Page 20 of The Christmas Box

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Dara says.

She’s carrying the top of the fake Christmas tree and I’m toting the wider bottom. We’re lugging it up the old metal stairway that runs along the outside rear of the Lucas Building. Which is snow-covered. Which I didn’t factor in to this. So it’s a little treacherous, but we’re careful and make it up okay.

The door to the apartment is unlocked. Which Ididfactor in and got lucky with. I’m not sure Travis ever even uses this door, but I happen to know Wally and Edie never locked it back when the furnished apartment upstairs was vacant, just in case someone needed to drop something off after business hours.

As the two of us drag the tree inside, we’re met by a familiar white dog. “Marley!” I say in greeting. “Well, well, well—looks like your brush with death got you a home.” I feel smugly victorious. “And he claims he doesn’t like dogs.”

She’s wagging her tail, clearly happy to see us, too. But she’s also peed on the floor, which I decide I’ll clean up before I leave. One less black mark against her with Travis.

“Um, where are we going with this thing?” Dara asks.

“Sorry—got sidetracked there.” I scan the small studio apartment and see the perfect spot. “In front of the windows.” Three connected sash windows line the front of the old building, providing a nice view of Main Street.

After we get the tree set upright—one that came conveniently in one piece, no assembly required—Dara asks, “Okay, what next?”

“You go back for lights and ornaments, and I’ll clean up the dog pee. Unless you’d rather swap tasks.”

“Nope, lights and ornament-fetching it is. I’m on it.”

Ten minutes later, the floor is clean and dry, I’m trying to school the dog on using the paper Travis has set out, and Dara is wrapping twinkling colored lights around the six-foot artificial Norwegian spruce.

She grabbed simple garden-variety ornaments—packages of colored glass balls—which I walk over and join her in hanging.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she says doubtfully.

But I just shrug. “It’s the opposite of being a Grinch. HestoleChristmas trees—I deliver them instead.”

“Only I don’t think Traviswantsa Christmas tree,” she insists on reminding me.

“Or,” I say, “maybe he doesn’tknowhe wants a Christmas tree. But now that it’s here, who wouldn’t enjoy it? Some lights will makemyview nicer from across the street anyway.” As a final touch, I arrange a red, knitted tree skirt around the bottom. After which I move a few steps back and take in our handiwork with pride.

Dara lets out a sigh. “Itischeerful.” Then she glances out the window. “Hey, it stopped snowing and the sun is actually out. And—oh my God.”

“Is he back?” I ask, rushing closer. “Please tell me he’s not back.”

“No, over there!” She points across the street to the Christmas Box, where no less than seven people are standing outside the door, clearly trying to get in and wondering why it’s locked at this hour.

“We can’t let ’em get away!” I declare. “You grab the ornament boxes and make sure Marley doesn’t get out while I dash back to the shop!”

“Don’t slip on the steps!” she calls as I fly out the door.

I nearly do, but catch myself, then scurry the rest of the way down.

Emerging from the narrow alley between the Lucas Building and the antique mall, I see that now cars line Main Street and Saturday shopping has indeed commenced. “Ladies,” I call. “Sorry you had to wait—I ran an errand, but I’m so glad to see you all!”

“Well,” says Marianne Jorgensen, an older woman I’ve known my whole life, “I heard you had some kind of a special box to put wishes in, so I brought my grandkids.” Indeed, the two little ones, a boy and girl of around five or six, are peering eagerly in the window as if expecting to catch a glimpse of Santa.

“We heard about the box, too.” Wendy Acara, still looking as blond and pretty as in high school, is with her older sister and niece.

“How did you guys find out about it?” I ask, unlocking the door. I have no idea how word got out so quickly.

Marianne says, “I was visiting my mother at Bluegrass Manor and some of the nurses were chatting about it.” Hmm, maybe Travis mentioned it to Helen?

And Wendy replies, “My mom was talking to Mrs. Burch on the phone last night and said Dara was raving about it.”

Holding the door open to usher them all in, I say, “Come in, come in! The wishing box is right over there by the mantel.” I point. The “And feel free to grab some coffee or cocoa on the house since I kept you waiting.”

By the time Dara is back five minutes later, wishes are being made, hot chocolate poured, and purchases gathered. Wendy Acara’s arms are loaded down before I can even offer to hold her selections behind the counter until she’s ready.

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