Page 57 of The Christmas Box

With that same questioning look, he replies, “Believe his daughter built a house on the property, near his.”

Well, this feels like a long shot, but for Lexi, it’s better than no shot at all. “Still got his number?”

“Reckon it’s in the phone book at the house, on the shelf above the microwave.” Then he grins. “And maybe I just got a notion about what’s percolating in your brain. If I’m right, and if Richard gives you any guff, you tell him it’s my dying wish.” He finishes on a wink and I’m still astounded he can be as stoic—and even jovial—about his impending demise as Helen is about everything else that goes on here.

“Listen,” I begin, “do you mind if —”

He cuts me off to say, “Nope—do what ya gotta do, and take all the time you need. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

Something about the simple words reassure me.

As I get to my feet, I wrap up his burger and say, “I’ll put this in your fridge. Maybe you’ll want one of the nurses to reheat it later.”

Dad nods. “Maybe.” Unlike usual, he didn’t even say it was good, and I almost got the impression he’s lost the taste for it. But I can’t worry about everything at once.One step at a time; deal with what’s directly before you.

On my way out, Helen exits one of the resident’s rooms in front of me. “You look like you’re on your way to a fire,” she observes.

“No, but something that feels almost as urgent,” I tell her, striding past. Only then I stop and look back. “Hey Helen, could I borrow that Santa suit of yours?”

December 21

Lexi

Today is the last Saturday before Christmas, but already I feel the loss of the season. Because it’s not the season itself I’m thinking of—it’s my beloved little shop. The weather is bright and clear for a change, and yesterday we did well—but it wasn’t nearly enough to make up for all the slow days, and I know today won’t be, either. It’s a near impossibility at this point.

As I flip theClosedsign toOpenand turn the lock, I let out a sigh. Not only are there no hordes of eager shoppers waiting to bust down my door, there’s also no Travis. I haven’t seen him, for coffee or anything else, since our midnight kisses in the snowy street.

Has it been too much for him, all the Christmas stuff I shoved down his throat? It seemed like he was having fun, but Iwaskind of pushy at times— did it all ultimately re-Scroogify him?

Or…has it been too muchme? I thought our kisses were amazing, but maybe they weren’t as great for him? Or maybe he’s realized I have real feelings for him and doesn’t return them? And maybe that’s for the best anyway because, as far as I know, despite the wish that disappeared from my pocket, he’s still not planning to be in Winterberry long term.

Basically, I’m pretty dejected.

And Dara can see it from across the room where she’s restocking rolls of wrapping paper. She knows everything that’s been going on.

“Look at it this way,” she tells me. “No matter what happens, with the shop, or with Travis, you’ve done some wonderful things to make a lot of people happy this holiday season. Nothing can change that. You’ve given a lot of people a far merrier Christmas than they’d have had without you and your wishing box and your giving heart.”

Taking all that in, I walk across the old hardwood floor and pull her into a hug. Because she’s right. No matter what I may lose in the coming days or weeks or months, she’s reminded me of the good in the world—even if some of that good came from me. But much of it also came from Travis. And Helen and Dara and the choir.

“Listen,” I say, pulling back to look at her. “If this is already the last hurrah for the Christmas Box, I’ve loved doing this with you and I’m grateful for your dedication and friendship.”

“No,youlisten,” she says in reply. “This isn’t over yet, so let’s not go throwing in the towel. How many times have you told me we have to believe, and that miracles happen every day?”

Part of me wants to argue. I truly don’t know what could happen to save the store at this late date in the holiday season. But then I glance above the shop’s old mantelpiece, where theBelievesign still hangs. Surely I can make myself believe for just one more day. “Okay,” I say, the reply quiet but earnest. “I’ll try.”

Then I deliver an overdue apology. “By the way, I’m so sorry I didn’t think about how your mom would get up the stairs to Christmas dinner. And I’m also sorry that your wish wasn’t left between you and the box. But when Travis saw it, he immediately offered to carry her up and said we shouldn’t worry about it. I mean, as long as she’s okay with that.”

Dara tilts her head to ponder it. “Hmm, will she be okay with letting a big, strong, drop-dead gorgeous younger man use his muscles to carry little ole her up to your apartment? Yes, I think she’ll survive.” Then she drops the sarcasm to add, “And it’s sweet of him. He’s a good guy.”

Words which float down through me to settle at my core. Heisa good guy. No matter what happens between us in the end. And when I think back to the teenage bad boy I once suffered that ill-advised crush on, the fact that he turned out as he did seems pretty miraculous itself. Without that, all these wishes never would have been granted.

That’s when the sleighbells announce the first shopper of the day, and I look up to see a woman I don’t know, with two girls of around eight and ten tagging along behind her. “The Christmas Box! Where every day is Christmas!” she says, beaming as she recites to me the words painted on my front window. “What a lovely idea!”

A little thrown by her enthusiasm, despite that she kind of reminds me of myself—or who I was a month ago—I smile back at her. “Welcome! Look around and let us know if you need any help.”

As she and her daughters shop, a few minutes later a thirty-something couple comes in—and the woman, in leggings and an oversize sweatshirt, seems just as entranced. “Oh, this is my kinda place! I’ve died and gone to heaven!”

Dara and I exchange what’s-happening-here? smiles before she answers, “Well, we’re glad you came by.”

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