by Nancy Thayer
Christina smiled. “You’re a gentleman.”
“Gentleman, hell. I’m a saint!” Andy joked.
He walked her to the door, waited until she was safely inside, waved at her, and drove away.
Christina opened her eyes when her alarm clock chimed six-thirty. Mittens was curled next to her. Her bedroom curtains were closed, but the room seemed unusually bright.
“Mittens. It’s cold in here, babe.”
She sat up, pulled on her fluffy robe, and slid her feet into her slippers. At the window, she pulled her curtains back. She gasped.
Overnight, the island had become a winter wonderland. The ground was piled deep with drifts, the trees were straight from fairy tales, and the snow was still falling in great fat flakes.
“Oh, no.” Christina hurried down to the kitchen, turned the heat up, and started boiling water for coffee. Usually falling snow lifted her spirits, but today Oscar was supposed to come to work.
Would Oscar Bittlesman actually come to the shop? Would he even be able to get to the wharf? She knew the DPW had probably plowed and sanded the roads, but the snow was falling fast. She didn’t think she’d have many customers today.
She checked her phone for missed messages. Nothing. She took her coffee and toast into the living room and sank onto the sofa to check out the weather on television. She could find the same information on her phone, but she liked to see the big picture on the big screen—was this a long lasting winter storm? They’d had several in the past few years.
And they had one now. Snow had fallen over the entire Northeast, shutting down the MBTA in Boston and turning the expressways into parking lots. The blizzard was barreling down from Canada, and it wasn’t going to stop any time soon. School was canceled all over Massachusetts, and in Nantucket.
Flicking off the television, she looked out her window at the street. It had been plowed, but her driveway was deep in drifts. The blanket of white was beautiful, but a giant hassle. Fortunately, she drove a four-wheel-drive Jeep that could roar down a sandy beach and would take on the snow easily.
But her shed would be cold.
She quickly showered and dressed for the day. As she slipped into her silk underwear and her fleece shirt, she wondered whether she should phone Oscar to tell him not to try to come in today. But that might insult him. She’d let him decide. She pulled on her fleece-lined boots and warmest gloves, shoved some extra gloves in her bag, and coated her mouth with lip balm. Mittens was still asleep in the middle of her bed.
“Tough life,” she said to the cat, who did not bother to open even one eye.
She dumped dry food in the cat bowl, pulled on her down coat, and set out into the snowy day.
She let her Jeep warm up as she scraped the windows free of snow and ice. By the time she got back into it, she was covered with snow herself. She put the car in reverse. It shuddered for a moment, then bucked like a horse and roared its way through the snow to the street.
On the way to work, she passed children building snowmen and guys out with snowblowers and orange DPW trucks clearing streets. Not until she was down near the pier did Christina realize that in the few minutes she’d been out, the wind had picked up. When she was settled in her shop, she’d phone Jacob for a forecast. With all his equipment and knowledge, he was better than the Weather Channel for the faraway island of Nantucket.
Other shops along Main Street were open. Their lights cheered her immensely. It could feel lonely out on the wharf. And as she walked to her shed, she realized she’d be really lonely because the Hy-Line ferry wasn’t running. That predicted a massive, long-term blizzard. Mimi’s shop was open, and so were Jacob’s and Harriet’s, and someone had shoveled paths from the street down the wharf and right up to each shop door.
A path to her door had also been cleared. Probably Jacob had done it; he was so helpful that way. Inside, she turned on the lights and set her small electric heater to high. She kept her coat and hat on while she set up the cash register for the day. She doubted that she’d have much foot traffic, but she set about tidying up her display cases.
Her phone buzzed. “Do you think anyone will actually shop today?” Harriet asked. “I’m freezing in here.”
“I’m cold, too, but my heater will warm me up. You should put on one of your cashmere caps and wrap a shawl around you. You’ll survive. By the way, Andy took me to a party at the Bishops’ house last night. I told several women they really should check out your shop.”
“That’s so nice. Thanks, Christina! Oh! Must go!”
Through her window, Christina watched two women in fur coats and hats make their way through the snow to Nantucket Couture.
Several times that morning, people came by the toy shop. Business wasn’t brisk, but it was good enough. It was only three days until Christmas so Christina and the other Shedders stayed in their shops through lunch, not wanting to risk losing a single customer.
The wind was rising. It drove the falling snow into fanciful arabesques, and it whistled through the cracks in the wooden walls of the sheds. Christina knew it would be a struggle to make it through this cold day.
She assumed Oscar wouldn’t show, but when she saw a hunched male figure wearing a camel overcoat come stomping through the snow, she smiled and hurried to open the door for him.
“Oscar! You made it!”
Oscar powered through the door into the relative warmth of the shop. “What, you thought a little snow would keep me away?”
“Well, it’s kind of wild out there. I’m impressed. Why don’t you take that stool over there by the heater—”
“I don’t need special treatment!” He started to take off his coat, thought again, and buttoned it back up.
“And I’m not giving you any. That’s where Wink sits when she’s sorting the small items back into their proper tubs. Like, the mermaids go here, and the mood rings go here—”
“For Pete’s sake, I can figure it out, woman!”
“Then I’ll leave you to it.” Christina hid a smile as she turned away. Oscar clearly was angry that he’d come here, and he was going to be angrier once he tried to pick up those tiny whales and shells with his big fat fingers.
A moment later, the after-lunch rush began. Parents and children swarmed through the front door, sometimes making a beeline for the toy they knew they wanted, sometimes asking Christina for suggestions.
“I’ve got my entire family coming for Christmas,” Maggie Merriweather told Christina. “So I’ve got gifts for my grandchildren, but there’ll be about five or six cousins of various ages and I’d like to get a little something for them…I don’t even know if they’re boys or girls, and I don’t want to spend a fortune, and I certainly don’t want to have to return anything.”
Christina smiled. Maggie’s curly red hair had been shaped by the wind into an elfish swirl. “Why not get five of these,” Christina said, showing Maggie the Surprise Bags. “They each cost five dollars, and there’s a variety of cool things inside. Squishy squeezy animals and scented Silly Putty and wind-up penguins—they’re always a hit. Other customers have been more than satisfied with them.”
“You’re the answer to my prayers,” Maggie said. “I’ll take six.”
“Put that back now, young man!” Oscar roared.
Christina whirled around. Oscar was standing over a little boy who gazed up at Oscar in terror.
“Is there a problem, Oscar?” Christina asked in her sweetest voice.
“This kid just stole a bag of marbles!” Oscar said.
“My son would never steal!”
It was Joyce Robinson, an obese and scrappy island woman known for getting drunk and fighting in bars. Oscar had met his match in her, but Christina didn’t want an unpleasant scene in her shop.
“Your son put a bag of marbles in his pocket. Check it out. He’s a little thief!�
� Oscar contended.
The little boy had tears in his eyes. Any moment now, he’d break into a full-on wail.
Christina hurried around the counter. “Oscar, I know Joyce and Billy. Billy would never steal. I’m sure he put them in his pocket so his hands were free for other things.”
“Yeah, other things to put in his pockets,” Oscar growled.
“Don’t you dare talk about my son that way!” Joyce snapped. She grabbed her son’s hand. “Come on. We’re leaving!”
“Take the marbles out of his pocket first,” Oscar demanded.
The boy’s mouth quivered as he lifted the bag of marbles from his pocket.
“Would you like to buy these?” Christina asked gently.
“After the way that man treated us, you ought to give them to us,” Joyce argued.
Aware that other customers were watching, Christina said politely, “I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”
“Didn’t think so.” Joyce sniffed. She took the marbles from her son, threw them at Christina, and dragged her son out the door, leaving it open for the snow to blow in.
“Sorry, everyone,” Christina apologized, smiling at the other customers. “We’re all emotional during the Christmas season.”
People went back to choosing toys. Christina quietly led Oscar to the back of the store.
“Could you please check the price stickers on these boxes? They keep falling off. I got a bad batch.”
“Busywork,” Oscar grumbled.
“My shop is all busywork,” Christina told him.
Returning to the counter, she rang up some customers and directed others to the lighthouses or tea sets or Legos. She had fifteen happy minutes before Oscar growled again.
“Don’t buy that!” Oscar ordered. “Can’t you see how cheesy it is?”
Christina nearly leapt over the counter, hurrying to get to the back.
“Oscar,” she said, keeping her voice calm, “those little mermaid sets are handmade, one of a kind. The artisan lives on the island, and she takes exquisite care with her work.”
“I can see that,” the customer said. “I think my niece would love it.”
“Yeah, if she likes being the odd one in her school,” Oscar said.
“Oscar!” Christina said, only with the greatest self-control refraining from shouting.
“I suppose you’re right,” the customer said. She put the mermaid set back. She turned and hurried out of the store.
The door opened, and several more customers blew in. Because other people were around, Christina couldn’t argue with Oscar about losing business for her. Thinking quickly, she said, “Why don’t you run the register? I’ll organize the shelves. You know how to use a register and a credit card machine, right?”
“Of course!” Oscar replied.
Oscar took his place at the register. Christina moved around the shop, replacing fallen toys, asking customers if she could help. For a while, everything ticked along pleasantly.
Then she heard a customer say, “I want a discount on this pirate ship. It has a ding in it.”
“It’s a pirate ship!” Oscar barked. “It’s supposed to have a ding in it!”
Christina looked. The ship was one of the largest ones, its sails fastened with complicated rigging. It was an expensive item, one that few people would buy. Even with a discount, Christina would make a profit.
Christina slid silkily up to the customer. “I do agree with Oscar. Pirate ships should probably be even more battered than this one. Oh, look, it’s only a slight dent. Oscar, give this gentleman a ten percent discount on this item.”
“I will not!” Oscar said.
Christina took a deep breath. She didn’t want to insult the man who owned the building her shop was in. But she couldn’t let him act like a bully.
“Oscar, I think you need a breather. I have a thermos at the back of the store, over by the picnic baskets. Why don’t you have a break, and I’ll finish with this customer.”
Oscar glared at her. Christina glared right back at him.
“I’d like to buy this fairy,” a woman said, getting in line behind the pirate ship customer.
Reluctantly, Oscar left the counter and straggled to the back of the store. Christina gave the customer a ten percent discount and she rang up a lovely big amount on his credit card. She sold the fairy to the woman. In spite of the snow, customers continued to enter the shop, murmuring to themselves or their friends about what they needed to buy. Oscar stood with his back to Christina, arms folded over his chest, sulking.
Could this get worse? Christina wondered.
A large woman set a tiny birdhouse on the counter. “Do you gift wrap?”
Christina couldn’t imagine what a package wrapped by Oscar would look like, and she couldn’t leave him to tend to customers. “I’m sorry, we can’t today,” Christina told her. “I’ll lay it in red tissue and put it in a bag for you.” Turning her head, she asked politely, “Oscar, I’ve run out of small paper bags. There’s a stack of them in the cupboard below the picnic baskets. Could you bring me some?”
Oscar muttered something incomprehensible, but did as he was told. As he approached the counter, he stopped short, looking offended. “You’re going to put that little thing in a bag? You could easily put it in your enormous purse. Do you have any idea how much those bags cost?”
The large woman’s eyes went wide. She backed away from the counter.
Christina had had it. “Don’t mind him,” she whispered to the woman. “Alzheimer’s. I’m taking care of him today.”
The customer smiled weakly. Christina carefully wrapped the birdhouse in tissue and tucked it into one of her paper bags.
“Thanks for coming,” she said.
She took care of two other people, and then the shop was, for the first time in almost an hour, quiet.
“Oscar, your hour’s almost up. Wouldn’t you like to leave now? Go home and get warmed up?”
“Don’t try to make me think I’m a weakling,” Oscar said. “I’m staying my full hour!”
“Then maybe you’d just sit on that stool and, um”—Christina thought desperately for a task Oscar could do that would keep him from insulting her customers—“maybe keep an eye out for shoplifters?”
“Fine!” Oscar plumped himself down on the stool. After a moment, he said, “It’s cold in here!”
“I’m glad you noticed,” Christina said pleasantly.
Before Oscar could respond, more customers entered. For a good ten minutes, everything was calm.
Angie Rogers stepped into the store, her three-year-old twins, Spruce and Plum, on either side. “Now you be good and just look,” she told them. “Mommy has to buy something.”
As if hurled from a slingshot, the twins flew away from their mother, each one down a different aisle of the store.
“What can I help you find?” Christina asked. Angie was a very nice woman, but a bit of an airhead.
Before Angie could even respond, Spruce, the angelic-looking boy twin, made a putting sound and raced down the aisle with his hand straight out, knocking ships, dolls, small books, hand-carved whales, and innumerable rubber toys onto the floor.
“Stop that at once!” Oscar yelled.
“Oh, dear, what’s he done now?” Angie asked, drifting to her son.
Spruce looked up at Oscar. Christina held her breath. Spruce must be terrified of the snarling old man.
With a grin, Spruce began jumping up and down, landing on the toys he’d scattered on the floor.
“What is your problem?” Oscar yelled at Angie. His face was a bright red, tending toward purple. “Stop your demon child at once, or I will!”
“Oscar,” Christina said with quiet determination, “please stop. Angie, maybe you’d better come back when your children are with a babysitter.�
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Angie was crouched on the floor, picking up toys and tossing them into baskets.
“Mommy,” Plum said, coming around the corner of the counter with a small stuffed puppy in her hands. “Can I have him?”
“Angie,” Christina said, “don’t worry about the mess. It won’t take me long to fix it. And that puppy is eight dollars.”
“Eight dollars?” Angie looked as if she’d been stabbed. “No, Plum, we can’t get that puppy today.” Taking both her children’s hands, she dragged them out of the store, all three of them complaining loudly.
For a moment, the shop was empty. Christina stood watching out the window to see if other shoppers were headed her way and forcing herself to take deep breaths. When she knew she could keep from screaming at him, she turned to face Oscar.
He was picking up the toys Spruce had left. “That child’s a menace.”
Christina smiled. “Oscar, have you never worked in retail before?”
Oscar rose to his full height. “You know very well I’m the CEO of a multimillion-dollar investment firm. I have hundreds of employees.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t answer my question.” She kept her eyes leveled at him. “In a small shop like this, it’s necessary to make the customers feel welcome. You can’t tell them what to do. They’re not your employees.”
“No, they’re thieves and idiots!”
Christina put her hands on her hips. “They are children. They’re hyper with excitement. Their parents’ nerves are on edge, they’re overwhelmed trying to put together a lovely warm holiday, and everyone’s just a little bit crazy. The shop owner needs to be tolerant, and helpful, and kind.”
“When I agreed to come here, I didn’t sign up for a lecture,” Oscar snarled.
“That’s true,” Christina agreed. “And fortunately for both of us, your hour is up.”
Oscar checked his watch. “Humph.” He was still wearing his wool cap and gloves. “I’ve been here an entire hour, you agree?”
“I agree.” Her heart was in her throat when she asked, “And do you still believe the rent increase is justified?”