Page 59 of The Christmas Box

“Yep,” I replied.

“Well,” he said, after a little more hesitation, “I’ve seen the little shop up there in town, and I remember her grandma’s business, and I know what it’s like to have something you’ve worked at end up failing. Plus, if I say no, your dad might haunt me from the grave like a ghost of Christmas past. So you head on over to my place and we’ll get started, and in the meantime, I’ll call my kids and drag them into this harebrained scheme, too.”

I thanked him, then spent the last two days working with his family on the sign. It’s simple, but it shows up well with red lettering on a white background.

THE CHRISTMAS BOX

Where Every Day is Christmas

Gifts * Homegoods * Decorations

Exit Here. Turn Right. Then Left.

Of course, I dressed it up some, not only to be attention-grabbing, but because I’m planning to be out here until after dark. I hauled Dad’s old generator from the farm, put floodlights in place, and used a tall ladder to help string big, old-fashioned Christmas bulbs around the edges. Then I bought an enormous inflatable waving snowman to tether to the ground next to one signpost.

It was awkward working with three people who clearly felt impinged upon, and I couldn’t blame them—but as the project came together, their attitudes changed, similar to how mine did while granting wishes with Lexi. By the time their parts were done, they seemed downright cheerful, wishing me good luck with it.

It’s almost two in the afternoon, and I can’t believe how many cars have pulled off, waving and blinking their lights at the crazy guy running up and down the ramp in a Santa suit, some of them slowing down to ask me exactly where to go. I’ve been waiting for one of those cars to come with flashing blue lights on top because I’m sure this is all kinds of illegal, but so far, it’s only been friendly shoppers who apparently like the idea of a Christmas store more than I ever could have suspected when I first walked in the place.

My truck sits parked in a gravel area at the end of the ramp, and when I see a sedan pull over next to it and someone waving at me from a distance, I jog in that direction—to find Helen getting out. She’s wearing some kind of plush sweatsuit instead of her usual scrubs. “Take off that suit and let me have it,” she says by way of greeting.

“Um, what?” I squint my confusion.

“I’m giving you a break,” she says. “Go get yourself some lunch. Visit with your pop for an hour or two.”

“Helen, that’s sweet, but it’s cold out here, and the cops might come rolling up to run me off at any second.”

“I’m not averse to a little cold,” she tells me. “And if they show up, maybe I’ll just run faster.” She ends on a laugh.

“Helen,” I scold her. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not?” she argues. “Besides, I know most of the po-po in these parts, and I’ll probably fend for myself better with them than you would anyway. Now c’mon. Off with the beard. Off with the coat. I just had lunch with my niece and finished my holiday shopping, and now I can’t think of anything I’d rather do on my day off than run around in a Santa suit waving folks to my girl’s shop.”

So, right there next to the exit ramp, I shed the Santa suit from over my athletic pants and sweatshirt, then help Helen into it, handing off the bell like a baton in a relay race. After which I hop back in the truck, heading to town just long enough to grab a quick slice of pizza for lunch before rushing to the manor.

But as I pass back through, a glance at the Christmas Box shows me that—like magic—it’s filled with people. LikeChristmasmagic, as Lexi’s always talking about. I guess she’s right that sometimes the magic comes from someone’s actions, someone’s care.

I don’t stop, but the vision of all those people inside stays with me, making me feel the same way I did after we snuck to Mikayla’s house, after we installed a wheelchair ramp, after we hauled that giant tree to the nursing home. Except I feel it even more this time.

Dad’s sleeping when I arrive, but when he wakes up, he’s glad to see me and enjoys hearing my tales from the last two days.

“You tell ole Rich I appreciate him coming through like that.”

“I will,” I promise.

I check the fridge to see that the last burger I brought him is still there and offer to get it heated up, but he declines. “Maybe later. Ain’t hungry.”

“You gotta eat, Dad,” I insist. “Gotta keep your strength up.”

“For what?” he asks me, chuckling. “Ain’t planning on running any marathons anytime soon. Now you best get back and rescue Helen I’m pretty tired—might just fall back asleep here shortly.”

When I get back to the exit ramp, I find Santa Helen dancing on the roadside to Wham’s “Last Christmas,” which blares from her pocket. I can see people in cars coming off the exit smiling and laughing. I almost hate to interrupt her, because she’s better at this than me—but I jog up anyway, announcing my return. “Time for you to get in from the cold, lady.”

“Already?” she asks through the flowing white beard. “I’ll tell ya what, Trav—this was fun!”

For me, as I put the suit back on and send Helen on her way, it’snotfun. It’s cold and exhausting, and I feel silly as hell. But I’d do it all night if it helps the Christmas Box stay open.

When darkness falls, I pull out a battery-charged flood light and shine it on myself. That’s how dedicated I am.

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