Bright Christmas

by Alicia Best

  I look away, staring towards the bedroom where Jamie stays when he’s here. The thought of him and Donny and Gail all snuggled up together while they watch the lighting of the tree that I gave to the town feels like a slap in the face.

  Why would I let them have that moment when I couldn’t also share it with my son? If Gail would not play fair, then neither would I.

  Hannah shifts forward, leaning towards me. Her fingertips brush my arm, making lazy sparks light across my skin. Sucking in a breath, I let myself be drawn towards her, just a little, before I realize what I'm doing and pull back.

  “Explain it to me?” she asks gently. “I want to understand.”

  I’ve never had anyone look at me the way she does right now, as if she wants to see and hear and understand me. It’s unnerving and fearsome.

  “If you can’t help me, then you need to leave,” I tell her, still looking away.

  She collects her things and stands, zipping up her parka to her chin.

  “I haven’t given up, Jackson. I’m still going to help you figure this out,” she promises as she heads to the door.

  I want to disregard her words, to chalk her up as a person who’s just doing what they can to save their job, but I see in Hannah such a sincerity that I can’t help but believe in her a little bit more, even when my heart is a weight in my chest. Maybe this Christmas will work out somehow, someway.

  Is Hannah getting me to believe in a miracle, or is there something else about her?

  Chapter 7

  Hannah

  As I expected, the night was a long and restless one.

  The small hotel room was cozy enough, but I just couldn’t seem to get comfortable. I’d lain on my side, gazing out the window and watching the lights on the street twinkle against my closed blinds. Thank goodness there was a little heater in the room, so I could control just how warm I wanted it to be. I’d been able to peel off my parka and rub some feeling into my hands again. I’d even taken a nice long bath, hoping that would relax me and give me time for a sudden epiphany on just how to solve the Christmas crisis of Shady Piers.

  But a solution still evaded me.

  No matter how hard I tried to focus on figuring out the Christmas festival, Jackson’s words kept ringing in my head. Even now that the sun has risen, glinting off the new fall of snow, I still keep hearing his voice between my ears.

  What am I sharing? What am I giving?

  If Christmas is about compassion and generosity, then what is it that I am doing by focusing on just my article? Is it enough to do something kind even though it’s a solution to my own problem? That can’t be what Christmas is about. Isn’t it about giving and expecting nothing in return?

  All my life I’d loved the holidays, even without snow or even the slightest chance of a white Christmas.

  Even after my parents split up, some years we’d used a small artificial tree because we either couldn’t afford a real one or because we didn't have space, and still we made the best of it. As long as I had at least some family, it didn't matter to me what gifts we had or how many ornaments we’d been able to put on the tree.

  As we all eventually collapsed into our beds with bellies full of turkey and stuffing and cranberries, it was the fondness of friends and families that lingered in our minds.

  Christmas hadn't stayed that way forever. As I got older, the importance of the day began to shift. I spent less and less time with my family and more time at work.

  Despite all that, I never lost the true meaning of Christmas.

  There’s a special way that children look at the holiday: with wide eyes and open hearts. Jamie has but a handful of Christmases under his belt, most of which he won’t even remember later, so every year, it is still so fresh and meaningful to him.

  How can we give him another perfect Christmas to remember?

  While deep in thought, I climb out from beneath the thick blankets of my bed and tug open the curtains to gaze out onto the street. The morning sunlight is a delicate yellow, a few fluffy clouds drifting overhead in the crystal-blue sky. People wander back and forth, wrapped up in scarves and fleece coats and sipping from paper cups or nibbling on chocolate peppermint bark. I tug open the window and suck in a breath of cold air, hoping that it will reinvigorate me. I’m not one to be drawn into such a dour mood, especially this close to Christmas. I will have to buck up and focus once again on helping Jackson and Jamie reunite for Christmas. Even though the tree-lighting ceremony is approaching, I’m not out of time yet.

  “Hannah!” calls a voice from down below.

  I look down, leaning my elbows against the cold window sill. The chill of the air is creeping into the hotel room, making goosebumps prickle up and down my arms.

  “Hey, Calla,” I say with a smile. “Good morning.”

  “Morning. Listen, I was hoping I’d find you. Meet me in the lobby?” Her natural cheeriness is strained, like she’s wearing a mask.

  I nod and slide the window shut before pulling on a pair of thick denim jeans, boots, and my oversized jacket before heading down to the hotel lobby. I grab an English muffin as I walk through the small continental breakfast, slathering strawberry jam on it as Calla rushes up to me.

  Still wearing that forced grin, she loops her arm around mine and pulls me to the side so that we’re hidden from the other people.

  “What’s going on?” I ask through a mouthful of toasted dough, trying not to spray crumbs everywhere.

  "I wanted to know if you'd made any headway with Jackson. We called him this morning, but he wouldn't answer."

  Swallowing the English muffin and the lump in my throat, I shake my head. “Not yet. I mean, I think I’ve made a little bit of progress. He was opening up to me about his family, but I don't think I've quite convinced him to give us the tree yet."

  Her face contorts, her arms folding over her chest. “Darn,” she sighs. “That’s that then.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maddie says that if he doesn’t give in today, then she will announce the cancellation of the lighting ceremony.”

  My blood freezes like I’m standing out in the street without my jacket instead of in the warm hotel lobby. “Well it’s only eight in the morning; we still have all day.”

  Calla laughs, though it isn’t a happy one. “That girl is a farmer; her day begins at like four in the morning even in the offseason. If she lasts until ten A.M. without making the announcement, I’ll be shocked.”

  “I can fix this, Calla,” I say. “I know I can. I just need a little more time.”

  "Believe me, if it were just my decision, I would give you as much time as I could, but there are a lot of people planning their Christmas Eves around the tree lighting, and we need to let them know that it’s not happening. Plus, the people who have been trying to buy their own trees from Jackson are questioning what’s going on. I’m so sorry about your article. Maybe you can write it on something else?”

  There’s no way I’d be able to come up with anything else on such short notice. I should have already started writing up the piece, but I’d been so wrapped up in Jackson’s drama that I hadn't so much as begun. I’d woken up to three messages from my editor asking why I hadn't sent over any of my bylines yet, and I’d tried to pacify him by saying that he would have them soon, but with the pace of things right now, that just isn’t going to happen either. I could tell Heath was losing patience with me. Though I might’ve started out as the leader of the apprentice pack, with every hour that went by without my communication, I was slipping further and further behind. There were probably some of my competitors who’d already finished their entire pieces and had passed them back for approval.

  When I just stand there, stiff and uncertain, Calla wraps me up in a hug. The gesture startles me, but I don't pull away, letting her pat my back. Strange how she's comforting me when it's her and Maddie who are in the toughest spot. It won't be Jackson who is blamed at the end of this, it'll be the festival coordinators for failing.


  “Even without the tree, and even if the tourists leave…Christmas can still be merry, don’t you think?” she murmurs.

  “I think so,” I whisper in response, watching her as she steps back and offers me a limp smile. “But I’m not giving up yet. I can’t.”

  Calla nods. “Good.”

  After quick goodbyes, Calla heads back out onto the street towards the community center with the dreary news that I hadn't been successful yesterday in my attempt to get Jackson to give the town the tree.

  I make my way to the window, watching her go and wishing that I could call her back and give her some sort of hopeful answer, but right now I don’t have any. It’s possible that even by Christmas morning, I will have failed.

  Something bright red and cheery catches my eye, making me turn towards the other side of the street. A little boy runs in a circle, a familiar-looking Santa Claus hat on his head. Gail sits on a bench beside him, laughing at whatever Jamie is saying.

  Maybe there is some sort of answer that I can get from Gail that I couldn't get from Jackson.

  Sucking in a determined breath, I lift my chin and march out into the cold towards them. Every short breath I exhale rises like gossamer mist in front of my face.

  “Hannah!” Jamie cries, throwing his arms up in the air. “Today in my advent calendar I got three whole chocolates!”

  “I would never have guessed that,” I chuckle, sitting down on the bench beside his sleepy-eyed mother.

  Jamie continues to play, trying to make a miniature snowman with the freshly fallen snow.

  “Are you alright, Gail?” I ask, glancing around and wondering if I should get us both some coffee. Like me, it doesn’t look like the woman has slept much.

  She bites her lip, fidgeting her hands. Then she drops her voice to a hushed whisper so that her distracted son won’t hear and leans closer to me.

  “I’m not supposed to say anything, but I found out after we left the restaurant last night that my ex-husband is refusing to give one of his trees to the town for the lighting ceremony. I’d heard he was refusing to sell them, but I didn't realize the extent of it,” she mumbles. “I just haven’t figured out how I will tell Jamie. He looks forward to the Christmas lighting every year.”

  “Oh,” I say slowly, unsure just how much of my knowledge of the situation I should give away. “I wonder why.”

  “It’s because Jackson is selfish,” she says. Her blue eyes flash with the same aggravation that Jackson’s do when he speaks of Gail. “He’s always been that way. If you don’t agree with him, then he throws a tantrum.”

  “Did you two have an argument?”

  She purses her lips, glancing at me from the corner of her eye and then back at Jamie. “For the last four years since our divorce, I’ve let Jackson have Jamie for Christmas. My son and I have our own little traditions that are special, sure, but I’ve missed out on that special magic that lights children’s eyes on Christmas morning. I’ve missed out on tucking him into bed and reading him The Nutcracker and helping him leave out cookies for Santa. All I wanted was a piece of that magic…and now Jackson’s ruined it.”

  I have the distinct feeling that she has shared none of this reasoning with her ex-husband. They both want to have the Christmas morning experience with their little boy, but that just isn’t possible. It’s not like they can split him in two and share him.

  “Maybe there’s a compromise?” I offer. “Maybe you two could come up with some sort of plan?”

  “Reasoning with Jackson is like reasoning with a bull,” she mutters, although she wasn’t being flexible either.

  “If neither of you will meet in the middle then Jamie is going to be the one dragged back and forth. You see that don’t you?”

  I hadn't meant to be curt, but this cuts just a little too close to home for me. There’s a reason that not all of my Christmases were magical, after all.

  She snaps her mouth closed, whirling towards me furiously.

  “Do you have kids, Hannah?” she asks, glaring when I shake my head and cutting me off before I can speak. “I didn't think so. You have no idea what you’re talking about right now. I want my son for Christmas, and that does not make me a bad person.”

  “All Jackson wants is to spend time with his son. You’re preventing that, Gail. Can’t you work together?”

  Glaring at me, she clambers to her feet and grabs Jamie’s hand. As she hauls him away, the young boy looks back at me, confused, but smiles and waves even as he’s pulled farther down the road.

  Don’t Gail and Jackson see that they’re fighting for the same goal? They want Jamie to have a wonderful Christmas, and they both want to be a part of it too.

  But just how in the world do I show them that?

  Chapter 8

  Jackson

  “I just don’t have the heart for the holiday,” I mutter out loud to myself as I stare at the pine trees around me. I’d woken early and headed out to the fields just like I had every day in the busy weeks leading up to Christmas.

  My career at the tree farm began when I was still in middle school, though in those days they’d just let me snip the lowest branches of the firs and fertilize them. I worked hard and did what they told me, becoming the foreman by eighteen. When the owner decided to move away, he offered the farm to me at such a fair price that I couldn’t say no. I knew the land and the labor inside and out, and Gail, whom I’d just started dating, fully supported the idea. When she and I split up when I was twenty-two, we divided our assets as fairly as possible, with her getting more money and me getting this land, and she moved into town while I stayed here. It was all so civil that it never occurred to me that we needed to get the court system involved.

  On most days like today, there would already be a line of people waiting to pick up their trees or pick one out for their families. They would mostly be from the out of town areas, as most people in Shady Piers would wait for me to announce my annual sale. I usually did so on Christmas Eve morning, so that the people could all make their way to the farm and have time to hang out here for a little while before going home to decorate their trees before the town tree-lighting ceremony that night.

  Today, though, the grounds are silent. Trevor and the rest of the crew have taken my orders to heart and aren’t here. Guilt plucks at the chords of my soul. The fresh rawness of my anger died overnight, leaving me thinking a little more clearly, but I’m even more wounded from Jamie not being here.

  The last thing I wanted was to ruin everyone’s Christmas. I know how easy it must be to think that’s my plan, but it isn’t. Although I might have hinted that it was, deep down inside, it wasn’t. I love Christmas as much as anyone.

  But this year, what I want is for Christmas to just never arrive.

  I don’t want to wake up alone in my cold, quiet home on Christmas morning. I don’t want to have to look at the empty ornament-shaped plate where Jamie and I always put the cookies we make together after the tree lighting. There will be no reason to put up a tree of my own or to lay out the presents that I’d spent months buying Jamie. There’s no reason to celebrate at all.

  I know Trevor and the rest of the crew don’t deserve to lose their wages, but I’m just so frustrated and angry and hurt at Gail’s behavior. I want to go back in time and shake myself for not pushing for a more official custody agreement. I want to kick Donny out of our lives.

  This must all be his fault, mustn’t it? There’s no way she would keep me from my boy otherwise. After these last four years where we have treated each other with respect and patience, why would she snap like this all of a sudden?

  It isn’t fair. I think that’s the hardest part of this. It is just so unfair, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  When I hear tires rolling up the gravel drive, I peer outside. Hannah is parking, again dressed in her lurid parka. Her hair is mussed and tied back like she hasn’t brushed it. I think I like that about her. She has such a fixed way of moving, like she makes one
energetic beeline from one place to another.

  “Morning.” I hear the gruffness in my voice and wince.

  “Morning,” she murmurs, slamming her car door and pointing towards the house. “You mind if we talk inside? I’m freezing.”

  “You’re lucky we’re not having that ceremony. You’d never be able to stand it,” I chuckle, though that only darkens her face further.

  Shrugging, I step back to allow her to pass by me before following her in.

  “I talked to Gail,” she says, not mincing words. She paces back and forth across the cabin, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

  “Oh?”

  Hannah nods, marching so fervently from the fridge to the far wall that I almost expect her to start wearing down the floor.

  “I’d bet she had nothing nice to say about me.”

  Hannah doesn’t answer, though I didn’t need her to respond anyway. I ease down into one of the chairs at the living-room table. There were still three wooden chairs there, even though Gail hadn't joined Jamie and me for a meal in years.

  After a few more minutes of intense pacing, Hannah slouches down into the chair beside me like she’d expended all her energy. Her tan face is haggard, big bags swollen beneath her eyes. She hadn't slept. I hadn't either.

  “I think you’re going about this all wrong,” she says, looking at me. “You’re making this not only a war against Gail, but against the whole town too. You’re not thinking straight, Jackson.”

  “You come to this conclusion after talking with my ex?” I mutter. “I guess she’s convinced you that I’m some villain too.”

  “Neither of you are villains, that’s what you’re not seeing! Gail isn’t wrong, but neither are you; it’s the way that you two are handling it that’s making everyone miserable!” Her hands flail madly as she speaks, like she's trying to use them to emphasize her point even more.