Christmas With a Crank

Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

LIAM

I don’t want to be here.

I don’t live here anymore, and if my parents are happy with the sale of their farm, then I really have nothing else to contribute.

But they asked me to be here. It’s the least I can do.

Once Travis is finished schmoozing my parents, he follows me into the meeting room. My eyes are instantly drawn to Olive. She’s with Phoebe and my sister, all three huddled together like they’re gossiping cheerleaders at a Friday night football game.

I’d rather be at her house, on her couch, under the fleece blanket she said her grandma made for her thirteenth birthday.

I take a seat next to my parents, ready to get this over with. Over the last several days, and with Olive’s help, I’ve polished my pitch for Aaron, which is scheduled for next week. I know I could wait until after the holidays, but I want to return to Indy with this worked out.

I’m ready for a new challenge and a new success.

I absently think about the propeller hat kid and the jetpack girl. Maybe I was so drawn to her doodles because a part of me knew it was personal—to her and to me. I think about how much her creativity has sparked my own, how she makes me better. At work, yes, but also as a person.

I actually feel—happy.

I look over at her again.

Part of me doesn’t want to give that up.

A short, chubby guy I don’t recognize walks up to the front of the room. The meeting room is more rectangular than square, and at this time of year, with snow on the ground outside, it’s a great space. Makes me think about the spaces at the farm, how underutilized some of them are.

It’s a little out of the way, but I wonder if locals from Pleasant Valley or Loveland would drive for the atmosphere. Office parties, staff retreats, weddings, meetings . . .

“Lacey Fisher.”

My sister’s name, coming from the man at the podium, catches me off guard. My parents look at me, clearly as confused as I am.

Lacey is dressed more professionally than usual, and I wonder if she had to go out and buy the outfit—a blazer over a pair of navy blue dress pants with a red belt. Her wavy blond hair is pulled back, and her eyes are sparkling. For a second, she looks like a kid playing dress-up, but then something comes over her, and I see her change.

She clears her throat and glances to her left—at Olive and Phoebe, who both smile and nod, as if to encourage her to go ahead.

What is happening?

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” she begins. “My name is Lacey Fisher, and you most likely know my parents. They own the Pine Creek Christmas Tree Farm, located about forty miles outside of town, between Pleasant Valley and Loveland. Because of our location, we serve both towns equally, and I do plan to present my ideas to the Loveland city council as well.” She looks up. “But, of course, I had to start here, with the superior of the two towns.”

A chuckle moves through the crowd.

“Tonight, I’m grateful for the opportunity to talk to you about my home.”

I straighten.

“And I want to talk to you about why we shouldn’t let it fall into the wrong hands.”

My parents shift. They both look at me, wearing matching frowns.

“What is she doing?” Mom whispers.

I shake my head. “I have no idea.”

“Pine Creek has been in our family for generations. It was my great-great-great—” she scrunches her nose— “and maybe a couple more greats in there, grand-parents who started it, and every generation, someone in our family has been its caretaker. But this year, as you might already know,” she nods toward our parents, seated in the crowd, “our parents have decided to sell the farm.”

The people turn to Mom and Dad, who look a bit embarrassed to be put on the spot, and they give a little wave and smile.

“I’ll be honest . . . it was hard to hear that this was the plan. I grew up there. The north lot was my stomping ground. There are things that my brother and I got into that my parents still don’t know about.” She smiles at me, then at them. “Sorry Mom, it was us who broke the fence on the back lot.”

Another ripple of laughter as my mom exclaims, “That was you ?”

Lacey smiles, and continues. “And to think it will no longer be a part of our family?” She pauses, and shakes her head. “I can’t imagine it most likely going to a development company that will build houses or vacation homes or something equally as depressing. ”

Travis leans forward. “What is she doing?”

“I don’t know,” my mom says.

“Can you stop her?” Travis asks.

He obviously doesn’t know my sister.

She looks down at her notes. “My family is amazing at a lot of things. But communication isn’t one of them. Which is why my parents don’t realize . . .” she looks up at the small group, “that I want to run the farm.”

At that, Travis swears under his breath. I lean forward, confused why Lacey is sharing this in a public forum and not over dinner in our parents’ kitchen.

Lacey glances at my mom. Something silent passes between them.

“Purchasing property like Pine Creek is, as you can imagine, very expensive. Over the past week, with a lot of help,” she nods at Phoebe and Olive, “With the money I’ve saved, I’ve managed to tentatively secure a loan for a portion of the cost. That gets me almost fifty percent of the way there.”

Whoa. I know the listing price Travis set for the farm, and for Lacey to have that kind of money saved?

I have a feeling everyone—me included—is about to find out there’s a lot more to Lacey than any of us give her credit for.

She takes a deep breath. “And that’s why I’m here tonight, talking to all of you. I’d like to offer the opportunity for members of the community to become a part of the Pine Creek family by helping to purchase the farm—before it’s sold to someone who doesn’t appreciate it for what it is.” She looks at me. “Our legacy.”

Travis gets up, pulls out his phone, and walks out.

Lacey clicks a button and the screen behind her lights up with the Pine Creek logo. She clicks another button to reveal a slide labeled “Benefits of Investing in Pine Creek.”

I recognize the hand lettering .

I glance at Olive. Her eyes are fixed on Lacey, and she looks like she’s holding her breath.

Lacey outlines plans for expansion.

Events. Weddings. Staff retreats. School outings. Catered corporate dinners.

New outbuildings, new construction, all themed.

I haven’t talked to her about any of my ideas, the ones I pitched to Dad that he shot down—but here so many of them are.

Lacey and Olive, it seems, have the same vision I did.

She mentions hot tubs in the woods and private cabins. Then she outlines, in common sense detail, all the ways the farm could stay profitable throughout the year. Her plan is ambitious, even a little idealistic, but she has data and research and charts and graphs to back her up.

The initial investment and upfront costs are high, and the expansion would be done in stages. But Lacey argues it would be a benefit to both of the towns on either side of the farm. She’s pitching the idea, asking for investments from businesses, individuals, and the city. If the costs were shared, they would share in the profits, and it would bolster the economy of the town.

Like JFK said, “a rising tide lifts all boats.”

Even I can see the potential. But this is a massive gamble. A complicated plan that requires a significant investment. Is anyone really going to go for this?

I can see the hopefulness in Lacey’s eyes, and I know where it came from.

I glance at Olive.

She has a way of enhancing possibility in other people. Her personality, her demeanor, even her ideas—it’s like yeast in dough or an ignited flame in a hot air balloon.

Your own ideas and hopes get bigger, are lifted higher, and rise .

The problem is combining that hope with my sister.

Lacey has never been one to stick with anything. She’s a leaf on the wind, blown around aimlessly and landing whenever the motivation dies down . . . only to be picked up in a completely different direction five seconds later.

Did Olive pump Lacey full of grandiose ideas? Did she fail to stop and ask if my sister might get her heart set on something that is never, ever going to happen, no matter how good of an idea it is? Did she stop to consider Lacey’s unique personality and—I hate to say it—her limitations?

There are so many moving pieces to keeping the farm going—even if she finds investors, this is not a solo endeavor. She’s going to need real help.

My muscles are tense, and I try to relax them, but I can’t. When did they put this all together? And why didn’t one of them tell me?

After Lacey finishes, she opens the floor for questions. I have a few, but I’ll reserve them for another time.

A woman in the front raises her hand, and when Lacey points at her, she stands.

“If this is a family business, why doesn’t your brother want to buy half? Shouldn’t he be a part of this venture?”

Lacey looks at me and clears her throat. “I love my brother,” she gives a little wave to me which elicits a few smattered aw’s from the older people in the crowd, “but his passion isn’t at the tree farm. He lives and works in Indiana, and he’s doing really well there. He has a right to pursue his own passions. I can’t ask him to give up that for this.”

Yeah. Doing really well. I bite the inside of my cheek.

Once the first question is asked, as often happens at these meetings like this, the floodgates open and people start asking harder questions.

“But if it matters to the community as much as you say it does, shouldn’t it also matter to him?” a man asks .

“It’s not really about my brother or my family,” Lacey says, a bit of panic crawling across her face.

“If your own family isn’t supportive, shouldn’t we proceed with caution?” the first woman asks.

“Oh, I never said they aren’t supportive?—”

But they aren’t listening. Just firing off questions in rapid succession:

“Are you going to hire someone else to run things?” a man asks.

“Aren’t you the one who lives in a van? Like online or something?”

“Are you even qualified to run the farm?”

Lacey straightens. “I am.” She looks back at my parents, and I see the moment they realize.

The one to take things over was there all along . . . they simply overlooked her.

“No offense, young lady, but that’s a big operation out there, and tree farming is hard work,” an older man says. “I’m not sure you’ve got what it takes to keep it going or to take on this expansion.”

At that, Olive stands. “All due respect, John, but Lacey knows how hard the work is because she grew up doing it.”

John snaps his jaw shut.

Olive continues. “I can vouch for Lacey. I’ve spent the last several weeks working with her on the farm. She’s a marketing genius with a huge social media following. As we’ve come up with brand new events and activities to host at Pine Creek this year, Lacey is the one who has gotten the community buy-in we need to get people through the door.”

“But that doesn’t mean she can harvest trees.”

Olive glances back, but it’s not me she’s looking at. There, standing against the back wall, is Manny.

“She actually can,” Manny calls out.

Everyone turns .

He starts down the aisle, pausing only to nod quickly at our row.

“I’ve worked at Pine Creek all my life, and my father before me for all of his. I’ve seen workers come and go, ones who could hack it and ones who couldn’t.”

He looks at Lacey and smiles. “You wouldn’t think it to look at her, but she’s scrappy. She’s what I call a ‘tree whisperer,’” he says. “Ever since she was young, she’s shown a great interest in taking care of and growing these trees. I have no doubt in my mind that she is strong and capable and knowledgeable enough to take this on. And what she doesn’t know, she can learn.” He looks at me. “The Fisher kids come by this work naturally. It’s in their blood.”

I look away. I don’t know if the intention is to make me feel guilty, but I do. Why can’t everyone acknowledge that it’s not what I want to do? Even if it’s “in my blood”?

I clench my fists at my sides. This is a terrible idea. The more I think about it, the more I can’t see it working. And the more frustrated I am that nobody bothered to loop me in to this plan.

It feels like a mutiny. It’s the opposite of what my parents want, and they roped Manny into it?

Lacey answers a few more questions, then Olive stands to hand out flyers with information on how to become an investor. It’s all surreal.

I love this woman—I have no doubt about that—but I can’t help but feel a little annoyed that she did all this behind my back.

After the meeting ends, people mill around, many of them anxious to talk to Lacey, and a few of them anxious to talk to my parents.

And I’m anxious to leave.

I stand and walk toward the door when a tall, wispy woman steps in my way. “Why aren’t you jumping in to help save your family’s farm? You know how much that place means to your parents.”

I scowl at her and walk out.

I hear footsteps behind me, and I don’t have to turn to know it’s Olive.

“Liam.”

I keep walking.

“Liam, wait!”

I stop moving and inhale a deep breath, hoping it will calm me down. It doesn’t work. All I can think is how this messes everything up.

She moves in front of me, and at the sight of her wide, questioning eyes, I almost come undone. I look away. “That was you? Your ideas? Your?—”

“What? No.” She blows out a breath. “I mean, not all of it.”

I close my eyes and sigh. “What is Lacey thinking?” I look at her.

She takes a step back. “She really wants to do this, and?—”

“And you encouraged her?” I ask, harsher than I mean to.

She looks hurt, and I instantly want to take it back.

“Yeah. I encouraged her. She’s my friend.”

I sigh. “Olive, there’s a reason my parents never considered her to take over the farm. She’s flighty and she never sticks with anything.”

She straightens. “Maybe you’re underestimating her.”

I start to count on my fingers. “One year she was convinced she wanted to be a tattoo artist, the next, she was taking classes to teach English to kids overseas. Then her pottery phase. Then the van life.”

“So she took some time to figure out what she wanted to do in life. Is that so bad?”

I’m trying my hardest to be patient. I don’t want to have to explain this. Lacey might be a tree whisperer. Heck, she might even be a social media genius. But she’s not reliable. I love my sister, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.

I draw in another breath, wondering why people claim that calms a person down. It doesn’t.

“Yes, Olive,” I say. “Pine Creek needs stability. What’s going to happen when nobody wants to invest in it with her? Or she loses interest in a month? Or she gets in over her head? She should’ve been spending the last few weeks letting it go, not trying to force it to happen.”

“I disagree,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “I think if you really want something, you should go for it.” She narrows her eyes.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She softens, changing her tone. “No, that’s not what I?—”

“I said I was sorry for—” my frustration kicks up a notch. “This is so wrong, Olive. Lacey can’t handle this on her own, and you shouldn’t have made her think she could. Just let my parents sell the stupid place. You’ve taken a bad situation and made it so much worse.”

I regret the words the second they’re out of my mouth.

Her face registers the hurt so plainly as she nods and backs up.

“Olive, wait—” I reach for her, but she pulls back, shaking her head.

And then she walks away.