Page 10 of The Christmas Box

Mr. West checked out a couple of days ago. Good for him, though I’ll miss seeing him when I’m there.

I’d planned to start clearing out the old farmhouse by now. After Dad’s gone, it’ll be mine, so I need to get it ready to put on the market. But so far I’ve only been there once—the morning I ran into Helen and Lexi on the street—to check on the place and get some winter clothes Dad wanted from his closet. I’d woken up early, unable to sleep, and went before the sun even came up. It was weird being there, and I just haven’t felt like going back.

As the crowd across the street begins to disperse, I find myself watching, trying to pick out familiar faces. But it’s dark, the night air illuminated by only the Christmas lights in the park and on the buildings, along with a few streetlamps.

I know who I’m looking for, though, and even with the lack of light, it’s not hard to narrow in on Lexi Hargrove when she approaches the front door of her shop, unlocking it to go inside. Despite myself, I’ve stayed intrigued by a woman who’s suffered such huge losses and still bounces around being all merry and bright. Has she somehow deluded herself? Or does she know some secret to life I don’t?

Turning out the last of the lights in the soap-shop-in-progress, I head up the back stairs, grab a frozen dinner from the freezer to pop in the microwave, then reach for the remote and turn on the TV. Please let there be something on besides Christmas shows.

December 2

Lexi

Dara is ringing out customers, today’s antler headgear accented by a Rudolph hoodie, while I start a new batch of hot chocolate and put on a fresh pot of coffee. We’ve just had a nice little afternoon rush, and it’s those rushes that help me believe the Christmas Box will survive to see a second holiday season next December.Please, please, please,I whisper inside—to God or whoever else might have a hand in such things.

When I hear the door sleighbells jingle just after four, I glance up to see my cousin Haley and her two adorable toddlers. My mom and her dad were siblings. I saw them just over Thanksgiving at her parents’ house up north in the Cincinnati suburbs, and I invited the whole extended family to visit the shop anytime, but given how busy people are this time of year, I didn’t expect anyone to actually take me up on it.

“Haley!” I wave from the end of the bar, then rush to meet her and the kids, currently in a double stroller that she’s just wrangled through the door.

“Lex, this place!” she exclaims. “It’s everything you said and more. Christmas heaven!”

I look around at my own personal holiday wonderland, pleased with her reaction. “Itispretty dreamy, isn’t it?”

She nods, wide-eyed, then drops a glance to the little ones. “I’m just sorry these two have already conked out. I thought they’d love it. On the other hand, this way I don’t have to worry about tiny hands grabbing at breakable things, and I can actually just, you know,shop. I’ve almost forgotten what that feels like.”

I nod—as if I know. The truth is, I secretly envy my cousin’s lovely little family, along with her wonderful marriage to her architect husband, Ben. Haley and I are near the same age and loved playing together growing up. We would daydream about the future, and I recall her wishing for a glamorous career in fashion design. Instead, she runs a bakery with her sister, Hannah, has a beautiful home, a handsome husband, and these adorable kids. In short, I sometimes feel like Haley got all ofmydreams—a small, thriving business and a loving family to come home to at night. But I finally have my shop, and as for the rest, I accepted long ago that not everyone gets the perfect happy ending, and that it doesn’t all have tobeperfect to be happy.

That’s when I shift my gaze out the front window, catching sight of enormous snowflakes against the backdrop of a certain red pickup across the street. “Looks like it’s starting to snow.”

Haley turns to see. “Oh, wow, yeah. We had some flurries last night, but this seems like more, doesn’t it? I’d better get shopping in case it keeps coming down and has me racing for home.” It’s a forty-five minute drive ingoodweather, so I get it.

“If you want to leave the stroller with me, we’re quiet right now.”

Her eyes light up. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Half an hour later, neither child has cracked an eyelid, and Haley has bought several gifts, along with new ornaments for her tree and a cute advent calendar for the wall. The snow has continued to fall, so I make sure the presents for the kids are hidden deep within shopping bags, then help her get everything to her SUV, parked just outside the door.

Cars and awnings are already covered with a layer of snow, and though the streets are only wet, the sidewalk is starting to pick up a thin coating of white, as well.

“Crazy to get such heavy snow this early,” Haley says as we buckle the babies into their car seats.

I nod. It’s not unheard of, but not normal, either. “I didn’t see a thing about this in the forecast.”

As she gets behind the wheel and we say our goodbyes, I tell her to drive carefully and text me when she gets home. By the time I’m back inside, the last shopper is headed out and the store is suddenly still and quiet other than Taylor Swift singing about a Christmas tree farm through the overhead speakers.

And I’m suddenly overcome with an inexplicable sadness.

I can’t put my finger on why—maybe it’s a lot of things.

I can’t call it loneliness—Dara is here, after all, straightening gift bags hanging on the wall. And we’ve had plenty of foot traffic today—this is the first time there hasn’t been at least one or two customers in the shop.

Maybe it’s the unanticipated snow—something I’d normally love this time of year. But Main Street emptied almost entirely in just the short time it took to get Haley on her way. Suddenly, a snowfall I would otherwise find enchanting becomes an enemy—to my business andeverysmall business trying to stay afloat on Main.

But it’s only one afternoon. And maybe it’ll stop anytime now.

I tug my phone from my pocket and pull up a weather app. After which my jaw drops before I announce to Dara, “So the forecast has changed. They’re suddenly calling for three inches before it stops tonight around eight.”

---