My Red, White, & Blue Christmas

by Julie Christianson

  next day everyone will be here decorating gingerbread houses. I was thinking we could make that a competition, too, but the 4th of July parade floats are being judged that day.” She peers at me over her glasses. “What do you think, Beau? Is that too much competition?”

  “I think—”

  “You’re right. I think it’s too much. Anyway, the next day is the parade and the picnic for the 4th. Then we’ll be coming to your folks’ place afterward for fireworks.”

  Another train pulls up to the station. All aboard. “You will?”

  “After the parade, Beau. Try to keep up.”

  By now, my head’s officially spinning. This is a lot of information to take in after finding out Kasey Graham is in the same town as me. Scratch that. She’s in the same room with me. And it sounds like we’re going to be together a heck of a lot more this week. How did that happen? Who’s in charge here? Maybe I should’ve said yes to that drink Brady offered.

  Mrs. Graham nods. “You’re absolutely right, Beau.”

  Wait. Did I say something out loud? Something that was absolutely right?

  “We’ve got too many activities to keep track of.” Mrs. Graham glances at Brady. “Especially for those who struggle with time management. But I’ve got an idea.” She snaps her fingers. A real light bulb moment. “Kasey will make a big poster of the schedule to hang on the wall for everyone’s reference. You can do that for me can’t you, Kasey?” Mrs. Graham doesn’t wait for a response. She just shoves the paper at her.

  Kasey’s eyes go extra wide. She looks pretty blindsided. I know the feeling. “Sure, Mom.” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Doc Martins. Nice. Cut-off shorts and tan legs. Nicer.

  Mrs. Graham claps her hands together just once. But loudly. “Well then, I suppose I’ll just go finish up the potato salad.”

  “Hey, Mom.” Brady raises his hand like we’re back in 6th grade and she’s our teacher. “Are the snickerdoodles ready yet?”

  “No. So before you get your ugly sweater, I need you to come to the kitchen to open up some mayonnaise for me. I figure three jars ought to do it.”

  Brady snorts. “That’s a lot of mayo for cookies, Mom.”

  She frowns. “It’s for the potato salad. Now come on. Let me borrow your muscles.”

  “Still sounds like too much mayo,” he grumbles.

  “Brady, now!” Without waiting for a response, she charges back into the kitchen.

  Brady looks at me and shrugs. “Sorry, man. Catch you later.” Then he leaves me alone with his sister. Kasey Elizabeth Graham. Oh, man. I’ve told myself a million times I’d be over her the next time I saw her. But nope. Here we are. And I’m so not over her. I’m way, way under.

  For a couple of beats, we both stand there saying nothing. When I start to feel the heat creeping up my neck, I wish I had an ugly sweater on to hide it.

  “So Beau.” Kasey breaks the silence, but there’s an edge to her voice. A sharpness. “I hear you’re back from saving humanity,” she says. “One picture at a time.”

  I duck my head. “Something like that.” I was aiming for humble, but I probably sound like a jerk. I’m epically blowing it, and I don’t know how to make it better. Then again, I can’t make things much worse.

  She raises an eyebrow. “So where in the world are you off to next? What’s on the big hero’s agenda?”

  I clear my throat. “I’m in between gigs at the moment.” This is technically true, although I’ve been coordinating my next assignment for months. It’s a real score, partnering with a Pulitzer Prize winner. A once in a lifetime opportunity. But right now I just want to hang out in this living room with Kasey. “Anyway, I’ve got some free time on my hands.” I nod at the wrinkled paper. “I could probably help out with that poster.”

  Kasey cocks her head. “With what?”

  “The holiday schedule your mom asked you to make. I can help. But only if you—”

  “Fine.” She chews her bottom lip. Then she disappears down the hall. Cabinets open and shut. When she returns, she’s got a roll of butcher paper, a box of colored markers, tape and scissors. “Here you go.” She sets the supplies on the coffee table. “I’ll be back in a half hour to check your work. This is important to my mom, so try not to screw it up.”

  She spins on a heel and I watch her head back down the hallway. Wait. What just happened here, Beau?

  Man. She still really hates me. So I’m stuck here fighting some battle between wanting to fix things with her and needing to stay loyal to Brady. The guy would kill me if he knew half the stuff I’ve thought about his sister. I just have to get through this week, then I’ll be gone again. And Kasey can go back to being a memory.

  In the meantime, I said I’d help her out. So I hike up my board shorts and drop to my knees in front of the butcher paper. How different can making a poster be from making photographs? It’s all art, right? I take a beat. Wait for inspiration. Something to give me an idea of how to begin... Nope. Nada. Nothing. That’s all right. Like any new task, I won’t get anywhere without diving in, so I open the markers and the top of the box rips off in my hand. Great. Strike one, Beau.

  Moving on. This is a holiday schedule, so I should probably use the red and green markers for Christmas and the red and blue ones for the 4th of July. But markers feel too permanent. Glancing around the room, I look for a pencil to trace with. Nope. Nada. Nothing. Perfect. Markers it is. I pick the blue one first—like Kasey’s eyes—and draw a straight line across the top of the paper. When I’m done, though, my straight line looks more like a ski slope Strike two, Beau.

  I shove the blue marker back in the box thinking I’ll have better luck with red. I pop off the cap and it smells like cherries which reminds me of Kasey’s lips right before we almost kissed. And just like that, she reappears around the corner. It’s like she can hear inside my head. Like she’s magic. Maybe she is. She sure looks magical right now. Her shorts and boots are gone and she’s changed into a sundress. Green like an emerald. Like my favorite part of the Wizard of Oz. Her hair’s hanging over her shoulder in a loose braid. A braid of fire. I drop the marker.

  “How’s it going, Beau?” I open my mouth to answer her, but yeah. My throat’s bone dry. “That bad, huh?” Kasey frowns. “Here. Let me take a look.” She hovers over me, and I look up at her, but instead of checking out my total failure of a poster, she searches my eyes for a full five seconds. Then she starts cracking up. In my face. What the heck?

  “Oh my gosh, Beau! You should see yourself right now.” She stifles a laugh and ends up snorting. “Did you actually think I was going to leave you in charge of my mom’s poster thing?”

  “Uhhh...I...”

  “Oh. My. Wow.” She shakes her head.

  “Yep.” I bob my head. “I’m an idiot.”

  “Saving humanity must’ve fried your brain.” Sure. That’s what did it. This has nothing to do with you. Kasey bends over to pick up the marker I dropped at the same time Brady strolls in from the kitchen.

  “Hey.” He cocks his head. “What’s going on here?” I leap to my feet so fast I almost knock Kasey over. But I grab her wrist just in time. As she regains her footing, Brady comes toward us. “Were you just hitting on my sister?”

  “No way, man.” I put a hand up. “I was just—”

  “Dude.” He breaks into a grin. “I’m kidding.”

  “Okay. Sure. Cool. Cool.” My whole face burns and Brady turns to Kasey.

  “Check this guy out, Kase.” He cackles. “My boy Beau here is squirming like I was about to punch his lights out.”

  She shrugs. “Go ahead and deck the guy. I don’t care one way or another.”

  I force a smile even though three quarters of the Graham family are straight up killing me. Any minute now, Mr. Graham’s going to show up and accuse me of drinking everything in his cooler. So I make a show of checking my watch.

  “Oh, hey. Look at the time. I promised Natalie I’d get the truck back before dinner. We’re
sharing it this week, and she wanted to go waterskiing. If I’m any later...well...”

  “What would Nat do?” Kasey tilts her head. “Put Ex-Lax in your brownies?”

  “Ha! Brownies! Right!” I try on a laugh, even though I have no idea what Kasey’s talking about. “Anyway, I need to get going.” But the truth is, I don’t need to get going. I need to get a grip. Then I need to get it through my thick skull that having feelings for Kasey Graham is impossible.

  First of all, she’s obviously still mad at me. And Brady obviously doesn’t want me anywhere near his sister. Add those together, and Kasey’s off limits. Way off. Always has been. Always will be.

  I’m about to show everyone how way-off-limits Kasey Graham is by taking off and never coming back when Mr. Graham barges through the front door. He’s sporting nutty professor hair, a pair of cargo shorts, and a golf shirt. Under his Birkenstocks he’s got a pair of socks that reach his knees. He’s also weighed down by a dozen cartons of butter.

  “Daddy!” Kasey hurries over to hug her father and his butter.

  “Hey there, sweetheart,” he says. “It’s about time you got here. You know you’re late for Christmas, don’t you?”

  “Good to see you too, Dad.” She kisses his cheek and I almost feel jealous. Of Phillip Graham. And his cheek. I am definitely off my game.

  “Beau!” he bellows. “Great to see you again. Twice in one day, huh?”

  “Yep.” Lucky me. “Can I help you with that butter, sir?”

  “Oh, no, no.” He chuckles. “I’ve think I’ve got everything pretty well balanced.” He glances at Kasey and Brady. “Don’t you make any sudden moves either, or this whole tower of Pisa here might topple.”

  I take a step toward the door, preparing to make my escape. “In that case, I’ll be heading out.”

  “Hold on, son.” Mr. Graham jams his chin on the leaning tower of butter so it won’t fall. “Leaving so soon?”

  “I regret that waterskiing calls.” I regret that waterskiing calls? Why am I talking like this? When did I become Nathan Hale? “Anyway, have a good one.” To add to my weirdness, I salute the Grahams because apparently I can’t stop being an idiot.

  “All righty, Beau,” Mr. Graham says. “My better half tells me we’ll be seeing your family for the cocoa and caroling shindig tomorrow.”

  I blow out a breath. “Wouldn’t miss it sir.”

  Kasey pipes up. “You’d better start preparing your song, Beau.”

  “Preparing my what?”

  “Didn’t my mom tell you?” Her mouth tilts up on one side. “Everyone has to take at least one turn leading a carol.”

  “Sure, sure. Cool.” I run a hand through my hair. “I get it. This is another one of your jokes, right?”

  Brady smirks. “Nope. That’s the rule, man. And I already got dibs on O Holy Night. I like to really nail those high notes, so don’t even think about picking that one.”

  “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  But I might have a nightmare tonight.

  4

  Holiday Schedule!

  E

  laine Graham’s Christmas in July Holiday Schedule For Time Management!

  Sun: Ugly Sweater Dinner & Tree Trimming!

  Mon: Cocoa & Caroling!

  Tues: Gingerbread House Decorating!

  Wed: Picnic, Parade, Fireworks!

  Thurs: The Big A-Fair & Christmas Eve!

  Fri: Christmas Day & Packing!

  Sat: Kasey Returns to LA & Her New Job!

  *Poster Made by Kasey but Don’t Blame Her!

  (Especially for the exclamation points...)

  5

  Kasey

  I

  n case you were waiting on the edge of your seat for the results of our Ugly Sweater Competition, I didn’t win. My cousin Mac and his snowman monstrosity took home that prize, that is if one of Auntie Ann’s fruitcakes can be considered any kind of trophy. Then everyone laughed so hard during dinner, we could barely eat all the corn. Afterward, when we trimmed the tree, I won the award for most broken ornaments. I had a grand total of three, but only one of the casualties was my fault. The other two came out of the box cracked.

  Auntie Ann blamed Uncle Irv for those first two broken ornaments, claiming he roughed up the box with his “big ham hands.” To prove I had no hard feelings, I topped up my uncle’s eggnog. Then I dropped my teddy bear ornament. Its head popped clean off on the hardwoods.

  Three broken ornaments: Check!

  The beheading might’ve made me sadder if I hadn’t been sure the teddy bear ornament is actually Brady’s. I didn’t say anything last night, but I distinctly remember wishing I’d gotten that teddy bear instead of the ornament I did get that year—which was a hippopatomus. Who even makes a Christmas ornament out of a hippo? I’m just saying. It’s not a bad question.

  Ornament catastrophes aside, the rest of the night went off without a hitch, except that my cousin Ford couldn’t join us. He’s a firefighter who’s on-call Sundays. But since he lives here in Abieville full time, his absence wasn’t a deal breaker. Everyone agreed the bigger coup was having me back in town. (Cue the blushing.) But the biggest coup was getting all four of Aunt Remy’s kids and her one non-talking grandchild here.

  Mac is the oldest of the ten cousins. His sisters—Darby, Olivia, and Tess—are triplets. They’re also the youngest cousins, because once the Bradford sisters realized they might end up with surprise multiples, they stopped making children. Triplets aren’t necessarily problematic, but most houses in Abieville only have one bathroom, so having fewer kids just makes good sense.

  Something that doesn’t make sense—but reveals everything you need to know about my mother and her sisters—is that all four of them have sons named Bradford. Yep. Can you just imagine how those phone calls went?

  Aunt Remy: Ted and I named our boy Bradford!

  Auntie Mae: Cubby and I named our boy Bradford!

  Auntie Ann: Irv and I named our boy Bradford!

  My mom: Guess what Phil and I named the baby!

  Mac was the first of the Bradford boys. His nickname is Mac because of his last name, which is McCoy. Next up is Three. His nickname would be more logical if Three had been the third boy named Bradford, but very little is more logical in Abieville. Especially Three. Ford is the actual third Bradford boy. Then came Brady. He’s the last one, and it comes as no surprise to me that my brother broke that mold.

  Of course there’s a whole other mold for the females. A superior mold, if you ask me. Three’s sister Nella belongs to Auntie Mae and Uncle Cubby. Ford’s sister is Felicity. We call her Letty and she belongs to Auntie Ann and Uncle Irv. Would a flow chart be handy? Just kidding. I don’t have a flow chart.

  What I do have is The Official List of Carols our group will be singing tonight. That’s right. I’m standing in the doorway with a clipboard to add songs to the list as people arrive. The carolers already here are inside sipping hot cocoa even though it’s eighty-five degrees.

  I wipe a bead of sweat from my brow. Why did my mother put me in charge of music? I can’t even carry a tune. Hot cocoa and whipped cream is more my jam, but Mom asked Brady to manage the beverages.

  Great. Here come the Slaters.

  Mr. and Mrs. Slater are both clutching bouquets of mini American flags to stick in people’s yards. This makes sense since we’re caroling on the 2nd of July. When I ask for their titles, Betty requests The First Noel. Then Dale claims Jingle Bell Rock. I tell him he’s quite the rebel.

  I just wish I could stop sweating.

  Standing behind them is Natalie. Ugh. She’s dressed up like Santa’s Helper carrying a giant bag of gifts. Ugh. She looks so cute. Why didn’t I think of wearing something like that? She tells me she wants to sing Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas is You. I tell her I’m not surprised. But I am surprised when she pulls a plate of brownies from her giant bag. The plate is wrapped up in cellophane and tied up with a big red bow. But still. Brownies.


  “I hope everyone loves walnuts!” she gushes.

  Sure. With a side dose of Ex-Lax.

  At least Nat’s brownies give me an excuse to leave my door post before it’s Beau’s turn. I rush over to Brady and hand him the clipboard. “Tag, you’re it, brother. I’ve got to put these in the kitchen.” I almost shove the plate directly in the trash, but decide Natalie probably wouldn’t sabotage everyone just to mess with me. To be sure, though, I’m going to steer clear of her brownies tonight, just like I’m steering clear of Beau Slater.

  Before our departure, we assemble outside. It’s after seven o’clock but it’s also July, so the sun hasn’t set yet. Mom does a head count while I swat at flies buzzing around us. It almost feels like summer camp until Mom starts handing out the Santa hats and scarves she knitted. (For the record, she’s almost as bad at knitting scarves as Auntie Ann is at baking fruitcake.)

  Big Mama’s still got a stomachache so she’s staying home tonight. So are Auntie Mae and Uncle Cubby. That’s because their house is our last stop, so they offered to drive everybody home after. Good thing, since by then we’ll probably run out of both mini flags and steam.

  Our motley crew makes our way up Main Street first.

  “Kasey!” Mom calls out because I’m walking near the front of the pack. “Do you still have The Official List of Carols?”

  “You mean since the last time you asked me? Yeah, Mom. I’m still good.” She grins at me from the rear of our group where she’s strolling next to Mr. and Mrs. Slater. Brady, Beau, and Natalie are behind me. Too close for comfort, if you want my opinion.

  “Who’s going first?” Natalie asks. “I’ll volunteer if no one else wants to.”

  “Wow, Nat. That’s so nice of you.” Yeah. What’s your agenda? “The first song’s supposed to be O Come All Ye Faithful,” I say.

  “No problem!” She climbs the steps and knocks on the door of the tri-colored Craftsman owned by Evelyn and Hank Miller. The rest of us stay on the sidewalk clutching our mini flags and cocoa mugs. Hank Miller opens the door and takes in the scene. Over his shoulder he shouts for his wife.