Forever Christmas

by Christine Lynxwiler

  I tap the bill of Jack’s baseball cap as I pass where he’s slumped in a red plastic chair, chewing on his pen. “What’s wrong, Jack? Couldn’t find a runaway-bride story to keep you busy today?” After a year, at least I can finally joke about his break-into-journalism piece. No small feat since I was the subject.

  He straightens and shoots me a rueful grin. “Believe it or not, I didn’t want to miss the excitement.”

  Right after Gran died last June and I moved into the apartment over the shop, I’d allowed my sentimental nostalgic self to be suckered in to filling the town council position my grandmother had left vacant. The other council members had made many promises to me and excitement was one of them, but so far “exciting” hadn’t put in an appearance.

  I have a feeling that’s going to change today. I glance over the larger than average crowd. There must be at least a hundred people packed into the folding chairs.

  I nod to Jack and move on down the aisle, greeting the regulars.

  “Sergeant Montrose, Birdie.”

  Our favorite policeman gives me an almost stern nod. He takes his job very seriously.

  Next to him, his wife’s sweet face lights up. “Honey, I haven’t seen you in a while. I have to get downtown next week and pick up a few things, though, so I’ll drop by.”

  “Okay, Birdie. I’ll be watching for you.” Truer words were never spoken. I love her, but Birdie Montrose has a terrible habit of forgetting to pay for the things she “picks up.” We merchants have a special phone tree we activate when she’s downtown so we can all hide the valuables. I’d hate to think of what it would be like to have to call Sergeant Monty to have to come arrest his wife for shoplifting.

  When I near the front row, my gaze falls on three middle-aged men in suits sitting in the center, with a flip chart balanced between them. Summer Valley Outdoors has come prepared. I should have at least written a speech.

  “You planning to join us today, Kristianna?” Uncle Gus hollers out from the front.

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” I call, hoping he recognizes the challenge in my voice, and make my way to the stage where the other town council members greet me.

  Scott McAdams pushes his thick glasses up on his nose and leans toward me, clutching his book to his chest. “Did I hear Birdie say she was coming downtown next week?” he whispers.

  I nod. Scott owns the Cricket on the Hearth Bookstore, two doors down from my Christmas shop. He’s a bit of a hermit, but if we need him we can usually find him hiding behind a bookshelf reading.

  “You’ll call me when she leaves your place?”

  I cross my heart with my finger. “I promise.”

  Dottie Wells, the town librarian and another council member, waggles her fingers at me. The fourth councilman, John Stone, nods.

  My anxiety melts away. These people are not going to let anyone change the name of our town. We’re a team, a family. Give it your best shot, Mister. After five minutes of discussion, this topic will be shelved and we can move on to more pressing topics—like how to boost our economy without selling out.

  We start with old business, which consists of how much—or in this case, how little—money the Fall Festival made last month. When that’s done, Uncle Gus stands and motions dramatically toward the audience with his cane. Funny, you never see him with that cane except at town meetings and public appearances. “Sometimes opportunity comes knockin’ when you least expect it.” He reaches over and tap, tap, taps on the hardwood stage floor. “Such is the case with the matter on the table tonight. Jingle Bells has an unexpected opportunity for positive growth. A revival, if you will. Jobs for your family members and substantially increased tourist traffic for those of you who own your own shops in town. It’s a win/win situation.”

  Leave it to Uncle Gus to make it sound like we’re being offered the chance of a lifetime instead of having our heritage stripped away by a corporate bully. I clear my throat and glare at him.

  He motions to the balding man in the middle. “Frank.”

  The man grabs the flip chart and saunters up to the stage.

  Dottie and Scott frown. Two for my side. I try to read John’s expression, but he keeps his attention focused on the newcomer, his face inscrutable.

  Uncle Gus nods to the man beside him. “I’m going to turn the floor over to our visitor, Frank Johnson with Summer Valley Outdoors.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, Frank shows us graph after graph of his company’s growth and projections. I’m fighting to keep my eyes open when he says, “With these figures from our online company in mind, we’re proposing that we buy the empty Benning building on the outskirts of town. We’ll use half of it as a warehouse and open our first brick and mortar store in the other half. Numerous employees will be hired in both areas. ”

  He continues to talk, but the buzzing from the audience makes it difficult to hear him. So he raises his voice a notch. "Surveys have shown, though, that the store will be more profitable if it is located in a town that shares its name. And that, ladies and gentlemen of the city council and citizens of Jingle Bells, is the reason it would be beneficial to everyone to change the name of this lovely city to Summer Valley."

  Hearing the words spoken aloud propels me to my feet. “Objection!”

  “Kristianna, this isn’t a courtroom.” Uncle Gus sounds wryly amused. “But by all means, speak your mind.”

  “Um, well. . .” Why didn’t I come up with a speech ahead of time? I was forewarned, but instead of being forearmed, I’m just scattered. “We’ve always been Jingle Bells. Everyone is used to the name. It’s crazy to think about changing it.” Wow. Good argument. After three years of law school, this is the best I can do? My parents should seriously quit trying to force me to go back.

  “I hardly think the ‘what was good enough for our ancestors is good enough for us’ is the progressive attitude your city wants.” Frank’s pompous retort actually clears the fog for me.

  “You can’t change the name of Jingle Bells for a business deal.” I find my pleasant, but firm, voice. Finally. “This isn’t a backwards town against growth and progress. I’m sure we’d be fortunate to join forces with a company as successful as yours appears to be. But not if changing the name is a stipulation. We love our town and that includes its name and all its eccentricities. We can work together.” I hold up my hands as if framing a sign. “Summer Valley Outdoors located in the charming town of Jingle Bells.” I cross my arms in front of me. “Or you can take your business elsewhere.”

  As I sit down, loud applause breaks out. My legs feel like noodles, but I’m proud of myself and, most of all, proud of my fellow townspeople.

  Apparently unaffected by the negative response, Frank speaks again as soon as the noise dies down. “Our studies show that if the store is in an actual town named Summer Valley, it would be more appealing to the buying public. Therefore, I’m afraid my client doesn’t see this point as negotiable.” He waves his hand over the buzzing crowd like he’s shushing a crying infant. “No one expects you to make the decision today. According to your town laws, we need a petition with a thousand signatures on it supporting the renaming process in order to get it on the ballot and get you on the road to a prosperous future. But remember, a rose by any other name. . .”

  I’m starting to hate Shakespeare.

  “We have a hundred signatures so far.”

  People turn to look at their neighbors. I’m sure they’re wondering who, exactly were the traitors who signed that petition.

  “One of your newest residents has agreed to come on board with us. He’ll be collecting signatures, ready to answer any questions you have about the proposed name change. He told me earlier that he’s already grown to care about this town just in the short time he’s been here, so if he approaches you, hear him out, please.” He motions to someone halfway back on the left side.

  My mouth drops open as the man stands and nods.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to yo
ur new neighbor and Summer Valley Outdoor’s first local employee, attorney Shawn Webber.”

  Chapter Five

  As soon as the meeting is adjourned I blindly push my way through the angry mob gathered around Uncle Gus and rush to the back of the room to confront Mark.

  Ami beats me to it, though. Her hazel eyes glitter with anger. “How could you not tell me?” she demands, hands on her hips.

  Mark takes a step back and winces. “I’m sorry. I wanted to. But this whole thing. . .” He glances at me, then quickly over at Garrett. “It’s complicated.”

  “Ames, cut him some slack. Maybe he just didn’t want y’all to hate his friend before you had a chance to get to know him,” Garrett says softly.

  I narrow my eyes at Garrett. “So Ami and I are that quick to judge people?”

  Garrett snorts. “You didn’t even want to speak to Shawn because he was a lawyer and you’ve had a bad year with attorneys. What if you’d known about this?”

  “I. . .” There’s nothing I can say to that. I stare at Mark’s white face. He can’t stand to fight with Ami and we all know it. I touch Ami’s arm. “Garrett’s right, hon. Mark was in a terrible situation. Shawn’s an old friend.”

  Mark reaches for Ami’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

  A smile teases the corner of her mouth. “Forgiven. But no more secrets.” She hugs him tightly.

  Garrett winks at me over their embrace. “Good job,” he mouths.

  Mark turns to me with his arm tucked around Ami. “We okay?”

  I nod. “I’m going to fight to save our town, but I don’t plan on losing any friends in the process.”

  “So you’ll be civil to Shawn?” Mark asks, looking across the room to where Shawn smiles tentatively in our direction.

  “At least until after the wedding.”

  ~~~~~

  Thankfully, I haven’t seen Shawn in the two days since the meeting, or I don’t know if I would have been able to keep my promise to Mark. The more I think about the town-name fiasco, the madder I get. I glance at the notepad beside the cash register where I’ve been writing the words Summer Valley then marking it out over and over. Who is Summer Valley Outdoors to come into a place they know nothing about and try to rename us? My obsession with this is overshadowing my excitement about Ami’s wedding. Even my love of all things Christmas can’t keep my mind off the town meeting.

  If only I had customers, maybe that would do it. But other than a browsing honeymoon couple, there’s been no one all morning. The door chime rings and I look up with a smile. Talk about the power of positive thinking. A teenage boy stands there, a big cellophane wrapped basket in his hands. “Kristianna Harrington?”

  I nod.

  “This is for you.”

  “For me?” I take the wicker basket and set it on the counter by the cash register. “Who from?”

  He shrugs. “I just got paid to deliver it.” He’s gone before I can press him.

  The crackle of the yellow cellophane drowns out the background Christmas music that plays year round in my shop. I drop the plastic to the floor and sink to a stool to examine my surprise. A plush vibrant-colored beach towel is rolled up beside a pair of flip-flops and a huge bottle of suntan lotion. A very weird early Christmas present? I fumble for the envelope hanging from the handle and pull out a typewritten note.

  Kristianna, If Jingle Bells dies with its name intact, is that a victory? Sometimes our hearts can’t see clearly what is right before us. If you could open your mind to change, you might be amazed by the view.

  No signature, of course. But it couldn’t have been any plainer if it said Summer Valley Outdoors aka Shawn Webber. My heart pounds as I fold the letter and put it back in the envelope. I hate to admit that Jingle Bells needs Summer Valley Outdoors, but the truth is tourist trade gets less every year. We need something to turn the tide. I need something. But I have to think, too. If Jingle Bells lives and loses the name, is that acceptable? I guess my mind is closed, thank you very much, because considering our whole tourist trade is based on Christmas, I don’t see how that will work.

  Still thinking about the words of the note, I absently lift a corner of the beach towel. Two paperbacks, both titles I’ve been anxious to read, are nestled behind the towel. Shawn Webber has been doing his research. I need to tell him not to waste his time.

  ~~~~~

  Ami rubs her mittened hands together and leans forward to look down the street. “I always thought that on the morning of the wedding, the bride was supposed to soak in a hot tub then have her hair and nails done. Maybe I should have asked Jill to be my maid of honor.”

  I step around a man holding his toddler on his shoulders and take my place beside her. “You know very well that we have eleven o’clock appointments at Angel Hair and Nails.”

  She blows out a visible breath—our shorthand for “see how cold it is”—and stamps her feet. “Nowhere in the bride’s creed does it say anything about standing on a street corner in freezing temperatures waiting for a marching band.”

  “You must have been skimming. It has to be in there. Besides, you know you weren’t going to skip the Christmas Parade after all these years of perfect attendance.” Bad enough that she’ll miss the Festival next week. I guess it’s only logical that a honeymoon takes precedence over hot cocoa, carolers, and a live nativity, but I’ll still miss her.

  “You’ve got a point. Oh!” Her face lights up. “Remember that year you, Garrett, and I had chicken pox, and your grandmother made a cozy place for us to watch the parade from her balcony? That was the best parade ever.”

  “How could I forget? She made dad carry pillows and blankets out and Mother kept muttering that Gran needed to get on meds quick to stave off the madness.”

  “But then your Gran fixed beef fajitas for supper and everybody quit fighting.”

  I smile. “Mother loves fajitas. Gran always knew how to make everything all right.”

  “She’d hate what’s going on between you and your mom now.”

  My smile fades. Ami has an amazing bond with her mother. She doesn’t understand the twisty-curvy maze that is my maternal relationship. “I can’t help that. To me, forgiving Mother would be a betrayal of everything Gran held dear.” Even standing in the noisy, pushing parade crowd, I can hear Mother ranting at me about how hard they’ve worked to overcome Dad’s past, to bring the Harrington name back to meaning something. I can see the fury in her eyes when she realizes I’m not going to sell the shop and apartment. And that I’m not going back to law school.

  “If only you’d—” Ami’s eyes widen. “Oh, no. It’s Mark.” She grabs me and turns us both the opposite direction.

  In spite of her bizarre behavior, I’m grateful for the distraction. “Since when does your beloved fiancé’s presence instill sheer horror in you?”

  “You know it’s bad luck for him to see me the day of the wedding.”

  “God makes our luck.”

  She nods and bites her lip.

  I understand tradition, so I grab the red ski mask out of my overcoat pocket.

  “I know you’re right, but still I’d rather—”

  I slide the mask down over her face while she’s still talking.

  She gives a muffled laugh through the tiny mouth hole. “Perfect.”

  “I should have known you two would be here,” Mark’s voice booms from behind us.

  “Two? Who two?” I turn with a playful grin that falters when I see Shawn with him. Probably here to drum up signatures for his petition. “Mark, you know the groom isn’t supposed to see the bride before the wedding.” Wink, wink.

  He stares at me, then at Ami’s back. “Oh.”

  “So. . .” I drawl. “What would Ami be doing out here in broad daylight where you might see her?”

  “Ohh. In that case maybe you and your fascinating red-capped friend would like to keep us lonely bachelors company.” Mark may be a little slow on the uptake sometimes, but when he catches on, he plays along real good.<
br />
  Ami steps backward squarely on Mark’s foot.

  “Ouch!” He grabs his shoe. “Your friend has a mean streak.”

  “A mile wide, I’m afraid. But this is a public street corner, so if y’all want to watch the parade from here, you’re welcome to.” I concentrate on ignoring Shawn’s incredulous look. Wonder if I could get away with stepping on his foot?

  “I can’t breathe in this,” Ami hisses next to my ear.

  “Take it off,” I hiss back.

  “No. We have to go.”

  Could I look any more idiotic? Well, maybe if I had a red ski mask on. So I turn to Mark again, ignoring Shawn. . .again. “On second thought, we have to get going. Say hello to the clowns for us.” The other ones, I should have said.

  “Are you sure? We can leave.” The concern in Mark’s voice makes my heart melt. He may not completely understand Ami. . .Who am I kidding? I don’t even completely understand Ami. But he wants to make her happy.

  “No, we’re good. Thanks, though.”

  I lead Ami away, but while we’re still in earshot, I hear Shawn say the word “crazy.” I’m not sure if he means Ami and me or the town, but either way, I’m offended.

  As soon as we’re out of sight, Ami yanks the ski mask off and gasps for air. “I never could stand these things.” She takes a couple more deep breaths. “That was our street corner and the parade’s about to start. Now what are we going to do?”

  I glance around for a place where we can see but not be seen—then it hits me. “Come on, Juliet, our balcony awaits.”

  Chapter Six

  Ten minutes later, we’re tucked into my balcony chairs with warm blankets.

  Ami raises her mug of hot chocolate toward me. “Here’s to your brilliance. This is way better than the street corner.”