Page 8 of A Tinsel Tale

“Now, Sue, let Jamie eat in peace. It’s none of our business.”

“Of course, it’s our business,” she says in a huff.

Dad just shakes his head, but Mom does drop it.

We talk football, the farm, the family biz, who will do what job during the holiday rush. I help out here on most of my days off. We have two full-timers, and during the summer tourist season and the holidays we hire high schoolers to help in the shop and with the Christmas tree sales. We also have a part-time baker to help Mom out with the pies. Between that and my parents, my three brothers, sister Taylor and me, it’s pretty much covered. Gets a little hectic sometimes, but that’s a good thing, right?

My great-grandparents were the OG’s… ran a small dairy farm and sold milk and cheese to the locals. Each generation has expanded and now we’ve got a gift shop with a small café attached where we sell pie slices and ice cream, coffee and cider and whole pies to go. We sell Christmas trees, cut your own or buy one already cut. Junior, my oldest brother, got the bright idea to set up a small lot to hold goats and cows so city folk could get up close and personal. I laughed at him at the time, but damn if it isn’t the most popular attraction around. Kids love it. In the fall we do hayrides and sell pumpkins.

Our Michigan town is an all-season destination for travelers because of its small-town charm and cozy vibe. We have spectacular fall foliage. The colors are unreal. Winter brings cross-country skiers and people who want to rent a cabin on the lake and enjoy hunkering down by a fire. Obviously, spring and summer attract people in droves for the outdoors, lake beaches, boating, kayaking and fresh seasonal food. Did I say that I love my hometown? You couldn’t drag me out of here with a hundred Clydesdales.

That had not always been the case. My dream in high school was to be a pro-football player. I’d been courted by the big ten colleges and had my choice of where to go with a full scholarship. Evie and I picked the University of Michigan. We’d wanted to reach our goals together. Unfortunately, a neck injury, blown-out knee and torn rotator cuff in my senior year turned that dream into a nightmare. My chances were shot. I had to have several surgeries and extensive rehab, derailing all my plans. I hadn’t known how to cope and slipped further and further into depression. I felt like I had nothing to offer anyone. No goals… no future. I hadn’t been about to drag Evie down that hell hole with me.

Did I do the right thing by breaking up? I think so. I knew I’d only drag her down. She had way too much going for her. What could I have brought to the relationship back then? At the time I was a washed-up high school jock already put out to pasture at the ripe old age of eighteen. It’s pretty obvious it was the right call for her. She’s living her best life. At the top of the career she’d dreamed of.

Was it right for me? Who knows. I’ve had a few relationships that fizzled out. I do love being a firefighter and I’d be close to aging out of football now anyway with a hell of a banged-up body to show for it. So, I have to say it probably worked out for the best all the way around.

Liar.

Bottom line, it is what it is. As the old saying goes, that was then, and this is now.

5

EVIE

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I’m out running errands and buying last minute groceries for the feast. My best friend, Dee, her husband, Caleb, and their two-year-old daughter, Eloise, are joining us. I’m relieved it won’t be just Dad and me. I haven’t seen Dee since I got back home. Can’t wait. She and her family visited me in Chicago a couple months ago and had a blast. Nothing like lifelong friends.

I scratch off wine from the list and scowl. The next stop is Barrington Farm to pick up the two pies we ordered. The bell rings when I push through the door. I see Mrs. Barrington helping a customer so I take a few minutes to browse the gift shop side. I pick up a quilted stuffed pig that I notice is made by a local artisan. I know Eloise will love it.

I look around and see wire baskets stacked for shoppers, so I grab one and throw the pig in. They’ve really expanded their inventory. Local artists, weavers and woodworkers have displays. There are handmade cards and stationery, ceramic keepsakes, and high-quality boutique t-shirtsby Theodore. I add a box of stationery and a couple of colorful potholders to my basket and take mental notes for Christmas gift ideas.

The customer Mrs. Barrington was waiting on departs, so I slowly wander over to the café attached to the gift shop. It’s charming as well. Gleaming wood floors and high ceiling with exposed beams and a cozy gas fireplace roaring in the corner. A dozen café tables are scattered around the room. Behind the counter is an ice cream dipping station and barista set-up where they serve all sorts of specialty coffees that I see hand-written on the white board above.

I’m just about to call out when Jamie steps from the back room carrying a toddler with the Barrington’s signature copper hair. Seeing Jamie with a baby in his arms leaves me weak in the knees. I’m rocked by how hard it slams me. The little boy is giggling, his chubby arms wrapped around Jamies neck.

Would our baby have had that same beautiful hair? Well, that thought sure feels like a sucker punch to the gut. Why is all this baby stuff resurfacing now? It was over fifteen years ago!Grrr. It must be the damn holidays. I duck partially behind a coffee display trying not to freak out and I shamelessly eavesdrop.

I hear Jamie’s deep voice say, “Hey, Mom, I found this little mouse in the pumpkin patch. What should I do with him?”

“I no mouse,” he says. “I Henry.”

“Henry the mouse?” Jamie teases.

“No, Uncle Jamie. I not mouse.” His dark eyes dance. “I is a dog.”

“Iama dog,” Mrs. Barrington corrects him. I peer over the display. The cutie smiles at his grandma, his little chicklet teeth slightly protrude in an adorable way.

“I’ll go grab the rest of those pies from the back.” Jamie ducks out and returns with pastry boxes piled six high while balancing the toddler on his hip. “Mom, where do you want these?”

She glances up from her task and absently waves her hand towards the glass door refrigerators behind her. “Put them in the fridge,” she says. I try to scoot inconspicuously back to where I came from but the movement catches Sue’s attention. And of course, that would have been too easy.

Sue Barrington’s voice booms out, “Is that Evie Parker?”

I reluctantly step forward and force a smile then approach the counter. “Hi, Mrs. Barrington,” I say.

“Please call me Sue. We’re all adults now,” she says smiling warmly.

“I’ll try to remember,” I say. “It’ll take some getting used to.”

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