Page 40 of The Christmas Box

She arches her eyebrows. “A misery for you then, I presume.”

I want to say yes. Again, I have a reputation to preserve. But just like last night in the park, I’m honest. “They weren’t awful.”

In response, she smiles like she knows something I don’t. Like she thinks she’s reformed me. So I set her straight. “Don’t get all excited. My heart still hasn’t growing three sizes like the Grinch’s or anything like that. No ‘dah-who dor-aze’ over here.”

Yet at this she casts a smug glance to say, “Hmm. You know the words to the Whos’ song.”

“I know the words tolotsof The Who’s songs,” I inform her teasingly.My Generation,Pinball Wizard,Magic Bus.

At this, the trill of her pretty laughter echoes down through me. “My mother and grandmother knew all those songs, too, from like a hundred years ago. Different Whos and you know it.”

“Okay, okay,” I confess, giving her a grin. “So arrest me and take me to Christmas jail. Or—wait, don’t, because that would be the worst torture I can imagine.”

She just laughs some more, and so do I.

“And what can I say? I like vintage stuff. Music. Movies. Automobiles.” I hike my thumb in the general direction of my truck.

“And Christmas cartoons, apparently,” she points out.

I just roll my eyes, butama little embarrassed that I seem to remember everything that ever happened in Whoville. Then I cross the room and peer down at the box I built for her. “So people have kept on putting wishes in here, huh?”

She flashes a proud smile. “If this shop were a sundae, the wishing box would be the cherry on top. People are enchanted by it—just as I knew they would be.”

“Well,” I say, “I have a big question for you about this box.”

She appears intrigued, and still just as merry. “What’s your question, Mr. Scrooge?”

“What now?”

She blinks, giving her head a puzzled tilt. “What do you mean?”

“What’s gonna happen when no one’s wishes come true?”

At this, her face droops a little, telling me this has never crossed her mind. She nibbles her lower lip slightly, then tries to force a smile back into place. “Maybe some of them will?”

“What makes you think so?” I shoot at her. I’m not trying to be difficult—just realistic. I made the box, after all, and maybe I feel some weird level of responsibility now, despite myself.

“Well,” she reasons aloud, “if a little girl wished for a Barbie doll for Christmas, she’s probably also told her parents and maybe written it in a letter to Santa they’ve seen. I’m sure most of the kids’ wishes are like that—gifts their parents already know they want. And others might come true because…they just do.”

“I disagree,” I tell her firmly. “I think that box is giving people false hope.”

When her expression goes grim, I can see I’ve poked the bear. “No hope is false,” she claims vehemently. “I’ve told you before—wishes, and hope, are like prayers. .And sometimes prayers are answered.”

“But sometimes they aren’t.”

Now she goes from grim to downright combative, scowling at me. “Yes, if someone wishes for Santa to drop a Maserati in their driveway on Christmas morning or to be crowned the king of England, those probably aren’t gonna come true. But I think most people wish for things thatcanhappen and reallymighthappen.”

I let my brow knit, pondering it myself, but in a different way than her. “First of all, I think people are just as likely to wish for something improbable as they are for things that have a good chance of happening. But my point is…if there are things in that box thatcanhappen—if somebody knows about them—then maybe you should see if there are some you can…help along.”

She looks like I just dropped a bombshell on her. Her eyes go even wider. “I believe in the power of wishing, but you expect me to personally be some kind of a…wish magician?”

I’m still putting this together in my head, but I tell her, “Look, it’s not about being a magician—it’s about finding ones you can help with, from a logistical standpoint. And okay, sure, I’ll agree that most gift wishes from kids are probably already on their parents’ radar. But if somebody’s wishing for something ‘gettable’ that their friends or family probably don’t know about—maybe you drop a hint to the right person or something. That’s all. Just…do alittlemagic.”

She still looks just as puzzled, though. “How do we evenseethe wishes?” she asks like she thinks she’s stump me. “How do we get them out of the box, Houdini?”

I just tilt my head. “Lexi, Lexi, Lexi. Do you really think I would built a box without a way to open it?” And with that, I walk over, pick up the box, and carry it to the counter. After which I tell her, “The bottom slides out,” and pull the slat from the grooves that hold it in place. “Voilà!”

All the wishes of Winterberry drop out in a pile on the bar.

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