Page 9 of The Christmas Box

Nothing says the Christmas season is truly upon us like a good tree-lighting ceremony, and it was me who first suggested we start having the Annual Winterberry Tree-Lighting after the Hargrove-Munson Memorial Park was completed. The truth is, I donated the land for the park largely because the exorbitant cost to clear a lot that wasn’t worth much at the time made it the only sensible move. But even now that Main Street is bustling, I’m not sorry, because it’s a nice place and a fitting way to honor my family.

And this year’s tree-lighting is extra-exciting for me. As I stand near the big evergreen we’ve all been decorating for weeks, Dara is next to me, along with her mom, who she’s pushed here in a wheelchair from their small house a couple of blocks away. Helen, stationed across the park with some other Winterberrians, sends me a mittened wave.

“Ready?” Dara asks.

I nod—then find myself scanning all the friends and townspeople circled around the tree, all of us in our winter parkas and hats and gloves. Despite myself, I fear maybe I’m looking for…him. Travis Hutchins. God only knows why—because as I’d hoped, I haven’t run into him again.

He’s been in for coffee twice in the past week since our grand opening, but I was helping a customer in another part of the shop both times and Dara rung him out. Her assessment was, “As hot as I thought, but you’re right—kinda grouchy.”

It’s stayed on my mind, him being such a holiday hater. Maybe I just think it’s sad. Hating Christmas, plus having a dad who’s dying and clearly being emotionally blocked off about that—yikes.

“Hey there—how’s business at your new place?”

I look up to see the much-more-pleasant Jordan Costa from Thoroughbred Pizza, one of our popular Main Street spots, at my side.

“So far, so good,” I tell the hardworking, thirty-something guy who brought Italian food to Winterberry. The truth is, we’ve been busy and I already love my new life as a shopkeeper—but the further truth is, just yesterday Chet Wheeler gave me a number I need to reach by December 25, and I’m…concerned. If we keep up the current pace, I’ll make it, but just barely, so it’s enough to have me on edge. “Please send people my way.”

“You know I will, Lex.”

That’s when my old boss, Mayor Gary Witlow, steps up to the microphone in the nearby gazebo. “Welcome to the Seventh Annual Winterberry Tree-Lighting Ceremony.”

The crowd applauds and I can’t deny loving my little community. I could have left after my family was gone, but Hargroves and Munsons have populated Winterberry for over a century, and every time I thought about leaving, it felt like I would surely be losing more than I could ever gain. I just hope the Christmas Box thrives the same way the Winterberry Diner always did.

“After the lighting,” Gary continues, “we’ll sing some carols and drink some cocoa, but first, we’ll carry out one of my favorite Winterberry traditions, in which the proprietor of our newest Main Street business places the star on top. It’s altogether fitting that this year the honor goes to our own Alexandra Hargrove, a young woman I personally know very well. I’ve had the pleasure of working with Lexi since she graduated from the University of Kentucky until just recently, when, sadly for me, she tendered her resignation in order to follow her dream of opening a shop here on Main Street. She’s a hometown girl—and for anyone who doesn’t already know, she generously donated the land for this very park. Her family was the pride of Winterberry, and I’m sure they’re smiling down on us tonight, ready to watch as Lexi puts our star atop the tree. Step on up here, Lexi.”

The ladder has wide steps and I’ve been given a long stick-like gadget that will allow me to place the star. I’ve practiced using it on lower trees several times, but the pressure is really on now.

The mayor is still waxing poetic as I carefully begin to climb, and though I’m concentrating on the task at hand, I’m also aware that it’s just started snowing a little.

“Look!” I hear a little girl cry out. “Snow, Mommy! Snow!”

Only flurries, but the timing still seems perfect and a little magical.

As I rise higher, star stick in hand, I catch sight of a silhouetted figure in the window of the Lucas Building across the street. Travis Hutchins. He didn’t bother walking twenty steps to our community gathering, but he’s standing inside, backlit, unaware I see him watching.

My mother and grandmother taught me that when you put a star on top of a tree, you make a wish—a wish upon a star. And I always have. lot lately, in fact—getting the trees in the shop decorated before we opened had me wishing right and left. I’ve wished for happy lives—for me, for Dara, for Helen, for good health for friends and neighbors, for a thriving Winterberry, for lots of other things. And as I reach the top of the Winterberry town tree and extend the sparkling star toward the top bough, I send up one more: I wish for Travis Hutchins to find the joy of Christmas.

The wish enters my head quickly, with no time to rescind or even fine-tune it, as I slowly lower the star onto the top of the tree with careful precision. And when I gently release it, it stays—hallelujah!

While the crowd below me cheers and applauds, someone calling, “Good job, Lexi,” it hits me that I’ve come a long way in this town since being the girl who was embarrassed to walk across the gym floor alone.

And as for that wish for someone I don’t even like…well, guess I’m just a nice person. Or maybe I think finding Christmas joy might makehima better person. So I’ve officially done my good deed for Travis Hutchins.

Once I’m back on the ground, the mayor starts a countdown. “Ten, nine, eight, seven…” I keep my eye on the star, thinking of the man across the street who, frankly,seemslike he needs someone to send up some wishes for him. Maybe that’s why I did it. A pity wish. Sort of like a pity laurel.

“…Three, two, one. Light it up!”

The tree illuminates with thousands of colored lights that make us all ooh and ahh.

And me, I’m thinking about wishing. Wishing is magic. Wishing is hope. I’m still not sure why I care, but I hope my wish tonight comes true.

Travis

The tree is pretty, I’ll admit that much. But when I look at all those people getting so excited about it, I remember why I’m better off living someplace where things move a little faster, where more happens, where people aren’t so damned sentimental.

Oh God, now they’re singing Christmas carols. I feel like I’ve just shown up in Whoville on Christmas morning—next thing you know, they’ll break out the roast beast. But my heart hasn’t grown three sizes, or even one. Life’s not a cartoon.

My strange existence here has fallen into a sort of routine. My time is split between getting the old Lucas building ready for its new life as a soap shop and spending more time at the nursing home. Dad is still eating burgers like they’re going out of style and acting like a man I never knew. I’ve learned the lady with the babydoll is named Dottie, and I’ve also gotten acquainted with a number of the other “residents,” as the nursing staff respectfully calls them. Not how I saw my life at thirty playing out, but I’m used to the universe throwing me curveballs—so this is just one more. And I won’t be stuck here forever.

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