Page 62 of Please Send Snow
“Well, he sculpted the originals out of clay,” I explain. “And then they were made into resin copies in factories, and other artists painted them.”
“Didyoupaint them, Maddie?” he asks me excitedly.
“Thankfully no,” I tell him. “I’m not a very good painter. But there’s a factory right here on Angel Mountain where some of the figurines are produced and painted.”
“I want to see,” he tells me, grabbing my hand like we’re going to head right over there.
“Maybe one day we’ll stop by,” I tell him, remembering that my stepmother could be in the process of shutting the place down already for all I know.One dayshould probably be pretty soon if I don’t want to miss my chance. “Right now we need to think about your tree.”
That reminder has him letting go of my hand and heading right into the shop by himself, sending the bells over the door jingling and releasing a draft of warm, cinnamon-scented air to greet us.
“Are you sure you’re okay doing this, Maddie?” Jake asks.
There’s concern in his blue eyes, and I believe to my bones that if I tell him I’m not okay he will march the three of us out of here immediately.
“Very sure,” I tell him, meaning it. “This is really, really nice.”
He nods and we both head for the door, he’s probably as eager as I am to make sure Dylan isn’t getting into any trouble.
Jake holds the door for me, and places his hand on the small of my back as I enter. It’s the lightest touch, but I feel electricity sparkle through my whole body.
What is that all about?
But his hand is gone in a heartbeat and the next thing I know, we’re following Dylan through a forest of decorated Christmas trees as “Carol of the Bells” plays from the overhead speakers.
By the timewe’re finished shopping and pulling up to the chalet again, I’m wondering if Jake wishes he’d called the workers back in after all.
He bought just about everything in that shop, and I do meaneverything.Even Dylan was impressed, and I don’t get the feeling he’s ever seen his parents show a lot of restraint in a store.
It will probably take us half the day just to unload the SUV, but we’re all so happy that it doesn’t matter.
On the way out of town, I made Jake stop at the local pizza spot, Slice of Heaven, and I ran in and got us all chicken parm sandwiches on Amoroso rolls—my treat—just like Dad and I used to eat those last few years when we came up here.
They smell incredible, even better than I remembered, and once all our purchases are piled up by the tree, we sit at the dining room table to eat them right off the wax paper wrappers.
“This is nice,” I say, admiring the table.
Instead of just the plain wood, now there’s a beautiful table runner in reds and golds, and pretty white candles, each set in a nest of red berries.
“It feels like Christmas,” Dylan says happily.
He’s got sauce all over his face and he’s making quick work of a sandwich that even looks big in his dad’s hands. In the pizza shop I almost decided to just get one for the two of us to split, but I knew he’d like the idea of having his own. Now I’m glad I did.
“These are good,” he adds, taking another enormous bite.
Jake laughs. Yesterday that booming sound would have echoed off the empty walls and floors, but now it sounds just right—exactly the kind of noise that belongs here.
After that,we’re ready to get down to business. First, Jake stands on the ladder with the lights while I movearound the tree, stringing them into the branches as Dylan shouts to let us know if they look even.
Once the lights are in good shape, we cover the tree in decorations. There are shiny balls, little bells that actually ring, feathered birds, and one of each of the Foster’s Christmas tree decorations they had in stock. The little animals designed to hang on trees are smaller than the regular figurines, but no less unique and beautiful, and so many of them carry special memories of my dad.
Jake cleared it with me before he bought them, and I found myself happy to say yes. I’m having the best day I’ve had in a long time, and it feels good to have a little piece of my father here with us as we make some new memories.
When we’re all done, we step back to look. It’s definitely not as polished or put together as the rest of the house, and it probably has twice as many decorations as it should. We also placed each one exactly where Dylan wanted it, which means it’s not exactly a balanced look—there are clumps of balls or animals here and there. It’s not going to win any decoration contests.
But to me, it’s the most beautiful tree in the world.
“It’sperfect,” Dylan says echoing my own satisfaction as he looks up at it.
