Page 2 of Grump Hard
The only thing worse than staring down this tree in the bitter cold would be staring down my siblings as they trim the nearly-as-massive fir in our home, while listening to them recount memories from which I am conspicuously absent.
I don’t want to think about all the summer vacations and winter holidays I missed while trailing my father around New York City, from the offices to the warehouses and back again, while my brothers and sister retreated to the mountains with Gramps. I don’t want to think about how much time I lost with the people who matter most, or the fact that my grandfather singled me out in his will as “the brother most in need of a full month surrounded by nature, peace, and loads of holiday cheer.”
I’m not in need of anything—except another eggnog.
“Sounds like I should definitely stay, then.” I lift my empty cup into the air. “And drink until my Grinch side is under control. Go ahead without me. I’ll find my way home before the sleet sets in.”
Elliot rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on, Luke. The shops and the café are all closed, and you know I was only teasing. I just want you to loosen up and enjoy yourself.” His tone grows more pointed as he adds, “Or to at least stay alive to ring in the New Year. It’s not safe to sit out in the cold, getting drunk by yourself. Silver Bell Falls hasn’t had a corpse in the park since Captain Herbert and his parrot kicked the bucket in 1812, and I, for one, think we should keep that trend going.”
My lip curls at the mention of the Captain, the founder of Silver Hell, whose rancid peg leg serves as the town’s tree topper every year. “And whose idea was it to shove a sea captain’s peg leg on top of a damned tree in landlocked Vermont?” I demand, incensed all over again. “It looks like a giant middle finger. Or a prehistoric dildo.”
Elliot snorts. “It does kind of look like a dildo. Awfully splintery, though. I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of any peg-leg-dildo-love, that’s for sure. Or on the giving end, for that matter.”
“Someone should have torched that ridiculous thing a hundred years ago,” I insist, the fire in my chest blazing higher.
I don’t know if it’s the whiskey, the ghosts haunting this town, or truly the dildo tree topper that’s set me off, and I don’t care. I finally see a reason to be in Outer Bumfuck, Vermont, wasting five weeks away from my business concerns in the city, humoring a dead man.
I have a mission, a purpose, and I won’t rest until it’s been fulfilled.
I stand, clapping Elliot on the shoulder. “Send the car down in thirty minutes. Tell Arthur to wait for me by the gazebo.”
“Where are you going?” Elliot asks as I toss my cup into a nearby trash can.
I start across the empty square.
“Luke, seriously,” my brother calls after me. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”
I pause, turning back to him with an arch of my brows nearly as icy as the frozen grass beneath my feet. “Regret? Who do you think you’re talking to?”
“To my responsible, hard-working, generous brother who’s grieving,” he says, his brow furrowed. “We all do dumb things when we’re grieving. Please, just come back to the house with me. We can skip the tree trimming and just…talk. Or play pool or whatever. You don’t have to go through this alone.”
But I’ve always been alone.
I’m the oldest sibling, the one singled out to be my father’s captain when I was still too young to see over the wheel, let alone steer the ship. I bore the weight of his poor business decisions and numerous affairs on my shoulders, sheltering my siblings from the fear and uncertainty of those years before I took control of our family’s legacy.
I was the firewall between them and my feckless father, neither child nor adult, perpetually stuck somewhere between, guarding my secrets so fiercely I wouldn’t know how to share the burden if I tried.
And I don’t want to try.
I just want to get my hands on that stupid peg leg and hurl it into the closest fire. If I can make this ridiculous town even a fraction less ridiculous before I leave, then my time here won’t have been spent in vain.
“I’ll be home before midnight,” I say softly. “If the chauffeur doesn’t feel safe making the drive, don’t worry about the car. I’ll find my own way back.”
I turn and walk away, ignoring the sound of Elliot calling my name behind me.
Soon, I’m crossing the bridge, where the water rushing over the wheels of the old mill drowns out all other sound. The river is frozen at the edges but flowing freely elsewhere.
Old Man Winter is still playing his cards close to his vest this year.
As I make my way through the shadowy cemetery—the stones barely visible in the glow of the holiday lights from the building atop the hill—there are only a few inches of snow on the ground, and the promised freezing rain has yet to make its appearance. I have plenty of time to get up to the town hall, climb in through an unlocked window, confiscate the captain’s termite-infested leg from the display case, and burn it in the lobby fireplace.
I have no doubt I’ll find an open window.
That’s the thing about small towns like Silver Bell Falls—they’re full of trusting people who don’t see trouble coming until it’s too late.
Just like the Whos down in Who-ville…
I realize I’m making Elliot’s Grinch joke a reality, but that doesn’t stop me. After all, I’m not stealing children’s presents; I’m ridding this town of an eyesore. If the people of Silver Hell had a single functional brain cell between them, they’d celebrate the chance to put something less obscene atop the tree.
