The first Christmas tree they ever bought was at a tree lot that turned out to be run by one of Carol’s old boyfriends.
“Carol,” he’d greeted her as they walked onto the lot. “Merry Christmas. How are ya?”
“I’m good, Dan.”
“You look good,” he said, sounding way too friendly for Stanley’s taste.
She put an arm through Stanley’s and moved him front and center. “This is my husband, Stanley.”
Dan stuck out a mittened hand. “Nice to meet ya.”
“Same here,” Stanley lied as he took it.
Was this the jerk she’d told him about? Couldn’t be. The guy wasn’t as tall as Stanley, but judging from his shoulders and those tree-trunk thighs, he probably worked out. Stanley vowed to join the gym in the New Year.
“I heard you got married,” Dan said. “You’re a lucky dog,” he told Stanley. “Half the guys in our class wanted to date her.”
“You got to,” she said, her voice light.
“Yeah, for about two seconds. You happy? I’m still single,” he added with a grin.
Stanley frowned. Was that supposed to be funny?
“I’m ecstatic,” she replied and hugged Stanley’s arm.
“Well, darn. Guess I’ll have to settle for selling you two a tree.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” she said.
“You got any fresh ones?” Stanley asked.
“They’re all fresh,” Dan the Tree Man replied, insulted.
Stanley walked up to one, grabbed it by the trunk and gave it the old needle test, banging it on the ground. A shower of needles fell.
“Hey, not so hard,” protested Dan.
“Fresh, huh?” Stanley challenged.
The guy frowned at him. “Any tree’s gonna lose needles if you treat it like it’s a hammer.”
Carol moved on to another. “Here’s a pretty one. I bet it’s fresh,” she said, ever the diplomat.
Before Stanley could touch it Dan grabbed it and gave it a gentle tap. “See? Perfectly fresh.”
“We’ll take it,” Carol said.
“I think we got took,” Stanley muttered as he tied it on the roof of the GTO. “He could have at least given you a discount for old times’ sake.”
“Maybe he would have if you hadn’t insulted him.”
“I didn’t insult him. I just tested to see if the needles would stay on. It’s not fresh if they fall off. I don’t care what he said.”
“I think you were a little jealous.”
“So you went out with him, huh?”
“Not for long, so there’s no need to be jealous.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Good. Because he’s not half as cool as you. Or as...manly. Manly Stanley,” she finished with a grin. Then she sobered. “There’s no one I’d rather be with than you.”
“Sometimes I wonder why,” he admitted.
“Well, for one thing, you’re easy to talk to. You actually listen. And that’s more than I can say for a lot of the guys I dated.”
Stanley had never been one to talk about himself a lot. He preferred to listen, especially to Carol. He appreciated her wit and her positive take on life, always enjoyed hearing the stories about the shenanigans of her pupils at school. She was so easy to be with.
Obviously, other men still wanted to be with her.
“That Dan wasn’t the jerk you told me about, was he?”
“No. Who knows where he is.”
Her comment got him wondering. He looked at her suspiciously. “Wait a minute. You knew your old boyfriend had this tree lot?”
“Yeah. Amy told me.”
Stanley frowned. The last thing he’d have chosen was to go see some old boyfriend of Carol’s.
“He wasn’t really a boyfriend,” she explained. “More like a friend I went out with a couple of times.”
Had the guy kissed her? It didn’t matter, Stanley reminded himself. He was the one who’d gotten her, and he was the one who was kissing her now.
“It’s nice to give old friends business,” she said.
Stanley wasn’t so sure he wanted to bring any old friends into their life.
He gave the rope a final tug. “If any needles fall off, we’re not doing business with him next year.”
She just giggled.
Now that they had a tree, they had to get ornaments. Together they picked out red and blue and gold balls at the hardware store to go with the ornaments Carol already had. Her collection had been acquired over the years, all of them from her grandmother.
“She gave me one every year, starting when I was a baby. They all mean something to me,” Carol said as she hung up a pink one that said Baby’s First Christmas. “I love having special mementos to mark the years.”
He liked the idea of that and vowed right then to find something special for her, something to mark their first year of marriage.
They’d hung the lights, the chains of gold beads that her mother had passed on to her and all their new ornaments and were admiring their handiwork when she said, “I have one more.”
She disappeared down the hall to their bedroom and came back with a little wrapped box that he hadn’t seen anywhere.
“Where’d that come from?” he asked.
“Santa’s elves. Open it.”
He did and found a metal Hot Wheels ornament shaped like a GTO. It was even red like his car. “Wow,” he said. “This is really cool.” How he wished he’d thought ahead to do something for her!
“Your first memory,” she said. “Where do you want to hang it?”
He picked a bough at the front of the tree, smack-dab in the middle. “Here, where I can see it every day and think about what a great wife I have. Not that I need a reminder,” he hastily added.
“I should hope not,” she teased.
The tree made their small apartment festive. So did the cookies she baked—sugar cookies cut out to look like trees, frosted with green frosting and decorated with colored sprinkles.
“My family makes these every year,” she said when he came into the kitchen to sample one.
“My mom makes these. I love ’em,” he said and took a bite. “Oh, man, that’s good.”
“Lucky for you I like to bake,” she said.
“I’d be a lucky man to have you even if you didn’t like to bake,” he said and slipped an arm around her waist.
Christmas Eve was spent visiting with both the families, opening presents, eating two Christmas dinners and attending a candlelight service, but Christmas morning was theirs alone. Stanley made his one specialty—pancakes from a mix—and they enjoyed them with hot chocolate.
After breakfast they opened the presents they’d bought each other. She’d given him a tool set, and he’d given her some Jean Naté perfume and a book by Elizabeth Peters, one of her favorite authors.
But the gift she was most thrilled with was the one he’d made over in his dad’s garage. It was a flat wooden heart. In the middle was carved Stanley + Carol. Forever.
“Oh, Stanley, I love it,” she cried, throwing her arms around him.
“Where are you going to hang it?” he asked, echoing her question to him when she’d given him his ornament.
“Right here, next to yours.” She hung it and turned to him. “I do so love you.”
“I love you more,” he said and kissed her.
He never got tired of kissing her. Or making love to her. Being together, loving each other, that was the best Christmas present of all.
After, as they lay there, her in his arms, he kissed her hair and asked, “Happy?”
“Very,” she said. “This is a perfect Christmas.”
“Yes, it is,” he agreed and thought how it didn’t matter what was under the tree. He was holding the best present a ma
n could have in his arms.
15
The five-foot tree Lexie finally settled on was nice and full and had good color. Stanley, assisted by one of “Grandma’s” helpers, loaded it onto the SUV and tied it down.
“Can we decorate it tonight?” Brock asked.
“May we decorate,” his mother corrected.
“May we?”
“It’s getting a little late,” said Lexie. “Let’s do that tomorrow. Mr. Mann, would you like to come over and help us and stay for dinner?”
A home-cooked meal? It had been a long time since he’d had one of those.
But it came at a price. Going next door for dinner was probably not a smart idea. He’d only get further enmeshed with these two.
“I make great lasagna,” she said. “And I’d like to thank you for how much you’ve helped us.”
Oh, man. Lasagna.
“My cheese bread kills.”
“Kills?”
“It’s really good,” she explained.
Cheese bread, too. Really good cheese bread.
“And Caesar salad.” She pointed to the grocery bag at her feet. “I’ve got romaine.”
Who cared about the salad?
Cheese bread and lasagna, though. Say yes, urged Stanley’s taste buds.
“Okay,” he said.
“Great. Does six o’clock work for you?”
“Sure.” What the heck, he had to eat. And it was only dinner.
And tree-decorating. He shouldn’t have listened to his taste buds.
“More progress,” whispered Carol later as he was drifting off to sleep.
That wasn’t what Stanley called it. He called it entanglement. More involvement, more having to pretend he was happy with the season, happy with his life. He should have declined the offer.
“Lasagna, Stanley. Your favorite.”
There was that. But this wasn’t just about lasagna. This came with social strings attached. Ugh. Cheese in a mousetrap, that was what Lexie Bell had offered him.
Carol’s final words were “Don’t show up empty-handed,” and that popped his eyes back open.
He had no idea what he should bring to his neighbor. Not cookies, since she baked. Not wine, since she had a kid and he wanted to bring something they could all enjoy. What, then?
This social stuff had been Carol’s department, not his. Not only did he have no idea what to bring but he also had no idea what he and this young woman would find to talk about stuck together for a whole evening. She was Twitter and Facebook, and he was TV and puzzle books.
What was the point? He didn’t need to go over to Lexie Bell’s house. He could buy lasagna in the freezer section of the grocery store.
That settled it. He was staying home. Happy with his decision, he finally fell asleep.
His dreams that night put him in a winter wonderland, but Stanley found himself poorly dressed for the weather in nothing but his tighty-whities and a Santa hat, standing at the top of a mountain. Next thing he knew he was sledding down the slope on some kind of racecourse, out of control. In and out of trees he careened, branches whapping him as he went. Somewhere along the way he lost his Santa hat, and that seemed to bother him even more than the fact that the rest of his clothes were missing.
He shot out of the trees into the open where crowds of cheering people stood on both sides of the course, rooting for him. There was his bowling team. Unlike him, they were dressed.
“Go, Hambone!” yelled George Mathews.
Standing next to George was Frosty the Snowman. “You’re gonna freeze your ass off,” he called.
Stanley already was. He rushed past a herd of senior church ladies, waving, each one holding a casserole dish.
And there was the Grinch. “You’re headed for disaster if you go next door, fool,” he called.
Carol elbowed her way through the crowd, pushing the Grinch aside. “Don’t listen to him, Stanley!”
A finish line just like the ones in the Winter Olympics loomed ahead, and there, along with a crowd of elves, stood Lexie Bell and her kid, both dressed in red parkas and ski pants and snow boots, both wearing reindeer antlers.
“You can do it, Mr. Mann,” Lexie called. “Strong finish!”
Except at the last minute he fell off his sled and someone else swooshed by him. Santa Claus.
“Ho, ho, ho! I won,” he taunted. “You are such a loser, Mann.”
Suddenly a crowd of little demons wearing Santa hats and bearing huge pitchforks were surrounding him. “You’re a loser,” heckled one. “Nobody really wants to see you.” He gave Stanley a poke with his pitchfork, making Stanley yelp.
“It’s too late for you,” jeered another. “You’re never gonna change.” He, too, gave Stanley a poke.
“Cut that out!” Stanley protested.
“Why?” joked the first one. “Your attitude sucks, and you deserve it.”
A third demon stuck his pitchfork right through Stanley’s hind end, turning him into a kebab. He lifted Stanley in the air like some sort of prize, and they began to parade off through a snowy forest.
“Where are you taking me?” Stanley cried. Amazingly, he wasn’t in pain, but the humiliation sure stung.
“Someplace you’ll feel right at home,” said one.
They marched him to the edge of a precipice. A huge fire raged below them.
“Toss him in,” cried one of the demons, and the one who had him skewered hurled his pitchfork like a javelin, sending Stanley the Kebab flying, screeching all the way.
He awoke just before he hit the flames and bolted upright in bed, startling Bonnie awake. It felt like the Little Drummer Boy was banging around in his chest. He swallowed and drew the dog up against him.
“What the heck did that mean?” he asked.
The dog had no answer. She flattened out against him and went back to sleep.
He knew, though. Bad dreams. Not playing fair. Dirty pool, Carol.
He lay back down, pulled the covers up to his ears, rolled onto his side and muttered, “I’m not going.”
Then came the whisper. “Don’t be a chicken.”
His eyes popped open, and he searched the darkness for some hint of Carol. He sniffed. No peppermint in the air. Still, she was there somewhere, he knew it, waiting for him to shut his eyes again so she could catch him unawares.
Okay, if she wanted to play that game he’d wait her out. He’d stay awake. He turned on the bedside lamp, picked up his book and began to read. After ten minutes his eyelids drooped.
No, no, stay awake. He blinked and stared at the page. The printing was beginning to blur. His eyelids felt like they had ten-pound weights attached to them.
The weights won and he was back on that snowy mountain, all by himself. It was such a vast expanse of nothing, and looking around, he felt small and scared. Abandoned.
Carol didn’t show herself, but he could sense her next to him. “You don’t have to feel like this, Stanley. You can have people in your life.”
Next thing he knew he was walking toward a lodge nestled among snow-covered fir trees. The lights inside beckoned him, and as he drew closer he could hear laughter and Christmas music. He smiled and picked up his pace. Once on the porch, he opened the door and was greeted with a blur of light that seemed to reach out and warm him.
He never saw beyond the light, but he woke up feeling... He wasn’t sure what he felt. A little nervous, half-wishing he could stick with his decision to back out of that dinner invitation. But he knew he wasn’t going to, because mixed in there somewhere was a feeling of anticipation, a thought that yes, homemade lasagna and cheese bread that killed would probably top what he found in the supermarket freezer. And the girl would need help putting up that tree.
Someone needing him. The thought made him feel rather...mellow.
After
breakfast he went to the grocery store and bought a two-liter bottle of root beer. And vanilla ice cream. It seemed like the right kind of thing to take over to Lexie Bell and her kid. After all, who didn’t like root-beer floats?
* * *
The subject of romance (or the lack thereof) was one that two single women were bound to discuss frequently. As Shannon drove Lexie and Brock to school, she informed Lexie that she was meeting up with someone she’d found on her new favorite online-dating site.
“So, he’s got potential?” Lexie asked.
“I hope so. From the looks of him I think he could have. You really should check out that site. The people on it are more...real.”
“I’ll see how it works for you,” Lexie said.
So far she hadn’t had much luck when it came to online dating. She’d taken a couple of stabs at it, had a few dates, but nothing had worked out.
Of course, she wanted to find someone fabulous to share her days. And nights. Someone who would love both her and her son. But she was beginning to think that in order to change her luck she’d need to find a four-leaf clover, wear a rabbit’s foot every day, hang a lucky horseshoe over her front door (where did you even find a horseshoe if you were a city girl?), capture a ladybug and get it to show her the end of the rainbow. Maybe then romantic good fortune would smile on her.
“I’ll find out if he has a friend,” Shannon promised.
Lexie wasn’t holding her breath.
Oh, well. She had her son, she had her house, she had her teaching job, and she was making friends and had found a great bestie in Shannon. Her life was good. And if it never got better than that, so what? Good was a lot more than many people had.
And so what if she didn’t have a date that night? So what if the company coming for dinner at her house was old enough to be her father? At least she had company coming.
She started baking the lasagna at five, and by five thirty she and Brock had set the table and she’d made the cheese mixture for her cheese bread. When their neighbor knocked on the door at six, the lasagna was out of the oven and the house smelled like an Italian restaurant.
He handed over a large bottle of root beer and a freezer bag with a carton of ice cream in it. “Thought you guys might like root-beer floats.”
A Little Christmas Spirit Page 15
