A Mountain Springs Christmas

Chapter 3

three

NOELLE

Noelle sat around the conference table in the marketing meeting with her boss and her seven coworkers, talking about the ad campaigns they had running for clients and new ad campaigns they had coming up, taking notes about everything that had to do with her job as the copywriter. Assignments were made, deadlines were given.

And then, at the part where her boss, Jack, who was standing with his tablet in his hand, would typically wrap up the meeting by asking if anyone had any questions, he shifted from one foot to the other and then glanced down at the tablet. Then he placed it on the table and looked out at them, putting his hands in his pockets and looking a little uncomfortable.

The uncertain body language seemed out of place for a boss who was always very professional and businesslike and instantly made everyone pay a little more attention.

“I need some help outside of work for a project unrelated to work, and I’m wondering if any of you might be interested in the job. You would be paid—”

Noelle’s hand shot into the air.

Jack glanced at her, pausing his sentence only momentarily before forging on. “—time and a half, and it would be eight to ten hours a week until the end of the month.”

Noelle raised her arm as high as it would go as her brain started doing the math without her even telling it to. That would probably be everything she needed to get her car fixed, and it wouldn’t involve working in a retail environment that would practically be exploding with Christmas. If that wasn’t a giant Christmas miracle dropped right at her doorstep, she didn’t know what was.

Winter miracle, she mentally corrected herself. Fortune smiling down on her. Divine intervention.

It would be so nice to drive her car again!

“Okay,” Jack said, nodding at Noelle, “it looks like we have one person interested. Is anyone else?”

Noelle looked around the conference table. A couple of people looked thoughtful, but most looked uninterested or maybe even overwhelmed with work and the holidays. Lennox looked like he was considering it for a moment, then changed his mind. Bridget seemed to turn her nose up at just the thought of working more hours. She could probably put her arm down. Jack got that she was very interested.

“And that was our last item of business. Noelle, do you want to come to my office, and we’ll talk more about the job?”

As she grabbed her stuff and walked to his office, her mind ran with possibilities of what the job might be. It wasn’t spending extra time doing her regular job—he’d made that clear. It couldn’t really be organizing files or anything like that, either, since he said it was unrelated to work. Whatever it was, overtime pay was something she couldn’t pass up.

Why was it that walking into Jack’s office made her feel like she was being “called on the carpet?” It was a funny expression, mainly because most of the building was carpeted, but Jack’s office wasn’t. His was modern and sleek, like it belonged in a magazine. A couch sat on one side, which should’ve made the place feel homier, but it didn’t. It was leather with angled lines, and even though it had a small rug in front of it, even the carpet had clean lines and a short pile.

Poster-sized images of award-winning ads they had created hung framed on the walls, along with the awards, scaled to the same size. The only personal item in the room was a framed picture on his desk, but it faced him, not the side of the desk she was on. She always wished she had the guts to pick it up and look at it—to get a glimpse into what was important enough to him to be the only thing he deemed worthy of entering his workspace.

Everything was neat and tidy and organized, too, which was so at odds with their work in a creative business. No one else’s desks here looked so orderly. It made her uncomfortable. Out of her element.

“Have a seat,” he said as he shut the door behind her and went around to sit at his desk.

She took a seat on the leather chair, which, for the record, wasn’t soft, even though it was padded. How she hadn’t totally blown her interview in this same room a year and a half ago was beyond her. She’d felt just as out of place back then.

It didn’t help that her boss was intimidatingly good-looking. He had those strong shoulders that looked so incredible in a suit. In the few times she’d seen him just wearing a dress shirt without the jacket, they’d looked even more impressive. Dark hair, dark eyes, strong jawline—he had it all.

Anyone would agree that he was a very beautiful man. But he had a stiff exterior that hid what he was like on the inside, and he never cracked. They all knew what kind of a boss he was—a very fair one—but no one knew what he was like outside of work, and he never gave any clues.

“I’m going to cut right to the chase here, Ms. Allred. My sister has Acute Myeloid Leukemia.”

Noelle gasped.

“She’s convinced she’ll make it through, but she’s been going through the most intense part of treatment right now and is pretty sick. She has a five-year-old son—my nephew, Aiden. Do you have any experience with kids?”

Her brows drew together. Was he looking for a babysitter? Why would he ask work colleagues for that kind of help when he could go to a site or app for caretakers? She hesitated. “I do. I have nine nieces and nephews. Two of them are five-year-old boys.”

He nodded. “Good. My sister said that Christmas is a magical time for five-year-olds, and she doesn’t want him to miss out on any of it just because she’s sick. She asked for assistance in providing him with a magical Christmas. What I would need you to do is to help give that to him.”

Noelle immediately stood. “I’m sorry; I can’t.”

Jack looked shocked by the abrupt ending of the negotiation. He stood, too. “Why? Is the pay not good enough for something like that? I can offer you more.”

“It’s not that. I just can’t.”

He cocked his head slightly. “I assure you, Noelle, that my nephew’s a good kid.”

“I am sure that he is. But I’m sorry—my answer is no.” She didn’t want to turn down something that had seemed like such a gift and an answer to all her problems. But there was no way possible that she could do what he was asking. And the longer she stayed in this room, the more he would think he might be able to talk her into it. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a lot of work waiting for me.”

Then she turned and walked out of his office, not even glancing back to see the look on her boss’s face. She had always prided herself on being the one willing to take on any extra work whenever he asked, so her response was probably rather unexpected for him.

She really did have a lot of work to do before the end of the day, so she got herself in the ad copy mindset and focused deeply. She started with the copy for a group of ads showing the “perfect” stocking stuffers, and she was on fire. Sometimes, coming up with the right words to go with an ad image felt like an uphill climb when the hill was covered in thick molasses, making each step exhausting work. But other times, like today, the words came like running downhill with a breeze at her back.

After an hour of working so focused on the ads, she could feel her brain power waning, so she took a break to work on other tasks and give her creative juices time to recharge. She refilled her water bottle, sat back down, got comfortable, nudged some papers aside to make room for her water, then opened her email. The top one was from her boss, with a subject line that read Extra hours . She sighed and clicked on it.

Noelle,

I sincerely think that you’re the best person for the job to help my sister and nephew. I really hope you’ll reconsider.

Jack

Nope. That wasn’t going to happen. She was super bummed that it wouldn’t work out, but it very much wouldn’t. So she clicked reply and typed, I am sorry. I really wish I could help you, but I can’t . Then she clicked send and forced herself to work on writing ad copy for their “Gifts for the guy who has everything” campaign.

All through the rest of the afternoon, though, working didn’t help her forget about Jack’s request. Not only about how badly she needed the money or how much she just couldn’t make herself do anything Christmassy to get it, but also about the pleading look that had been on her boss’s face when he had asked. This was his company, and he was passionate about it. That had come through in so many staff meetings over the year and a half she’d worked there. She had seen plenty of impassioned pleas for them to pour their heart into specific projects or to put in extra hours when they had too many great clients needing their services at the same time.

His plea for his nephew had been different. It wasn’t that it had been more sincere—that wasn’t it. He was sincere about everything he did. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what the difference was, though.

Regardless of what had been on his face, the fact remained that she couldn’t do what he was asking. It just wasn’t possible.

So it felt even worse when she got a text from Jack after she’d left work for the day, just as she was walking from the office to the bus stop.

Jack: You have now mentioned twice that you “can’t” help my nephew—never that you don’t want to. Can I assume that means that there’s an obstacle standing in your way that you can’t get around? Is there something that I can do to help overcome the obstacle?

Noelle wasn’t even sure how to respond. Could she pretend that she hadn’t seen the text and answer once she had time to think about how to reply? Yeah, probably not—her phone was set to show when she’d read a message. She really needed to change that. She took a deep breath and clicked reply, then just dumped out her thoughts.

Noelle: It’s more of a mental obstacle than a physical one. Although I did just slip on ice and slide my car into a pole, ruining the front corner just enough to make it un-driveable, so I guess it’s also a physical one.

Noelle: But really, the far biggest issue of the two is the mental obstacle. So, no, there’s not much you can do.

She touched send, then had a moment of freaking out that she just told her boss that she had mental obstacles. And suddenly, she couldn’t handle seeing what his response might be to a declaration that was far more personal than she had ever been with her boss. Even admitting that she was having car troubles was out of the ordinary. So she hurried and shut her phone off before his response could come in and pushed her phone into her bag.

Then she reached in and pushed it further to the bottom. Underneath everything. Where a response wouldn’t feel like it was trying to break free. But then she felt the metaphorical weight of the phone, which now only had the faux leather of her bag between it and her lap, so she moved the bag to the empty seat next to her.

She got off the bus, made the walk back to her apartment—on sidewalks now shoveled clear of snow, thankfully—and went into her apartment before she looked at her bag, trying to decide if she wanted to take her phone out of it and turn it back on.

It was the fact that she knew Hope would be calling that made her grab the phone and power it on. She didn’t want to go to the event tonight, but she did love her sister.

No missed calls from Hope yet, which was unusual. But there were definitely two texts from Jack. She realized that she’d forgotten to get her mail, so she grabbed her keys and headed back down to the mail room, looking at the phone as she went, trying to work up the courage to swipe on the notifications. She unlocked her mail box, then hovered her finger over the messages for a long time before mumbling, You’re being a wimp , then swiped to open the texts. She looked down at the phone in one hand, grabbing her mail with the other.

Jack: I will pay for the repairs on your car. And while it’s in the shop, I’ll get you a rental to drive. As far as the mental obstacle, I don’t know if I can do anything for that, but I’m hoping this will help...

The following text was just two pictures. The first was of a young boy who she guessed was his nephew. He looked like he was about five years old and was holding a snowflake cut from folded white paper, grinning at the camera. He was adorable, and she found herself smiling back at him. He kind of reminded her of her nephews.

The second picture was the same boy, sitting on the lap of someone who looked frail and like she wasn’t feeling well. She guessed it was Jack’s sister. That one made her heart hurt.

But so did thoughts of doing Christmas stuff with the boy. So she swiped out of the app before closing and locking her mail box. She had no idea how to respond.

As she walked back up to her apartment, she pushed her phone into her pocket and started looking through the mail in her hand. A package sat on top of some bills and junk mail. It was slightly smaller than a book but also thicker. It was some kind of box wrapped in brown paper. It was addressed to her, but there wasn’t a return address.

Curious, she turned it over to the backside but then quickly turned it back as her brain interpreted what her eye must’ve caught. The postmark was from North Pole, Alaska. She sucked in a breath, staring at the postmark with disbelief. For as long as she could remember, her Gran-gran would send her a letter “from Santa,” and the postmark always said North Pole, Alaska. The home of Santa Claus.

She’d figured out that Santa wasn’t real when she was seven (which was bound to happen with three older sisters who already figured it out but didn’t do all they could to keep the secret from her because she wasn’t the youngest). When she’d gotten the letter from Santa that Christmas, she’d announced to Gran-gran that she no longer believed in Santa.

Gran-gran had just smiled, winked, and said, “I’ll never stop believing in the magic of Christmas.”

And then, when Noelle was eight, a letter from Santa still came, still with a postmark from North Pole, Alaska. They still kept coming, in fact, every year since then. One even arrived “from Santa,” postmarked by the North Pole post office last year. Noelle had received it just two days after Gran-gran’s passing.

She was still holding her breath, like letting it out might disturb the magic, and the box would vanish. But then, suddenly and with all the speed she could muster, she ran up the three flights of stairs as fast as she could. Her keys shook in her hands as she tried to unlock the door. But she finally got the key in and turned, opened the door, and raced to dump the rest of the mail on her table.

Then she grabbed a pair of scissors from her kitchen junk drawer, forced herself to take the time to remove her key from the front door and shut it, then she took slow, deep breaths and forced herself to be calm.

Ever so carefully, so she wouldn’t damage the brown paper, she sliced into the tape just enough to break it and unfolded the wrapping.

Inside was a metal box, with her name painted in her gran-gran’s fancy handwritten script across the top. She ran her fingers across it reverently, like it was made of the most precious gems.

Maybe this was nothing. Maybe her parents knew she would struggle this Christmas, so they sent something to the North Pole post office to have it postmarked and sent back to Noelle.

But somehow, she knew it wasn’t. With trembling fingers, she lifted off the top of the box.

Inside was a stack of cards on thick cardstock. She picked up the first one—it was a scene painted with watercolors of the tree lighting in Downtown Park. She recognized Gran-gran’s style immediately. And among the people painted in the scene, she recognized Gran-gran by the red coat she always wore. Noelle stood next to her. She turned the card over and saw Gran-gran’s flowing script that had gotten the tiniest bit shaky over the years.

Start off the season by experiencing the magic in Downtown Park.

Every year.

She laughed once, covering her mouth with one hand, tears starting to fall from her eyes and run down her cheeks. Noelle’s entire family always went to the tree lighting, but she and Gran-gran always stuck together like glue while they were there. All that magic she’d ever experienced in Downtown Park had been with her.

One by one, she went through the stack of at least a dozen cards. Each one had a scene painted of one of the traditions they did together, with the description written ever so carefully on the back. Each one of them said Every year at the bottom. She could feel her Gran-gran’s presence with them all. She swiped at the tears that were running freely down her cheeks so they wouldn’t fall onto the cards.

The pain of missing Gran-gran stabbed at her, but it was somehow a blunted stab this time. She could feel her presence with every card. Almost like she was with her as she looked at them.

She got to the last card, but there was no note or letter at the bottom. Where had these come from? And how did they get mailed from the North Pole a year after Gran-gran’s passing?

Picking up her phone and dialing Hope with one hand, she picked up each card again, looking it over, overcome by the feeling that Gran-gran was in the room with her.

“Hello?” Her sister’s voice sounded strained.

“Whatcha up to?” She tried to make her voice sound normal and happy.

“Wrangling kids into their car seats before we head over to the tree lighting.” Noelle couldn’t entirely trust her voice to come out normal. When she didn’t immediately respond, Hope said, “Are you okay, Noe?”

Noelle nodded, then sniffed. “I got a package from Gran-gran.”

“You—” Then, with her voice sounding further away from the phone, she said, “Honey, will you get this?” Then she was back. “You got a package? From Gran-gran? How?”

“I don’t know. Hope, I need you to be one hundred percent truthful with me. Did you send this?”

“No.”

“Do you know who did?”

“No. How? How did you get a package from Gran-gran?”

“I don’t know. It’s a metal tin containing cards she painted.”

“And you’re sure they’re from her?”

“I’m sure.” She looked at a card that showed Noelle and Gran-gran shopping for Christmas presents together. “She was definitely the one who painted these.”

“But how did they get to you?”

Noelle shrugged again, even though she knew that Hope couldn’t see it. “They came from North Pole, Alaska.”

Hope gasped. “I want to see these. We’ve got to get to the tree lighting soon. Can I come over after I get the kids to bed?”

Noelle told her yes and ended the call, then just stood for a long time at her kitchen table, staring at the impossible cards and the words Every year at the bottom of each one. It was like she came back to give her a message. Like she knew just how badly she needed it.

After a long moment, Noelle wiped the tears from her cheeks and picked up her phone. Then she took a deep breath and went into Jack’s message and touched the picture of Jack’s nephew, enlarging it to the size of her screen. Then she swiped to the following picture of the boy and his mom.

She looked back at the box of cards. Did Gran-gran know that Noelle would quit Christmas once she was gone, and this was her way of making sure that didn’t happen? Because the message seemed clear that Gran-gran still wanted all their traditions to happen every year, regardless of whether she was present or not. Like she knew that Noelle, specifically, needed to continue the traditions.

She rubbed her nose. Did her gran-gran somehow know that there was a little boy who needed her to do it, too?

Could she do it? What if she felt the pain of Gran-gran’s absence so strongly every time she tried to do the things on the cards?

Maybe there was only one way to find out. She picked up her phone and texted Hope.

Noelle: Will you swing by and pick me up on your way to the tree lighting? But don’t judge the state of my face.

Then, without even glancing in the mirror to see the damage done to her makeup and exactly how red and puffy her eyes and nose were from the crying, she grabbed her coat and keys and headed downstairs to meet her sister and her family.