mission to get to the bottom of the lightless landscape.

  My heart, having previously sunk to my stomach, is now leaving my body.

  The lobby--usually full of light-covered trees, bows, shiny ornaments, and real garland that fills the grand room with a fresh pine scent--is bare except for one lightless, ten-foot tree that’s twenty feet too short to reach the grand ceiling. The air feels stale and lifeless, even with the splashing fountain that centers the room.

  My uncle and cousin stand beside the registration desk where a few employees talk with guests.

  Uncle Todd smiles and points in my direction.

  How can he smile? This place looks like crap. I can see the reviews now. What’s normally a festive-filled inn is now dead like the late owner. Do not stay here. The Garland Inn died with Mr. Garland.

  I rush over, not returning his smile.

  “Holland!” He embraces me. “So glad you guys are finally here.”

  “Where are all the decorations?” I demand.

  Blake punches me on the shoulder. “Well, hello to you too, cousin.”

  I narrow my eyes and growl like a dog defending his territory. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing the lights for weeks.”

  Todd ignores me and looks toward the entrance.

  I ask again. “Why aren’t the lights on?”

  As if on cue, the small lobby tree displays a red, white, and green twinkling show. The lights are impressive; too bad the tree isn’t. A tall and ruggedly handsome guy with a vaguely familiar face steps from behind the tree, looks at it, and shakes his head. If the tree could only look as well-built as him, I wouldn’t be so upset.

  “There’re your lights, Holland,” my uncle says, pointing to the scrawny tree. His smirk makes my hand twitch.

  My uncle has always been overly sarcastic and egotistical, just like his son--completely opposite of my dad. His devilish smile grows bigger, pouring fuel on the raging fire in my mind.

  I cross my arms and say, with more force than I knew I was capable of, “Where are the garlands and ornaments and bows and all the other trees?” I walk around the lobby, spreading my arms out to the areas that always held beautiful Christmas displays. “Isn’t the inn booked for the holidays? We need to get everything ready with everyone coming in. It’s what people will expect.”

  Blake rolls his eyes. “Who cares about the lights?”

  “I do.”

  Todd waves me off. “We decided to take it down a level this year. It’s just too much.”

  No longer able to hold in the fire, I scream, “Too much? Go tell G-Daddy that it’s too much and see what he says.”

  Chapter 4

  Ember

  Even Charlie Brown’s little tree stands with more glory than the one Todd brought in. A frequent guest complained about the lack of decorations. Todd is trying to save face, even though he doesn’t care one iota about this place.

  I step back. Taking it all in, I see how little there is. This tree doesn’t cut it, even wrapped with lights around every branch. Tomorrow, I’ll ride around and cut a few branches off other trees to fill in the skinny parts. Maybe then it’ll have a little more character.

  A shrill voice takes me back to second grade when mean Mrs. Guthrie would rake her nails down the chalkboard to get our attention.

  “Too much? Go tell G-Daddy that it’s too much and see what he says,” a dainty blonde screams, causing all heads in the lobby to turn in her direction.

  She may be petite, but her stance makes her almost as tall as the six-foot Todd. She’s stretched out on her tiptoes as if she’s a ballerina trying to get in that painful position. He places his hands on her shoulders and pushes her feet to the floor. He speaks in a low indiscernible voice, an arrogant expression painted on his face.

  Whatever he says to her does not go over well. Her fingers curl into fists as her face reddens. I’d feel sorry for the girl if she didn’t have “high maintenance” stamped across every part of her attractive body.

  She’s the type I avoid at all costs. The type who demands your everything and gives nothing in return. She and my ex would be fake best friends, trying to constantly one-up each other as they prance around arm-in-arm in their spiked heels and designer jeans.

  Blake laughs and her face glows redder than Rudolph’s nose, causing the pity to surface a little stronger. Is she a scorned lover here to seek revenge?

  A man with a sleeping kid dangling in his arms rushes over and steps between Todd and Ms. Firecracker. He rushes the crew into Mr. Garland’s office, and a woman, with another sleeping kid draped in her arms, follows and shuts the door.

  That’s when it hits me. Ms. Firecracker is Mr. Garland’s granddaughter. The granddaughter he adored. The granddaughter who could do no wrong. The granddaughter he used to tell me he was going to set me up with when she moved here to attend colle
ge next year. The granddaughter who he said was totally my type.

  I always wondered how he knew what my type was since I never gawked at any girl who stepped foot in the inn like he and Blake would.

  After a few minutes, Blake exits the office and heads in my direction.

  “Here’s the key to Cory’s vehicle. Take their luggage to the cabin.” He sets the keys on the counter and walks away.

  I rush off to pull an electric utility cart around and open the back of Cory’s van. The sooner I get this done, the sooner this long day can end and I can kick up my feet.

  To my surprise, there are only four suitcases and a few backpacks. I would expect Ms. Primadonna to come with an entire entourage. I drive the cart on the short trip to the cabin and unload the bags in the mudroom of Old Man Garland’s cabin then start a fire in the fireplace.

  After parking Cory’s van in the employee lot, I rush into the lobby to return his keys. The family stands just outside Mr. Garland’s office. The two boys who were fast asleep fifteen minutes ago are now running around chasing each other.

  A disgruntled-looking Todd waves me over. “Ember, this is my niece, Holland. Tomorrow, you’ll assist her with putting up all of the Christmas decorations.” He wraps his arm around her tense shoulders. “She’ll instruct you where everything goes.”

  You mean all of the decorations you specifically asked me not to put up two weeks ago when I had seven of my friends lined up to help. You demanded I cancel them. It’s going to take a lot longer than a day if it’s just the two of us.

  Holland’s narrowed green eyes meet mine as she steps out of Todd’s grasp and walks right in front of me. “I’ll be ready to start at eight a.m. sharp. Meet me right here.”

  “Tag, you’re it, Holland,” the younger of the two boys says as he pops her butt.

  She turns to look at her brother and her face softens. In a gentle voice, she says, “Not now, Elliott. I promise I’ll play tomorrow.”

  Cory reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few coins. “Emmett, take Elliott to the fountain and toss these in.” He hands the coins to the oldest of the boys, and they run off across the lobby to the tiered marble fountain that the Garland Inn was built around.

  Blake’s laughter pulls my attention from the rambunctious young ones. “Lookie who’s under the mistletoe.”

  He points to the stupid plant I insisted on hanging just above Mr. Garland’s office door, as was tradition. Mr. G would always call over lady guests just to get them under the mistletoe. He gave out more kisses on cheeks than Santa gives out candy canes. I’d joke with him and call him a dirty old man. He’d smile at me with his green eyes and say, “I may be old, but I ain’t dead.” Then I’d catch him in his office apologizing for his loose lips to a photo of his late wife.

  Holland looks up at the mistletoe dangling two inches above my head. She lets out an arrogant laugh then spins with a click of her heeled boots and walks away as she says, “I’m walking to the cabin.”

  Yeah, I didn’t want to kiss you either.

  I guess Old Man Garland wore the rose-colored glasses when it came to her. She’s definitely not my type.

  Chapter 5

  Holland

  Cold air hits my face, freezing the flowing tears. I need a cooling off, so I welcome it. Taking in a deep breath, I let the November bitterness nip at my lungs as I walk the darkened cart trail to my G-Daddy’s place. My phone light leads the way since the outdoor path lights are barely brighter than a candle flicker.

  Did that Evan or Edwin or whatever his name was think I’d really want to kiss him? I don’t even know him. And Todd? He’s even more of a prick than normal.

  I shouldn’t have let him get to me like that. What’s wrong with me? I’m calm, cool, and collected. I don’t blow up like that. I’m like my dad. I solve problems with strategic reason, not hot-headedness. If I had greeted him like a normal family member would, then asked about the lights, maybe he wouldn’t have made the comment he did.

  The nerve of him to say that!

  Well, your G-Daddy isn’t around to see. He’s dead.

  It’s a good thing Dad showed up when he did.

  Having a family takedown right off the bat is not something Dad will be pleased with, though. He and Todd have been on the outs ever since I've been alive for some unknown reason. He was hoping with G-Daddy’s death that they could put the past behind them. I’m sure we’ll have a discussion when they make their way to the cabin.

  Maybe I can fall asleep before they arrive. The boys have a lot of pent-up energy to run off before it’s time for them to settle down. I’m impressed how well Kate kept them calm during the thirteen-hour drive. Granted, the three extended stops at restaurants with huge play areas helped.

  And thank goodness for Paw Patrol on repeat. However, if I hear the theme song one more time, someone--hopefully my uncle--might be in trouble and Ryder and his team of pups won’t be able to save the day.

  Maybe that’s why I went off on Todd like I did. A chill runs down my spine as the song infiltrates my ears. I take another deep breath, allowing the cold to settle in all over.

  By the end of the ten-minute walk, I feel more myself. My heart has slowed. My tears have dried. My mind has chilled.

  The smell of wood burning mixed with cedar and leather hits me when I enter the cabin. It’s like my G-Daddy is here with me, taking away that last bit of angry fire from my body. He’s wrapping me up in one of his bear hugs, trying to make me toot.

  The suitcases are in a neat line by the coat rack, and my backpack sits atop the wooden bench. I take my bags and head upstairs to the room my grandfather created just for me. The walls are paneled with pine, and the double bed is covered in layers of my grandmother’s homemade quilts. Her rocking chair sits in the corner.

  I wish I had known her, but she died before I was born. My grandfather always told me how much I was like her--the same petite frame and fine blonde hair, except her eyes were blue. I’ve got my G-Daddy’s green eyes, not to mention his determination.

  More comfort takes my heart as I crawl into bed, wrapped in both my G-Daddy’s and G-Mommy’s love. I drift off to sleep as I plan out the day of decorating the grounds of the Garland Inn in both of their festive spirits.

  I wake to the sound of screaming boys clomping up the stairs to the adjoining room, pulling me from a dream about a guy with blue eyes waiting for a kiss under the mistletoe.

  Chapter 6

  Ember

  I arrive in the lobby at quarter to eight, not wanting the wrath of Ms. Firecracker if I’m a second late.

  She shows up promptly at eight, her brows still pinched and shoulders still tight. Does this girl ever loosen up? She’s so different from the bookworm who spent summers here hiding behind her grandfather. “This is my shadow,” he would say to all the guests. That girl back then was afraid of her own shadow. This girl appears as if she isn’t afraid of anything.

  I do have to give it to her though, even tightly wound, she has a presence that fills the room.

  A tentative smile graces her face--it seems misplaced when she sees me. Her attire of a flannel shirt, tattered jeans, and insulated boots is a stark contrast to her sweater, tailored pants, and high-heeled boots from the night before.

  She squints and taps her forehead then points to me. “Edwin?” Her voice is several decibels down from last night.

  “Ember,” I say while glancing up to make sure I’m not anywhere near the mistletoe. My ego doesn’t want another hit, not that I was really offended she didn’t want a kiss. It would’ve only been a kiss on the cheek anyway. I've got to keep the tradition going on in Mr. G's honor. However, I wouldn't have the need to apologize to a framed picture wife.

  “I’m heading to the kitchen to say hey to Mrs. Mabel and hopefully score one of her cinnamon rolls.” Her eyes light up when she says Mrs. Mabel. "Can I get you anything?”

  I nervously run my hands through my hair. “Um. You’re not going to find Mrs. Mabel in the ki
tchen. She’s not here today.”

  Her face turns down. “Oh. Well, let’s grab a coffee and see what’s available for breakfast then we can get started.”

  She turns and heads to the inn’s cafe. I hesitate to follow her. I should, but something tells me the news Mrs. Mabel is permanently gone will ignite the ticking time bomb.

  I don’t want to be around when she explodes likes she did last night.

  It’s too early. For once, I wish I was Blake who sleeps in until noon.

  Against better judgement--or maybe to avoid any of her pent-up anger--I follow her swishing hips. She walks with an assuredness through the lobby, straightening up pillows on chairs and turning vases ever so slightly as she goes.

  When she gets to the fountain, she pulls a coin from her pocket and closes her eyes. After a moment, she kisses the coin and flips it. It lands in the top bowl of the tiered marble fountain. She gives a subtle pump of the fist, as if she wants no one else to see.

  A chuckle escapes me. I’ve seen her grandfather do this on a daily basis.

  When we enter the cafe, she steps through to the back. Rose, the new cook who is more like the thorny stem than the flower of her namesake, yells at her. “Excuse me. Guests can’t come back here.”

  Holland stands ramrod straight and holds her position in the door frame. “I’m not a guest; I’m a Garland.”

  Rose tries to push past her. “I don’t care who you are. No one comes in my kitchen.”

  Holland crosses her arms and doesn’t budge. “This is Mrs. Mabel’s kitchen.”

  “Was Mrs. Mabel’s kitchen.” Rose finally squeezes past Holland and starts filling the bakery cabinet with dry-looking muffins.

  Not wanting to be involved in what is to come, I take a step toward the exit.

  I expect her to raise her voice and scream out, what happened to Mrs. Mabel? But she doesn’t. She does the unexpected. She strides to the front counter as if she’s a guest and waits on Rose to take her order.