Page 52 of The Christmas Box

“The cavalry has arrived,” Helen declares, stepping out with Brent to greet us in the swirling snow.

“You head back inside,” I tell her, “and take Lexi with you. Brent, can you help me get this monster inside?”

“You got it,” he says, and few minutes later, we’re toting a snow-covered tree down the hall, weaving a path between the familiar faces wandering about on four wheels.

“Hey there, Shannon,” I call, spotting her in the doorway to her room.

“You brought our tree,” she says. And I can actually understand her! At last!

“Yep,” I say, smiling over at her.

“Oooh, the tree is here.” I look over to see Gabbi through an open door, bright-eyed at the sight as she tends to one of the residents.

Helen and Lexi wait near the nurse’s station, Helen directing us. “Right around the corner and into the cafeteria,” she tells me, pointing. “We’ve got the stand set up and waiting.”

We struggle a little to get the tall evergreen in place, and some of the residents gather around, watching, all while Bing Crosby croons “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” over the room’s speakers. Once it’s up, Helen oohs and ahhs. “What a nice tree. I’ll have to give Chuck a big thank you.”

When I meet her gaze, I can see just how deep her happiness runs. “Thanks to you, young Mr. Hutchins, all these fine folks can finally have the party they’ve been looking forward to. You’re saving the day and we can’t express our gratitude enough.”

Damn, I think I’m actually blushing—mainly because everyone is staring at me, acting like I’m some kind of hero. “It’s nothing, Helen. Really.”

But she’s not having it. “Oh, it’s something all right. It’s a very big something. And now we can thank you by including you and Lexi in our party.”

Oh crap. “That’s not necessary,” I’m quick to assure her.

“But we want to,” she insists.

I insist back. “This is for the residents—we don’t need to intrude.”

“Your dad is having a good day,” she says, trying to entice me. “Wide awake. When I told him you were coming to the party, his eyes lit up.”

Well, that got me in the gut. Guess I’m staying. “Just don’t ask me to carve the roast beast,” I say, and she and Lexi crack up laughing.

“All right, we’ve got a lot to do, people,” Helen says, flying into work mode. “We need to start getting the residents in here, and let the food service folks know it’s time to bring the refreshments. Travis, maybe you and Lexi can start stringing the lights on the tree—they’re in that box over there.” She points.

I head to the box and fish out a strand, plugging it into a socket. When the lights come on, I climb a step stool already out for the occasion. “Though I don’t like admitting this,” I confess to Lexi as she helps untangle lights, “I guess Idohave a lot in common with The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. I mean, I never stole it exactly, but I wanted nothing to do with it. And now I’m suddenly the guy who delivers the tree in a Santa hat.”

“Twice,” she says.

“Huh?” I pause in place to ask.

“You delivered a tree to Mikayla the other night, too.”

I give a little shiver, half teasing, half real. “What’s happened to me?”

Below me, she’s draping her end of the strand on some lower branches. “You’ve embraced the Christmas spirit,” she says like it’s nothing, eyes on her task.

“That’s not true,” I argue instinctively. Because it just sounds so…corny to me. “All I’ve done is get some people the things they needed to have a good holiday and lent a helping hand.”

“All while wearing a Santa hat. And that, my friend, is the Christmas spirit.”

Lexi

Burl Ives is telling us to have a holly, jolly Christmas over the speakers as Helen and I help some of the residents hang non-breakable ornaments on the tree. Travis sits talking to his dad at a nearby table, both of them sporting Santa hats. I take a break and walk over, point my camera phone at them, and tell them to smile. I’ll text it to Travis later and he’ll be glad he has it one day. Tom looks even thinner than he did at the festival—or maybe it’s because he’s only in pajamas now, with a blanket folded over his lap.

Soon enough, Helen has asked everyone to get a cup of punch, and then makes a toast. “To our friends, Travis and Lexi, who brought us this beautiful tree through the storm and have stayed to help us celebrate the season. And now,” she says, narrowing her gaze on the unwitting Santa standing next to me, “I’d like to ask Travis to honor us by placing our star on top.”

He’s giving her a what-do-you-think-you’re-doing? look. “Helen,” he says, his low voice a warning. “I told you, no carving the roast beast.”

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