Home for Christmas

by Tirrell, Kayla

  I just gave him a small smile.

  “Good thing, too,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “I had no idea what a natural on stage you are.”

  He laughed at himself. I sighed at the return of the eye crinkles.

  “Thank you,” he said, taking my hand. “You really saved the day. You saved everything, really.”

  My heart sped up at the contact with his hand. The butterflies that had miraculously fallen asleep during my onstage time were awake and ready to party.

  “And thank you for sharing,” he said, stepping closer to me and taking my other hand. We were alone backstage, everyone else eager to partake in the holiday goodies. “About your family. If I had known what you were going through, I would have tried to help. The way you’ve helped me.”

  “No, it’s fine,” I said, finding it a little hard to breathe all of a sudden. “I didn’t mind helping.”

  “Why?” he said, licking his lips and sending the butterflies into a tizzy. “Why would you help someone you barely know?”

  “Well,” I said, taking a lungful of air. Awkward and goofy, here we go. “You are probably the hottest guy that has ever walked into the smoothie bar. I would have done pretty much anything you asked me to.”

  The laugh burst out of him, shocking my butterflies into a stunned silence.

  “Jamie, you’re so…” he trailed off, looking into my eyes. “Different.”

  “Different good?”

  He nodded and squeezed my hands.

  “It’s still really soon after I just got my heart smashed by Maddie,” he said, looking down. “But, maybe… I mean, I’m still here another few weeks.”

  I held my breath.

  “Maybe we could still hang out sometimes even though the show is over?”

  He looked at me again, and I nodded. He smiled, crinkles galore, and leaned in for the kiss I’d been hoping for since I’d first laid eyes on him.

  As you could expect from a Christmas miracle, it did not disappoint.

  Epilogue

  If I had to compare these past few weeks to the same time last year, there would be almost nothing similar. My dad gone, I’m living at home instead of off at school, and my prospects for the future are confusing.

  But there was also a great new life of living with my mom and sister. Just us three girls for the first time. After a spectacular Christmas dinner that Caitlyn pulled off on incredibly short notice, we spent the week before New Year’s staying up late, ordering take out, watching old movies… and talking about boys.

  Austin was still headed back to Georgia in January, but only for a quick visit and to bring back some friends. He had an idea for some new software that gyms could use, and wanted to start testing it on a small-town market.

  There’s always the risk that people will leave you when you least expect it. But sometimes, they come back right when you need them. The holes that some people leave in your heart can never be filled. But then someone else comes along and they fill in the empty spots around it.

  About Daphne James Huff

  In the summer before she turned 11, Daphne James Huff had a dream that there'd be a new boy in her class named Justin. And there was. Not long after that she wrote the first page of what would become, many years later, I Dream of Fire. She finds her biggest inspirations come from the dreams she never forgets.

  Daphne works in the non-profit sector during the day, and spends her nights writing, reading, doing yoga, baking cookies, and hanging out with her husband, son, and cat.

  Read about her adventures in self-publishing and find out when her next books will be released by visiting her website, www.daphnejameshuff.com

  Also by Daphne James Huff

  The Princes of Prynesse:

  A Royal Distraction

  A Royal Decision

  A Royal Departure

  * * *

  Dreamers Series:

  I Dream of Fire: Parts 1 & 2

  The Magician’s Test

  The Devil’s Trial

  The Nurse’s Secret

  * * *

  Sweet Young Adult:

  Leah’s Song

  Home for Christmas

  3

  The Night Sale

  by M.F. Lorson

  Chapter 1

  Smockville Station was a pit stop between San Francisco and Portland. Few travelers ever got off the train in Smockville, which is why there was no platform for arrivals just departures. Elizabeth could have waited inside where it was warm but then she would have missed her father’s megawatt smile, gleaming through the windshield as his red pickup began its steady ascent up the gravel road to where she stood.

  Mr. Marshall pulled up to the curb. Throwing the truck in park he hopped out and scooped his daughter into a massive hug. The Marshall’s only had one child and they had missed her something wicked that first term away. He pulled back to have a look at her, surprised to find that his little girl, afraid to raise her hand in class was gone. In her place stood a confidant young woman. Long dark hair that had spent its high school years wound tight in a braid, now lay in waves over her shoulders. What would have once been an oversized sweater was now a neatly tailored brown suede jacket, soft sheep like wool poking out from the neck and sleeves.

  “Hop in already!” he called, tossing her suitcase into the back of the pickup. “If I don’t have you home within the hour your mother will assume you’ve run away with a boy from college.” Elizabeth laughed, “Hardly, Dad.”

  Mr. Marshall thought back over the years. Only once had he seen his daughter focused so intently on her appearance. Last Christmas she and Henry York were put in charge of decorating the tree at City Hall. She took it very seriously, making sure everything was perfect. No gaps between ornaments, no burnt out bulbs. She took Henry seriously as well.

  Mr. Marshall also remembered that evening, the painful process of listening to Elizabeth sob from outside her bedroom door. Mrs. Marshall called Elizabeth’s first heartbreak a right of passage and insisted he stay out of it. He had, of course, but now when he saw Henry York around town he did his best to walk the other way. Was she dressed this way to impress a boy now? He approached the question with caution.

  “Is there a boy Elizabeth?”

  Elizabeth smiled. “No one special just yet.” Relieved, Mr. Marshall put the truck in gear and began the short drive into town.

  Chapter 2

  Elizabeth felt the change the moment she stepped off the platform. To an outsider Smockville was the same. The bulb on the S in Skate City was still burnt out, the Library was still full to the brim with children on winter break, and the park was still filled with little old men, walking dogs, playing chess, pulling their stocking caps down tight over their ears to keep out the biting cold. Elizabeth was different though, and the town seemed to shift around her in response.

  She waved through the windowpane at anyone and everyone they saw along the way. The joy of her homecoming was cut short however, when they turned the corner from main to fifth.

  “What is that?” she shrieked, pointing to the giant Save-A-Lot currently occupying what used to be Mr. Murphy’s vacant lot.

  “They call it a store,” teased her father. Elizabeth slugged him.

  “I know that! What is it doing in Smockville?”

  “The York’s put it in this fall,” he mumbled. She had only been home twenty minutes and already Henry York had stepped outside of her ill fated memory and into the present.

  “Tell me no one shops there!” cried Elizabeth.

  Mr. Marshall scratched his head. “I hate to say it hon but everyone shops there. There isn’t much else to choose from.”

  “The Grocer on 3rd!’

  “Closed.”

  Elizabeth’s mouth dropped in shock. “Jilly Beans Coffee Shop?”

  “There's a Starbucks inside,” admitted Mr. Marshall. Elizabeth crossed her arms in full on pout formation. “Jilly Beans has been here since I was a baby!”

  “Longer than that,” r
eplied Mr. Marshall. “But you can’t compete with box store prices. We started just getting our beef there, then we started getting our produce there. Before we knew it we were regular Save-A-Lot shoppers,” Elizabeth bit her tongue, she couldn’t very well expect her parents to pay twice the price as everyone else but she couldn’t stomach their lining the York’s pockets either.

  The two spent the rest of the drive in silence, save for the sound of the trucks studded tires crunching the pavement. The snow had yet to come but the Marshall’s knew to be prepared. The hills in Smockville were unforgiving once the snow and ice travelled in from the mountains.

  Chapter 3

  Marshall’s Tree Farm had a driveway a quarter mile long. It was lined with three types of trees. The nobles, with their short sturdy branches perfect for holding ornaments, the Grand Firs which didn’t hold the heavy baubles but smelled the best and the Douglas Fir’s which were light, cheap, and every bit as beautiful as the others. Elizabeth loved the long drive among the trees but right away she noticed that something wasn’t right. With only three weeks till Christmas there ought not to have been so many left. Where were the stumps of those recently bought? How was it that there were no gaps between the rows? In eighteen years she had never seen such a full lot this close to Christmas.

  Though the questioned itched at her Elizabeth waited until her mother had poured the coffee and taken her seat across the small round kitchen table before asking about the trees.

  “Mom?”

  “Hmm?” asked Mrs. Marshall, taking a sip from a thick ceramic mug and pushing a second cup toward her daughter.

  “What’s going on with the lot? There are hardly any trees missing.” Mrs. Marshall set down the mug looking to her husband for backup.

  “Sales have been lower than we expected this year,” she said.

  “More like non-existent,” answered Mr. Marshall, crossing the room to stand behind his wife. Elizabeth looked perplexed.

  “People don’t seem to want real trees anymore. Not when you can spend the same amount at Save-A-Lot for one that packs up and can be reused every year.”

  Elizabeth glowered, of course the York’s were a part of this. Henry York had become synonymous with pain and embarrassment when it came to Elizabeth.

  “Plastic trees do not smell like Christmas,” she growled, pulling the coffee up to her lips for a long comforting sip.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were having trouble?” she asked. “I would have come home to help.”

  “That is exactly why we didn’t tell you,” answered Mrs. Marshall. “This isn’t your responsibility. We didn’t want you distracted with this business back home.”

  “I feel awful though,” said Elizabeth, her voice tinged with sadness.

  “Nothing can be done,” stated Mrs. Marshall. “If it’s time to stop selling trees we’ll do something else.”

  “Time to stop selling trees!” cried Elizabeth. “Selling trees is what Marshall’s Tree Farm does. It’s all we do.” Her mother sighed, getting up from her side of the table to wrap her arms around her daughter in the same calming manner she’d done since she was little,

  “Nothing lasts forever honey.”

  Chapter 4

  Later that afternoon when the tears had dried and her luggage was unpacked Elizabeth’s father sent her downtown to pick up red potatoes and heavy cream for dinner. It was his job to get the night’s meal but preparing for Elizabeth’s arrival had distracted him and soon Mrs. Marshall was asking where were the potatoes? How could she make gravy? Elizabeth volunteered to go in his place. Looking out the window at the lines and lines of uncut trees left her feeling unbearably depressed. She needed out of the house and any errand would do.

  Though she’d just as soon drive two towns over to avoid it, Elizabeth found herself stepping through the sliding glass doors of the York’s Save-A-Lot. She worked quickly to grab what she needed, purposely avoiding browsing and or any temptation to spend more than was absolutely required. She was making a beeline for the checkstand when she spotted aisle 26. The Christmas aisle, specifically the Christmas Tree aisle. Despite her rush to get home and disinclination to line the York’s pockets any more than necessary, she stopped to look.

  Someone had taken great care to decorate the end cap as if it were a fully decorated tree in a bough of snow, artificial deer licking at its branches, taxidermied chipmunks holding nuts at it’s base. How ironic thought Elizabeth, the best way to sell a fake tree was to make it look like it was outdoors while the real trees remained rooted up on Marshall’s Tree Farm where real deer made their way between the rows and real chipmunks skirted along the path. She walked slowly down the aisle, taking in the variety of cheap polyester trees. They ranged from thirty dollars to two hundred and sixty. The more expensive of course being pre decorated with ready strung lights and glued on ornaments. For just two hundred and sixty dollars you could buy christmas she thought, hassle and memory free.

  She reached out her hand to touch the flocked branches of a crystal pine. It surprised her how real the branches felt despite the white factory made covering. She briefly fantasized about purchasing expired shrimp from the Italian restaurant on main, then sneaking in overnight to stuff the branches with the foul smelling sea creatures. A giggle burst from her lips unintentionally at the idea of Save-A-Lot customers reading the “realistic tree smell” label and then taking a big whiff of rotting fish.

  “Elizabeth Marshall?” came a voice from behind. The smile she’d worn just a moment ago disappeared. Why oh why hadn’t she just grabbed the groceries and hightailed it out of there?

  “Elizabeth?” he asked again. You can do this she reminded herself, you spent a whole term getting over Henry York. Turn around and show him how little you care. Elizabeth spun around prepared to do just that, only when she caught sight of him her heart did that horrible flip flop thing. She took a deep breath and forced herself to look him in the eye.

  “Hello,” she answered.

  Henry stood before her in grey slacks with a crimson dress shirt tucked beneath a well fitted vest. His hair was still perfectly combed and dark as night, his bone structure still the stuff of Calvin Klein ads. Henry York was still painfully perfect. Except now when Elizabeth looked at him it was with a great deal of regret. Why had she run away last Christmas when he leaned in for that kiss? The memory burnt her cheeks.

  The two spoke at length. It turned out that each were home for Christmas and would return to school after the Holiday. Henry for business, Elizabeth for Art History. She wanted to ask him to walk down town with her to see what this year’s senior had done to the tree at City Hall. There would never again be a tree as beautiful as the one they decorated together. Elizabeth had made sure of that when she filled hundreds of tiny glass balls with the favorite photos of town residents. She wanted to ask him but just like always with Henry, she got nervous and started rambling. Next thing she knew she’d told him all about the tree farm, how little was selling, how much they depended on the holiday income to supplement the rest of the year. She hadn’t intended to do it but by the time she left she was pretty sure Henry got the impression that neither the Save-A-Lot nor he were well thought of in the Marshall household. Maybe, she thought, it was best. She had enough on her plate with the farm. A Henry York distraction wasn’t going to help get her family back on track.

  Chapter 5

  That evening after dinner had been eaten and Elizabeth had complained long and hard about Henry York’s stupid store with it’s stupid trees and stupid decorations, she helped her mother prepare the cocoa, coffee and apple cider donuts that the Marshall’s put out each year during the night sale. The night sale had always been Elizabeth’s favorite part of living on a Christmas Tree Farm. Each night in December her parents would fire up the heat lamp at the front gate, set out refreshments and wait for the long line of headlights to come. Elizabeth sat bundled with her parents, each in their own adirondack chair, custom built for their shape and size, like Goldilo
cks and the Three Bears. It was seven p.m. and the lot was silent. A family or two had popped in, regulars who never missed a year, neighbors who worried Mrs. Marshall would drop by unexpected and catch them decorating a plastic pine, but nothing like usual. Prior Christmases had found the Marshalls loading the last tree well past ten.

  Elizabeth fidgeted in the cold. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe their years selling trees really were coming to an end. Just then a shiny silver Toyota pulled in front of the lot. Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat, it wasn’t a practical car for hauling a Christmas tree but that wouldn’t stop her from making the sale. She popped out of her chair and rushed to the gate to welcome the customer. Her enthusiasm took a dive when she realized that this particular customer was likely not a customer at all, but Henry York here for goodness knows what. Sensing the turmoil Mrs. Marshall rushed to her daughter's side, a big artificial smile plastered on her face.

  “How can we help you Henry?” she asked.

  “We need a tree,” he stated.

  “You’ve got a tree,” Elizabeth smirked. “Rows of them to be exact.”

  “A real tree,” he answered, looking Elizabeth square in the eye. “The kind you can only get at Marshall Farm. We always get our tree here.”

  “You’d be surprised how many people that always get their tree here don’t anymore,” said Mr. Marshall, interjecting himself into the conversation. Henry looked like he wanted to turn and run. It was no secret to Elizabeth that her father was not fond of Henry. She hadn’t exactly come clean to her parents about the whole scaredy cat kiss evasion. As far as they knew Henry had done something awful to upset her.