Page 4 of The Art of Being Merry
Not to toot my own horn, but man, is this spectacular.
Thinking back to last year’s display, mine puts it to shame. If only in my head. It’s nothing I’ll admit out loud to another soul. Not even the girl I shared a womb with. This secret I’m taking to my grave.
“It’s truly gorgeous. Stunning, even. I’m not sure how you pulled off the elves.”
I spin at the sound of my brother-in-law’s voice. Beckett’s there, taking in the sights with awe in his eyes.
“From one winner to another, I thank you. It’s amazing, if I say so myself.”Oops.A little boasting is okay, right?
“It’s really something, Clem. The people of Winterberry Junction are going to love it. Hopefully, they’ve all gotten over the fact that a transplant won.”
I inwardly cringe at his statement but don’t let the feelings out. I’m good at that. An expert, one might say.
“Again, thank you. This outsider and warm-weather dweller appreciates the support.”
“Did the boys see it yet?”
“Nope. Needed a moment. Is that weird?”
Beckett chuckles, the sound comforting. “Nope.” He leans in closer. “Did you cry?”
“I mean, it’s a luminous masterpiece and all, but I’m not much of a happy crier. Was I supposed to?” Before I let him answer, I gasp. “Oh my god. You did, didn’t you? Why does that not surprise me?”
I’ve gotten to know my sister’s husband fairly well over the few years she’s been with him, even more so since making WinterberryJunction my new residence in July, in time to submit a proposal for the lights competition. It won’t be permanent until the divorce is finalized in a couple of months, but I’m itching to make it happen.
“Just a few,” Beckett admits freely. “I won’t tell anyone if you do.”
“Appreciate it, but I’m good. It’s not who I am.” At least anymore.
“Where are the kiddos?”
“With Shania. I told her I’d be gone an hour.” I check the time on my watch. “Still have a few minutes to marvel at the brilliance. Where’s my sister?”
“Lost in her book.”
I should have known. Now that she’s writing again, I’d surmise that happens more often than not.
“We still on for dinner?”
“Yep, then I’ll drive the boys by on the way home to show off my award-winning creation.”
“Didn’t peg you as cocky.”
“Am I not supposed to be proud of this?” I wave my arm in the air, spinning a full circle, admiring the show.
Beckett holds up his hands. “I’m kidding. It’s amazing. Far superior to the other entries.”
I point a finger his way. “Iknewyou were on the committee. Your poker face is devious.”Almost as good as your brother’s, I don’t add aloud.
“I’m not allowed to divulge that information until the winner is announced. It’s part of the rules. You’ll see next year.”
As if I’m not lit up enough, his words excite me more. “I get to be on the committee next year? Gosh, that lessens the blow of never being able to win again.”
Beckett makes a “so-so” motion with his hands. “Ah, a little. Still think it’s dumb we can’t enter again. I already have ways to supercharge a different display.”
“Yeah, same,” I agree. “But rules are rules, and fair is fair.” My shoulders slump, but not too far because it’s hard to be depressed surrounded by all this awesomeness.
“Well, I better get back to save Willa from herself. I’ll see youlater.” He pats me on the shoulder, not waiting for a response. Which is fine by me. I’m going to soak up the genius every second I can.
