by Alicia Best
Jackson
“Uh, sir,” the young man mumbles. Trevor’s dragged off his thick gloves, and they now hang from the corner of his pocket, damp from snow. “What are we supposed to tell the people waiting to pick up their Christmas trees?”
I don’t answer, my fingers gripped hard around the window sill as I stare through the fogged glass.
It’s beautiful outside, and right now, I hate it.
The sky is clear, aside from a few fluffy grey clouds from which an occasional snowflake drifts. The snow has fallen in a thin layer on the ground that makes everything look like it’s covered in glistening sugar crystals. I bet Jamie loves it. He’ll be romping up the hill behind his house right now with his friends from school, carting their toboggans behind them. There’s not enough snow on the ground for them to slide smoothly, but they’ll try anyway, just like my friends and I did when we were their age. I could help them, if she would let me.
“Sir?” the young worker says again, tugging at his Santa Claus hat.
I make all the staff wear them around this time of year when we get close to the holiday. It always makes Jamie laugh. Last year, I’d convinced him that we were working directly for Santa himself, making sure every family got their tree.
“Jackson?” he repeats, a little louder this time.
“What?” I grunt, wishing he would just take off the stupid red hat. I’m tired of looking at it now.
“The customers are complaining. Some of them have been here all day. They just want to pick up some trees, and we have so many still left to sell. . ."
“What did I say earlier?” I ask, arms folding firmly over my chest. I twist my body around, turning my back on the winter wonderland beyond my window to look at my worker. Trevor’s mouth forms a hard line.
“Well?” I prod, tone as frosty as the snow around us.
“You said that there would be no sales today.”
“And what else did I say?”
His face sours, eyes dropping to the ground. “There would be no sales at all for the rest of the season. We’re shutting down until after Christmas.”
If any of them were lucky, it would just be the rest of the season.
“So, Trevor, if you heard what I said earlier, then why are you asking me what to do about the customers? They’re not getting any Christmas trees from me. We’re closed. You and the rest of the staff can leave. I’ll see you in February when we start cleaning up the fields.”
“We’re out of work then?” he asks voice full of bitterness. “Right before Christmas, you’re going to lay us off? You’re supposed to keep us on until January.”
I just gaze at him, too angry to empathize with his frustration. If I can’t enjoy this holiday, then I’m not going to help anyone else enjoy it either. It’s that simple, at least with rage boiling away in my veins. I know I'm being selfish, but right now I can’t help it.
“I can’t believe this,” he mutters, grabbing his red Santa hat and throwing it on the ground. His gloves join the pile a second later. “Will you at least tell me why you’re closing up the tree farm?”
“That’s my business, not yours.”
“You can’t say it’s only your business when it affects me and the rest of the crew and the people just trying to get their Christmas trees. You’ve been looking forward to Christmas, Jackson, I can tell. I know I’ve only lived here for a little while, but I know how much Shady Piers depends on your tree farm around this time of year. There’s not another decent place to get a tree for miles.”
If he’s hoping that complimenting me will make me change my mind, he’s out of luck. It doesn’t matter how successful my farm has been, it doesn’t matter that other people depend on me. If I can’t have my Christmas, I don’t care about theirs.
Trevor stares at me, seeming unwilling to leave even though I’m refusing to speak. He takes a frustrated step towards my office door and then changes his mind.
“I heard you shouting earlier, Jackson. I heard you saying your kid’s name. Is it about Jamie? Or Gail? I thought you two were pretty civil—”
I hold up a swift hand, cutting Trevor off. The twenty-year-old is just a few years younger than me, but it feels like there's an eternity between us. He could never understand what I'm going through. All that he has to worry about is chopping down my trees and going home to his mother who’s already cooked him dinner. He doesn’t have an ex-wife who’s bent on ruining his holiday—or his life.
“Get out of here, Trevor,” I grumble, trudging to my desk and sinking down into the chair.
“If you need help, my cousin is a lawyer and––”
“I said get out!”
Trevor grits his teeth, shakes his head, and storms out of my office. As the door swings shut again, the sound of jingling Christmas tunes drifts in behind him, making my stomach turn. I’d ordered them to shut off that music hours ago after my ex called.
When Gail’s name popped up on my cell, I thought she was going to ask me for gift ideas for Jamie, or that she was going to ask if she could pick him up early the day after Christmas. I had no idea what she would actually say. I wasn’t prepared in the slightest. I’d answered the phone pretending to be one of Santa’s elves, just in case it was Jamie using her cell, and I could tell something was off from the strained way she greeted me. Her intentions became clear. If there was one thing Gail didn't do, it was sugarcoat.
I dial her number again, my hands shaking with both irritation and trepidation.
What could I say that would get my ex-wife to change her mind? Did she want me to beg? Because I would. I would do anything, anything at all, to spend Christmas with my son like we always did.
The phone rings and rings, each high-pitched trill echoing between my ears. Then on the fourth ring, she answers.
“Why are you calling me again? I told you that I wasn’t speaking to you until after the holiday,” my ex-wife mutters, voice tense and quiet, like she’s in the room with someone and doesn’t want them to know that I’m calling.
Is it Jamie?
“You can’t do this, Gail.” I know she’ll hang up on me real soon, so I speak fast. “You can’t prevent me from seeing my son. We already had a deal about Christmas; Jamie is supposed to be with me. That’s how it’s always been!”
“Legally, I have full custody. You know that. I decide where Jamie spends his time. You haven’t been giving him your full attention, why should I allow him to spend one of the most important holidays of the year away when I’m not sure that it means the same to you as it does to me?”
“You know how much Christmas with him means to me. Don’t even try to say you don’t.”
She heaves a sigh. “I don’t have time for this right now.”
“And you also know that you only have full custody because we both agreed to keep our divorce settlement out of court and as simple as possible! If I’d known that you would pull something like this four years down the line, I would’ve insisted that we make the custody agreement official.”
She pauses, the line going silent. I would’ve thought she’d already hung up had I not heard the faintest draw of her breath from the other line. I can hear the TV playing in the background, and I recognize the faint tune. It’s Jamie’s favorite show. He’s there, a few feet away from his mother, and he has no idea that I’m trying to fight for my time with him. The sound of the television fades as she walks into her room and closes the door.
“Still, Jackson, that doesn’t change that you’ve been absent lately. You missed his Christmas play last week.”
My heart wrenches hard in my chest. “I explained that already, Gail. We had a family come up to the farm just as I was closing up. My staff had already left… They’d driven all the way from New Hampshire to get one of my trees and blown a tire on the way. I couldn’t say no.”
If I’d known that just trying to be kind to those people would cost me Christmas with Jamie, would I have still been so charitable?
“It was your son�
��s first Christmas pageant. The entire time he was up on that stage, he was looking for you. You should’ve seen his face when I told him you never showed.”
“I’m sorry. I told him I’d make it up to him somehow. And I will.”
“He doesn’t need any disappointment on Christmas. I'm keeping him with Donny and me."
“Donny?” I gasp, the name struggling to escape my tightened throat. “That new guy you’re seeing? Is that what this is about?”
“He’s not a new guy, Jackson. We’ve been dating almost a year!”
“Christmas with Jamie means everything to me. I let you have Easter and Halloween and even his birthday, but Christmas with my son means more to me than you can imagine, Gail. Don’t take him away from me.”
“Listen. You’re welcome to bring this back to court if you want to, Jackson, but good luck even finding a lawyer to help you before Christmas. I’ve already made my decision, and it’s final. Jamie is staying with me.”
“Gail, wait—”
The line goes dead, the dial tone replacing her irate voice. I pull the phone back in surprise, redialing her number. This time, it sends the call straight to voicemail. I try three more times, but the result is the same. Dropping my phone to my desk, my forehead hits my palm, fingers knotting in my hair.
How could she do this to me?
Even though we were far from in love when we’d married, we’d cherished one another in some way. We’d grown up as childhood friends and thought that we could be more. It’d made sense back then. We had Jamie almost nine months to the day after our vows and divorced by the time he was six months old.
The decision to divorce was a mutual one. Even though we were good friends, the love that we both hoped would come never did––except towards Jamie. I could tell how much she adored him, and I thought she could see the same in me. When she told me she wanted full custody but would let me have Jamie on the weekends and for Christmas, I agreed despite everyone telling me not to. I just didn't want to cause excess waves or difficulty in her life. Besides, with how hard I work and how little free time I have during the week, I thought it was fair. I was so naïve. Never in a million years had I expected she would backtrack on her word. Our marriage may not have worked out, but she was always a good person.
When had that changed?
It’s only been a few days since I last saw Jamie, but it already feels like months. Every day without that little guy always feels longer and duller. I usually throw myself into my work so hard because I’m trying to pass the time between his visits.
Gail picked him up last weekend and never said a word of changing her mind about the holiday until today, even sitting by and letting us plan out what we would have for Christmas breakfast.
Why, Gail? Why do this to me and Jamie?
How had she explained it to him? He was just five, it’s not like he would be able to comprehend the reason yet…and it wasn’t like I understood it either.
Is it because she wants to play house with Donny and pretend like I don’t even exist? I can’t let her get away with that.
Grabbing my phone, I settle down at my desk, and in minutes, I’m searching for a lawyer and dialing numbers, but not a single call leads anywhere. All offices are closed for the holiday. Even though Trevor had mentioned knowing a lawyer, I can’t tell him what’s going on. I can’t tell anyone I know. It would be too embarrassing. What kind of man lets his son get taken away?
All I know is that I never want this Christmas to come. Not if I can’t spend it with Jamie. I’m not selling even one more tree until I have him back. The town can forget about tradition and goodwill if I can’t have Christmas with my boy.
While leaving my fifth message to a lawyer in town, there’s a light knock on the door.
“Trevor, I told you I’m busy!” I shout, frustration straining my voice.
The door swings open then, a woman about my age standing there with a pad and pen in one hand, as she tucks a long strand of blonde hair behind her ear with the other.
“Hello. You’re Jackson Vokes?” she enquires.
I give a blank nod, too surprised to say much. She’s pretty, I notice, with snow clinging to shaped eyelashes above chestnut brown eyes.
“And you’re refusing to sell your Christmas trees?” she continues.
Again, I nod, wondering just who’d let this random girl wander through our offices. It was probably Trevor. He was probably still lurking around even though I’d told him and the rest of the crew to leave.
She begins to write feverishly on her notepad. I don’t know what it is, but there's something about her that fascinates me—for just the smallest of moments until she speaks again.
“Well, Jackson, your reign of terror as the Grinch of Shady Piers is about to end!”
Chapter 3
Hannah
The dark-haired man in front of me is rather normal looking, all things considered. What’s odd is the random Santa Claus hat in the center of the room. I make a note of it on my pad and then look back at him as he forms a response.
“Wait a minute, are you calling me a Grinch?” he asks, flustered. “What does that even mean?”
“Would you prefer Scrooge?” I tease, though the humor seems lost on him. I clear my throat and continue, determined to talk reason into him. “You do understand that this town’s Christmas festival depends on you providing the tree, don’t you?”
His jaw clenches, a thin vein pulsing over his temples. “I understand that, but it’s not my concern right now.”
I can tell he doesn’t want to talk to me. He keeps looking at the door like he’s willing me back outside. I’m not sure just what I was expecting when I sauntered into the office. Maybe to find that he’d closed up shop because of an injury or a staff dispute or something just as serious, but so far there's no obvious explanation for his sudden change of heart. His face, though handsome, is pinched and weary. He looks rested enough, but there are bags under his eyes. Something’s wrong, I can see that much. He rubs a hand against his stubbled jaw and frowns as I stare at him.
“Why wouldn’t it be your concern?” I challenge. “You live in Shady Piers just like everyone else here does. Without the lighting of the tree, your tree, Maddie and Calla are worried that the tourists might just pack up and leave. Do you know how bad that will look for the town? This might ruin the event for the future! A lot of the local businesses receive a big chunk of their annual sales thanks to this festival and all the tourists it attracts.”
He climbs to his feet, his shoulders sagging as though he’s carrying the weight of the world on his back. I’ve never seen anyone whose heart seems so burdened. For a moment, I regret coming in here with accusing guns blazing. I guess my editor is right, I need to learn how to take a chill pill occasionally.
“Wait, are you alright, Jackson?” I sputter, looking deeply into those dark eyes.
Maybe he is hurt and I just can’t see it?
“I am not the least bit alright,” he says, his voice husky and raw with emotion. “Especially since you came to my place of business to confront me. I’m going to ask you one time to leave, and that’s all.”
Instead of kowtowing and edging backwards, I step towards him. Even though he’s slouching, he’s still about twice the size of me, with arms as thick as the trunks of the trees that he’s raising outside.
“I’m sorry. I haven’t handled this as well as I might have. My name is Hannah, Hannah Wyatt. I shouldn’t have gone off on you.”
His only response is a faint grunt, and I can’t tell if he’s accepting my apology or resisting the urge to tell me off more.
I offer my best polite smile, reminding myself just what’s on the line here. “All I want is to hear your side of the story. I’m sure that there is one. What is it? Did Shady Piers refuse to pay up? Is this debacle all because of some corporate scam? Are you ill even, Jackson?”
He stares at me, and his jaw slackens. “Are you crazy?”
“Not last I c
hecked, though I suppose it’s possible.”
His broad palm swipes across his brow, like he’s expecting me to vanish if he rubs it hard enough.
“Jackson, just tell me why you’re refusing to sell the trees. Are you protesting something?”
“What? No. Get out of my office.” He looks at me like I’m a fly buzzing in his ear.
I can tell I’m getting nowhere fast with my current questioning. If it’s nothing to do with the town or with some odd belief of his, then his reason for not selling the trees must be personal.
“Do you just dislike Christmas?” I'm wondering how a holiday-hating man might come to be in the line of work as a Christmas-tree farmer.
“I love Christmas,” he bites back at me, and I glimpse a flicker of sadness cross his face.
“Then…why can’t you just give Shady Piers their tree?”
He says nothing, storming forward. This time, even though I know he isn’t about to raise a hand to me, I scuttle backwards like a crab on the beach searching out its sandy hole of a home and slip back through the office door. He slams it shut, a lock gliding into place with a heavy click.
For a long moment, I stare at the closed door, gnawing at my lip.
“Well, that could’ve gone better,” I grumble to myself.
I breathe out slowly, relieved for the moment to be out of there, as I cram my notepad into my back pocket and secure my pen behind my ear. With a lingering look at him over my shoulder, I head back towards the main door.
For some reason, I can’t help wanting to help Jackson, and as my mind wanders for just a second, I feel sorry for his sadness and whatever it is that has driven him to this.
Off to one side of where I stand is another small doorway I hadn't noticed when I first arrived. I poke my head inside and find a couple of small rooms, and through an open door to one, I’m surprised to see a cherry red racecar bed. Either Jackson has a kid, or he has an odd obsession with NASCAR.
“How’d you get back here?” a young man asks from the second room, where he is filing some papers. “Who are you?”
