'Tis the Season for Love: A Charity Box Set

by Maggie Dallen

  “I’m afraid so,” he says as he shrugs.

  I’m instantly irked by his cool, aloof manner. Part of me wants to curl up into a ball and cry my eyes out, but what good would that do other than make Ember go into silent mode again because he seems like he can’t handle an overly emotional girl.

  Problem solve, Holland.

  I walk along the perimeter of the shed, looking for some outlet along the aluminum walls, even removing a few kayaks stored on shelves, hoping for a hole that gets us out of this place. The walls are solid and unyielding like we’re in a bank vault.

  There’s one window above the door, but it’s a good ten feet up. Even if I stood on Ember’s shoulders, I don’t think I’d be able to pull myself up and out. Besides, the window is about eight inches tall. I may be small but not quite small enough to fit through the opening. The ground is concrete, so there’s no way we’re digging ourselves out of this.

  When I make my way to the front, Ember’s sitting down with his head against the door.

  “Let me guess. You didn’t find a way out,” he says.

  “Nope,” I say, plopping down beside him.

  “That’s because the only way out is locked, and the only way to unlock it is on the outside.”

  “It seems like there should be some way out,” I say with a critical tone to my voice.

  “We’re not the first to get stuck in here. I got stuck in here for two days when I first started. My dad didn’t tell me about the problems with the door. Over the summer, two teens got stuck. They even issued an Amber alert for them. Your grandfather found them the next day completely starved. Needless to say, but I think they learned their lesson to not sneak around.

  “Then, a few months ago, your grandfather got stuck in here for a day. I found him passed out in a kayak at nine in the morning in his skivvies.”

  The tension I was feeling loosens, and I giggle. I totally can see G-Daddy passed out in a kayak, even more so if the kayak was on the water. “What was he doing in his underwear?”

  “I asked him, and he said he usually sleeps in the buff but didn’t want anyone to find him naked, so he kept them on.” He laughs and shakes his head. “I thanked him for keeping them on. It was bad enough seeing him in his tighty-whities.”

  The times Ember mentioned my grandfather today makes me realize what a good relationship they had, similar to mine with him. Now knowing he’s Mr. Vine’s son, I realize he’s been around my grandfather since he was young. I’m almost a little jealous of the time he got to spend with G-Daddy. It’s so unfair that my time with him had been approaching, and now it’s gone.

  “How long do you think we’ll be stuck in here?” I ask.

  “Well, if it was just me in here, it might be a couple of days before someone realized it--unless one of the rooms has a plumbing problem. But since you're here, we might get lucky and someone will find us before midnight. It’s the joke around the inn when someone goes missing. Go check the summer storage shed.”

  A strong wind blows outside, rattling the metal walls of the shed. “Brrrr. Too bad we can’t get out the same way that cold air is getting in.” I wrap my hoodie tighter around my face.

  “There’s a cold front coming through. Temperature is supposed to drop thirty degrees before morning. Might even get a little snow.”

  We sit in silence for several minutes, listening to the wind growing stronger and stronger. The giant wind chimes on G-Daddy’s porch play us a wild yet harmonious tune.

  Ember stands and starts rummaging through boxes. He returns with a wakeboard and several beach towels. He sets the board down and builds a soft pallet on top with the towels.

  “This might help warm up the cold floor.” He holds out his hand to help me stand. “Geez, your hand is freezing.” He reaches in his pocket and retrieves a pair of gloves.

  I slip them on, but they swallow my hands and fall right off.

  He looks through more boxes and comes back with fishing line. “Hold your hands out.” He slips the gloves back on and ties the lines at my wrists.

  “Thanks. But now your hands will be cold.”

  “I’m used to the cold, I’ve lived here all my life.” He pushes the towel-covered wakeboard against the door and points at it. “Now sit.”

  I do as he commands. He then wraps a few towels around my shoulders and places more on my lap.

  “Better?” he asks.

  “Yes, much.”

  He sits down next to me. His side, pressed against mine, is like a heater.

  “Your grandfather said you were coming here in the fall to go to Reinback and work at the inn,” he says. “We need to work on thickening your blood if you plan to survive a winter up here.”

  I let out a sigh. “That was the plan.”

  “And now it’s not?”

  “I’m not sure.” I bite my bottom lip then shrug. “There’s a chance my dad and uncle will sell the place.” I shouldn’t tell him that, but I feel the employees need to know. Their jobs may be in jeopardy if the inn is sold. Even if it’s not sold, it seems like Todd wants to get rid of half the employees here, stating we need to cut costs even though he has nothing to do with the books. Dad says the inn is in good shape financially.

  He picks at a frayed string in the knee of his jeans. “Yeah, there are rumors going around about that.”

  “We’ll have a better idea of what will be done on Friday. My grandfather’s attorney is coming by to go over the will. Who knows? My G-Daddy is known to do crazy things. Maybe he put in some clause that they can’t sell.” At least that’s what I wish he’d done. Then, maybe, I could still carry out my plan.

  “Yeah, I got a letter inviting me to that.”

  “You did? That means my grandfather left you something in his will.”

  He knits his eyebrows and purses his lips.

  Friday can’t get here soon enough. I don’t like to live in limbo, wondering what my future holds. I definitely don’t want to talk about it with someone I barely know. I need to change the subject.

  “What made you change your name to Ember?” I ask.

  He runs his palms up and down his thighs. I take one of the many towels stacked in my lap and wrap it around his hands. Whether it’s because we’ve been sitting still or because the temperature is dropping rapidly, the air in the shed is frigid.

  “Um, my mom was a firefighter and used to tell me stories about her favorite part of a fire. Without the embers below, the upper flames can’t reach their glory. Once you get to just the embers, the victory is almost done. But it’s a tricky little thing. An ember can blow around and ignite, causing another fire to rage. She died fighting a forest fire out west. I wanted to honor her memory and decided to go by my middle name.”

  His head is down and his bottom lip is caught in his teeth.

  I tap my gloved hands on his towel-covered ones. “I’m sorry.”

  He nods. “Thanks. Your mom seems pretty nice.”

  “Oh, Kate? She’s my stepmom.” But for all intents and purposes, she’s my real mom, just not by blood. “My parents got a divorce when I was five.”

  “How often do you see your real mom?”

  “Once or twice a year. I haven’t seen her since last year after Christmas, though. So this year is nil.”

  “That sucks.”

  I shrug. “She’s a flight attendant and has chosen a travel lifestyle over being a mom.” A shiver runs down my spine as my breath blows out smoke rings. “Jeez, can it get any colder in here?”

  Ember wraps his long arm around me and pulls my head to his chest. My body instantly warms.

  Ember grabs my hand and says, “You ready?”

  I look down at the lake water twenty feet below.

  “You can do it. I’ve got you.” His eyes light up like the summer blue sky.

  “Okay.” We step off the cliff into the warm lake waters.

  I jolt awake as the door gives way behind us and I fall back, Ember’s chest catching my fall.

  �
��Holland?” My dad’s worried face appears above us with the moon glowing behind him. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, Dad. We’re fine.”

  “Let’s go get you warmed up.” He helps me up then looks at Ember still on the ground with a stern face. “That door should’ve been fixed already. It better get done.”

  Ember holds his head down and nods.

  I want to tell Dad it’s not Ember’s fault, but then I realize it’s his job to handle those kinds of things. If I want to run this inn one day, I need to be more firm and not let small inklings of emotions, whatever they may be, get in my way.

  Chapter 10

  Ember

  The knot on my tie looks distorted. I undo it and attempt to tie it again, unsuccessfully. I haven’t worn a tie since my mom’s funeral, and it was a clip-on. I wish I had one of those right now. I toss the tie on my quilt-covered bed and put on my dad’s old suit jacket that’s a little too snug and smells like mothballs and cedar.

  I glance at myself in the mirror one last time and cringe. I look like I just stepped out of a thrift store. Mr. Garland never saw me in a tie. How can he expect me to wear one to his funeral?

  What does it even matter? It’s not like you’re going to impress her.

  After her dad found us at ten at night wrapped up in each other’s arms, she hasn’t said much to me other than move that a little to the right as we spent the day with my friends covering every inch of the inn with garland, lights, and Christmas cheer.

  I was trying to keep her warm, but all her dad seemed to care about was the broken door. I could’ve defended myself and told him the new door has been on backorder for two months after months of failed installs--not by my failure--and we’re expecting the one that should fit any day now, but I’m not one to make excuses.

  At least my friends had a good time with her yesterday. She did manage to talk to them more than she did me. They even invited her to come with us to the town Christmas tree lighting on Saturday night. I was jealous that she said yes, but only because I wasn’t the one asking her.

  We did find our way under the mistletoe hanging from Mr. Garland’s office. One of my friends shoved me at the same time Holland exited. She rolled her eyes but didn’t run away. I pulled a Mr. Garland and kissed her on her rosy cheek as the hoots and hollers sounded around us.

  My lips still tingle from that contact. I’m starting to think Mr. Garland may have known what he was talking about with her being my type.

  I walk into the living room to find my dad pacing in a black suit and tie, stone-cold sober. When I came home at eleven last night after hanging the last red ornament in the lobby, he was in bed. No empty cans strewn about or in the trash can. Maybe the old man can clean himself up and honor the man he spent thirty years working for.

  “Where’s your tie, son?” he asks.

  “You never taught me how to tie a tie.”

  “Well, it’s never too late to learn. Go get it.”

  We make our way to the community center in town, both wearing expertly tied ties. The conference room at the inn wasn’t large enough to hold the expected crowd to honor such a great man. Everyone’s invited back to the inn to celebrate his life over hor d'oeuvres and libations, gathering around the completed holiday decor.

  The family is at the entrance, welcoming everyone in.

  Dad walks right past Todd and shakes Holland’s dad’s hand. “Cory, it’s so good to see you. It’s been too long.”

  “You too, Gabriel.”

  Holland gives me a small smile as she picks at her pink-polished nails. In one of the many conversations we had while stuck in the cold shed, she mentioned how nervous she was to speak at the funeral.

  I made her practice her speech several times until she could get through it without breaking down. It helped distract her from the cold and gave me a glimpse at what her grandfather really meant to her.

  I knew they were close, but hearing the stories and plans they made together, I had no idea how close.

  Although I’m honored to have been a part of his life, seeing him through her eyes makes me feel that way even more so. I return her smile with a side hug.

  We find seats in the third row. My dad turns around and greets people as the room fills up. The response is always, Gabriel, it’s so good to see you out and about. The only place my dad ventures is to Al’s Package Store in Cedartown. He wouldn’t even do that if I was old enough to purchase alcohol.

  Mr. Garland’s family enters and sits in the front row. The pastor from the church I haven’t stepped foot in since seventh grade steps to the podium and clears his throat. The crowd settles and the pastor begins.

  “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. We’re here to honor the life of Curtis Theodore Garland, a man who was a pillar in this community since birth. His family has put together a collection of pictures and videos.” He nods to the back of the room. “We will open this celebration of life with this presentation. I should preface this by saying Mr. Garland left specific instructions for songs he wanted played.” He smiles then sits in an empty chair near the podium as the lights dim and a screen lowers from the ceiling.

  A steady drum beat and a heavy bass line fills the room, followed by chuckles. Leave it to Old Man Garland to dedicate Another One Bites the Dust to himself at his own funeral. The man had the best sense of humor. Images of Mr. Garland, from a young boy to the man I knew, flash across the screen. Family. Friends. The Garland Inn. Employees. There are even a few of Mr. Garland and me. And tons of Holland.

  The song transitions to a new one that causes moans throughout the crowd. It’s the motivation song Mr. Garland played every morning during team meet-ups--Don’t Worry, Be Happy. It got old for me after the first week, and it’s the only thing I don’t miss about him. Luckily, the song is short and the music transitions to a song I don’t know, but the chorus goes don’t you forget about me. The video ends with Mr. Garland standing in front of the inn with his fist pumped in the air.

  It makes me wonder if he produced this himself before his death. He always talked about living forever, though. So why would he create his own sign-off video?

  From my angle, I have a perfect view of Holland’s left side. The family around her all pat her on the back and mouth good job.

  The pastor returns to the podium with a wide grin as the screen rises and the lights turn back on. “Nothing could’ve captured him better. Now, I’d like to turn it over to one of his grandchildren, Holland.”

  Holland steps up to the podium, visibly shaking. Her shoulders lift and fall multiple times as she places her notes down in front of her. She glances at her dad and he nods his head. Her voice quivers when she begins the words I know by heart.

  “Thank you for coming. My g-g-grandfather would say one thing to us all. Don’t cry because I’m gone. Rejoice because I’m home. That’s why we’ve called this a celebration of life and not that F word.

  “My grandfather loved to embarrass his grandchildren. Every year for Christmas, he’d give Blake a huge box full of hair gel, saying Blake would surely run out before the summer. Last year, Blake showed me the closet full of gel, enough to keep my hair salon going for ten years.”

  Blake laughs then wipes at his eyes. I didn’t think he’d be capable of showing emotions, but his cousin knows how to pull them out.

  “My G-Daddy texted me almost every day. And he’d always say the same thing. I can’t wait to squeeze you so hard you toot. I did that once with him when I was seven; he never let me live it down. And as embarrassed as I always got when he said that, I’d give anything to have him here to squeeze me so hard I toot.”

  The crowd laughs.

  She flips her paper over and it falls from the lectern like a feather falling from the sky. Her attempt to catch it is futile. Panic crosses her face and she glances at her dad again. He motions for her to continue. Her eyes are like pinballs, bouncing from her dad to her notes then scanning the crowd.

  She locks eyes with me, and the visible an
xiety dissolves. I mouth the next part of her speech. With her shoulders relaxed, she starts to speak the words that she repeated so many times in the cold shed. I mouth, You’ve got this. And she does. With her eyes not wavering from mine, she finishes the eulogy.

  When the pastor ends the service with a prayer, my dad leans over and says, “Let’s get out of here. I need a drink.”

  Chapter 11

  Holland

  Of the fifty Garland employees, all came to the annual Thanksgiving lunch but one. And he’s the one I wanted to see the most.

  Ember left the service yesterday without saying goodbye. I noticed when he and his father slipped away at the conclusion of the prayer. I tried to catch them, but I couldn’t be rude to the people who stopped me as I tried to rush to the parking lot. By the time I made it out, they were nowhere to be seen. He didn’t show up after the service for the celebratory food at the inn.

  I had to thank him. I wouldn’t have gotten through the speech if it wasn’t for him. My heart was racing. My breathing was erratic. My body was shaking. I was about to walk away. But the moment I looked at him, everything calmed.

  And I don’t know why.

  Maybe it was because I recited my speech in the storage shed about twenty times, and he helped me tweak it to perfection. Or maybe because it brought back memories of what it felt like being wrapped in his arms. Of course he was trying to keep me warm, but I’d like to think it was more than that.

  In my panic, I found his eyes, and he mouthed the next part then everything clicked.

  Am I crazy for thinking something is there?

  I know I didn’t give him a good first impression, thanks to Uncle Todd. But I’m not the spoiled princess he thinks I am.

  Even though I was no match for him and his friends, I did my fair share of hanging, stapling, and arranging the past few days.

  And bossing. My nickname for the day was Boss. Not in a derogatory way though, at least, I didn’t get that impression. I did have some enjoyment bossing ten muscular guys around, proving to myself I might make a great leader one day like my grandfather.