Bright Christmas

by Alicia Best

  “Hannah Wyatt. I’m a journalist for SoCal Press.”

  I wait for recognition to light his face, but it doesn't. If anything, he gets even more miserable. He runs a hand through his hair, the movement sluggish and glum.

  “Man. If they’ve got reporters on this story, Jackson must mean it when he says he’s not selling any more trees. What am I going to do?”

  “You work here?” I ask, glancing at his name tag and scribbling it onto my paper.

  He nods, sticking out a hand which I shake. “Name is Trevor. I just moved here last year with my mom. This is one of the biggest tree farms in the state, so I figured it’d be solid work. She got laid off, and the year’s been rough. I was looking forward to giving her a perfect Christmas. When it started snowing, I was sure we were in for a special holiday. Now we’re both canned.”

  “I think everyone in town was hoping for a perfect Christmas,” I sympathize. “What’s it like to work here?”

  “It’s tough work, to be honest. I think most people might believe we only have to toil away in the winter while we’re selling the trees, but it’s pretty labor intensive for the whole year. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.” Trevor glances at the closed door of his boss’s office, and I sense that he’s not just talking about the physical demands of the job.

  The poor guy. He looks miserable, like a balloon that’s had a hole pricked through it and is deflating by the second.

  “Do you have any idea why Jackson is in such a bad mood? It sounds like this all went downhill pretty fast.”

  Trevor nods. “This morning, it was business as usual. He’s always been a little prickly—if you know what I mean—but he’s a good boss even on bad days. Nice too, always makes sure we look after ourselves out there and taking our breaks. We get special staff deals, and there's plenty of overtime potential.”

  “So you saw nothing like this coming?”

  “Not at all. We were all blindsided. We’re just hoping now that he changes his mind. Oh, Jackson’s got a kid, Jamie. The little guy likes to come pretend to work with us.”

  “Do you think it’s something to do with Jamie that’s got his temper flaring?”

  “That’s all I can come up with. Jamie is all Jackson ever talks about. I heard him on the phone before he ordered us to stop selling the trees. He was talking with his ex-wife, but it sounded like things were getting a little tense.”

  A frown settles on my face as I slide up onto the corner of the front desk. Trevor continues filing, his movements languid, as if he doesn’t know why he’s even bothering to do the paperwork if they will not be selling the trees.

  “Hannah…I have no idea what you could do to calm my boss down, but I do know that if he keeps this up, Christmas in Shady Piers is going to be miserable. Only a few of the townsfolk have their Christmas trees so far, and Jackson always throws a last-minute sale where everyone comes and spends the day here, getting their trees and visiting. It’s like a giant Christmas party. A lot of people view it as a highlight of the festival.”

  “Believe me, I want this to work out as badly as you do, Trevor,” I sigh.

  My future depends on it.

  Unconvinced, he gives a slight shrug and abandons the stack of papers that he had only half bothered with as he heads back outside.

  As I watch him leave, my phone buzzes in my pocket, making me jump. I tug it out, face draining of color when I see the name on the screen. Swallowing hard, I thrust the phone against my ear.

  “Oh, uh, hey, Heath! Good to hear from you!” I say, voice pitched just a little too high to be natural.

  My editor doesn’t seem to notice.

  “I’m just checking in to make sure you made it to Shady Piers, Hannah. How is it there?”

  “It’s okay. Awesome, I mean, it’s fantastic!”

  “You drink too much hot chocolate or something? You sound like you’re about ready to bounce off the walls.”

  “Yeah,” I laugh, nervous adrenaline pumping through my veins, “something like that.”

  “I’m just calling all the apprentices to make sure everything is going well. This last article is make it or break it for you guys, know what I mean?”

  Thanks for piling on the pressure, Heath.

  “I know,” I answer, my forced happiness faltering.

  “You don’t sound like it’s going that great.”

  “It is. Everything’s fine.”

  “Good, because I need your story ASAP. Just between you and me, Hannah, if you turn in a good piece, you’ll have a better chance than most of the others. Here at the magazine, we've all been talking about how much promise you show. If you come through with this, you’re the perfect candidate to get the job. Now go get writing. Your deadline is coming up.”

  “I know,” I whisper, grimacing when the line goes dead.

  I tilt my head back, groaning out loud. How am I supposed to write an article about the festival if there may not be one?

  There’s just one option left. I have to somehow pull the festival back on track.

  No matter how many times Jackson throws me out, I can’t give up. I have to get this article written and submitted to my editor, or else my dreams will go up in smoke…or snow, I guess. All that I’ve wanted for so long is to be a journalist for this magazine. I must do whatever I can to make sure that dream comes true.

  Somehow, I have to melt the ice-cold heart of the tree farmer and convince Jackson to let me help him. Unfortunately for me, I think that may be easier said than done.

  No time like the present though. So I head back to where Jackson is hanging out.

  Let’s see if he’s calmed down a little.

  Let’s see if I can help him.

  Chapter 4

  Jackson

  “Excuse me!” Hannah says from the other side of the locked door, knocking on it for at least the hundredth time in the last twenty minutes. “Jackson! Can I have another word please? If you think I’m leaving any time soon, then it’s you that’s crazy!”

  If there’s anything this girl has, it’s persistence.

  I keep waiting for her to lose interest in banging on the door, but she just keeps at it with as much energy as when she started. I’d already dug around in my desk trying to find my headphones so I could block out the sound of her knocking, but I’d lent them to Jamie. Maybe he’s taken them to his mother’s house. That means I’ll only see them again if I ever get to see Jamie again.

  This is more than just a holiday without him. I’m not having a tantrum because I’m not getting my way. I fear this could be the start of Gail refusing me any contact with Jamie at all.

  What if, because I’d allowed her to officially maintain full custody despite me having him every weekend, the judge wasn’t willing to hear my side?

  What if she takes Jamie from me for good?

  What will I do without him?

  I’m a good dad. I know that in my heart and soul. I may not have been the best husband to Gail, but I am the best father that I can be to my son. I felt guilty for missing his pageant, but that family had three kids of their own and one was Jamie’s age… How was I supposed to tell them to go back to New Hampshire without a tree? Their faces were so bright and excited. I didn't think it would take more than a few minutes, but they’d needed help securing the tree on top of their car, and they’d taken their time picking one. Before I knew it, I was racing towards Jamie’s preschool hoping to make even the last five minutes of the pageant. By the time I got there, the parking lot was empty and all the lights were off.

  When Jamie had come over for the weekend, I’d explained to him what happened and had him reenact his part of the Christmas play. I’d thought it was all fine. Had he been telling Gail that he was unhappy? Or was this all Donny’s doing? Was that man pulling the strings of my family now?

  “Jackson!” Hannah calls, jiggling the doorknob like I might’ve snuck over there to unlock it in the middle of her shouting. “Come on, open up! I’m not leaving.
I bet you don’t have food or a bathroom in there. You’ll have to come out sooner or later.”

  “What do I have to do to get you to leave?” I answer with a groan.

  “Answer my questions, that’s all.” There’s a hint of victory in her tone. By even acknowledging her, I’ve reinvigorated her stubborn stamina.

  Groaning even louder, I march over to the door. Unlocking it, I crack it open just enough to stare down at the young woman.

  She gazes at me with a big grin on her face. She’s got a fierce kind of beauty, like she’d pull this same act for a fire-breathing dragon.

  Wait, did I just compare myself to a dragon?

  “Hi!” she says, bouncing up on the balls of her feet. “I knew I’d get through to you. Okay, let me start by asking—”

  “Not so fast. Before you start asking me questions, let me ask you one.”

  She frowns, inspecting me curiously before shrugging. “Okay. Shoot.”

  “What’s this all about? Why do you care? I’ve never seen you around before, so I don’t think you’re a townie.”

  “You’d be right. I’m from California.”

  “And you came all this way for a tree? We don’t have any small enough you can just take on a plane, lady.” I could understand coming from New Hampshire for one of my trees, but all the way across the country?

  She laughs, the sound startlingly melodic. Something about it soothes me, making the bristled hair on the back of my neck relax.

  “No, silly. I’m not here for one of your trees. Wait, that’s not true. I am. I came to see the tree being lit for the festival.”

  "Well, that's a shame," I mutter, "because it's not happening. No one's getting one of my trees this Christmas."

  “Why, Jackson? Doesn’t it matter to you that this town depends on you for their Christmas spirit? Don’t you know how important the tree is to the big day? Where will Santa put the presents? Where will everyone come together on Christmas Eve?”

  The thought of the gifts I’d hidden at the top of my closet in anticipation of Jamie returning to me for the holiday makes me grimace.

  “Are you feeling okay?” she asks, noticing my reaction. She pushes into the office and pulls over my chair for me to sit.

  “I’m fine,” I grunt, shrugging away her pity. No one gets to look at me like that. “I’ll give you three questions, and then I want you out of here.”

  She frowns at me before grabbing another chair and hauling it over. She settles down in it, writing something on her little notepad again before gazing at me. I feel like I should sit down, so I do, across from her.

  “What’s the problem with the trees for the town?” She rests her hand gently on my arm and I can feel—for the first time in a long time—someone with a compassion for me and my fears. But I can’t let her get to me that way; after all, what does she know?

  “Why are you taking notes?” I snap a quick response, hoping it’ll put her off.

  Hannah frowns. “Now look, Jackson, I’m supposed to be the one asking questions here.”

  I just shrug, folding my arms and wait for her to answer me. I said I’d agree to three questions, not that I would answer them readily.

  She sighs, and I feel she’s trying to keep her calm. “I’m a journalist. I came here to report on the Christmas festival.”

  “So, because you’re not getting your tree and lights, you’re going to slap my face on the cover of your magazine instead and exploit my issues for your own gain?” I ask, not without bitterness. “I’m not telling you anything.”

  “No,” she says, almost leaping out of her chair in her hurry to pacify me. “No. I am not going to use you for my story. I’m here for the Christmas festival, and that’s all. Don’t worry, I won’t even mention you except to talk about your farm and where the tree came from.”

  “I already said I’m not giving anyone a tree.”

  While I glower at her, a faint smile arranges itself on her face as she brushes that stray strand of blonde hair back again in the cutest of ways. She leans back in her chair, head cocked to one side. I can tell now that she’s not from around here: she's got so many layers on that I'm surprised she can even sit down, and she's still shivering. Her face is tan from hours spent outside. I can’t help but wonder how many other people she’s interviewed and how many places she’s seen. Shady Piers is all I know, and I’ve loved every minute of my life here.

  Until now.

  “I think you’ll have changed your tune by the time I’m done here,” she says coolly, which makes me all the more frustrated.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Whose racecar bed is in the other room?” she asks, dodging my question. “I saw it while I was looking for you.”

  “My son’s. He’s five.”

  “Jamie?” she enquires. I nod, not bothering to ask how she knew that. Everyone here knew everything about one another. “And is Jamie going to be with you for Christmas?”

  Again, I don’t answer, though I know my face gives away my response. I can feel my brow lowering and mouth contorting in frustration.

  “He was supposed to be.”

  “He’s not anymore?”

  When I shake my head, she sighs softly. “What happened?”

  “That was three. You’re done with the questions now.”

  Hannah’s smug face looks less so now. Whatever she was hoping to learn, she hadn't. She stares down at her notepad, her pen moving in circular motions along it. I think at first she’s writing in cursive, but when I straighten up, I see that she’s just drawing little stick figures and squiggly lines.

  “Already bored with my story, are you?”

  She blinks and looks up at me, one eyebrow twitching upwards. I hadn't meant to say anything at all and bite my tongue, shrugging as if I don’t care.

  "I'm just saying," I add, "you seemed all up in arms about this Christmas tree, and now you're doodling.”

  She laughs, the sound again plucking some chord inside me that I can't put my finger on. It resonates deep within my chest, warming me. I shift, suddenly uncomfortable in my chair even though it’s never been uncomfortable before.

  “I can’t help it.” She blushes. “I do it when I’m thinking. It helps me organize my thoughts somehow.”

  I’m trying to tell if she’s lying and just trying to make me feel better, but her smile seems genuine enough. That doesn’t make me feel any better though. Even with an article to write, I don’t understand why a complete stranger would take such an interest in my life.

  “Do you spend many holidays with Jamie?” she asks after a minute.

  “No. Just Christmas and every weekend.”

  “So why is this Christmas different?”

  Even though I’d limited Hannah to three questions, I find myself responding to more. She actually seems interested in me—and my problem.

  “He’s not here because my ex, Gail, won’t let him. I’ve had him every Christmas until now. Now that she’s dating Donny, she’s started cutting my time with my son little by little.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She touches my arm again, with just as much care as the first time. I’m not misunderstanding this, am I?

  I scrutinize her again, and she looks right back at me too.

  “I was young and dumb and didn't push for a proper custody agreement when we split up. I didn't think we’d need it. We even settled our divorce without getting lawyers all tangled up in it. She was fair back then.”

  “Before Donny, you mean?” Hannah asks.

  I nod, now tired of speaking about it. What would talking to this woman change? It’s strange though, the fact that I haven’t said even one word about it to anyone, including my own mother, but five minutes after meeting this girl, I’m spilling my guts.

  She writes something down on her pad of paper but tilts it away from me so I can’t see it.

  “I want to help you, Jackson,” she blurts out, pulling the cover over her notepad and sliding her pen above her ear. I
t doesn’t even move when she gives a firm nod of her head, like it’s become a part of her.

  “What?” I ask, wishing that the sound of Jamie playing in the next room was echoing through my house. “Help me?”

  “I’ll go get the scoop on Gail. I’ll figure out just why she’s keeping Jamie from you, and I’ll figure out how you can get him back for Christmas. Then you’ll send the biggest, grandest tree you’ve got to town for the festival.

  “Deal?”

  This time, it’s my turn to laugh. Her declaration is just so outrageous that I can’t help it. I laugh until my belly aches, like I’ve just done one of those crazy exercise classes. After that call from Gail earlier, I didn't think I was going to be laughing any time soon. I sense this won’t be the last time Hannah surprises me.

  “Excuse me?” I gasp out between chuckles. “You’re going to go track down my ex? All for this article of yours?”

  “Exactly,” Hannah answers, standing up and sticking out her hand for me to shake. I lean forward and do so, and there’s something as I do that makes me want to keep hold of her, even though I don’t know her, or anything much about her.

  When she pulls her hand away, my fingers twitch towards her again. I fold my hands in my lap tightly, puzzled by my reaction. It’s almost visceral, like I’ve met her in another life and I already know her. To be honest, the feeling is as unsettling as it is fascinating. My heart thrums against my chest, pulse quickening. Though I still struggle to catch my breath, it’s no longer from the laughing.

  “It’s a deal,” I say, unable to keep my head from shaking in utter bewilderment as she leaves the room, charging off like she’s on a mission. “You might find her down at the restaurant by the pier. She and Donny often end up there on winter evenings.

  “Great!” she calls back over her shoulder. “I will go do some recon in town, and then I’ll be back!”

  Even though I’ve only just met Hannah Wyatt, I know for sure that she’s unlike anyone else I’ve ever met.

  And she has filled me with a hope that wasn’t here only a few minutes ago.