The Christmas Box (The Box Books #2)

6. December 7

December 7

Lexi

O kay, he hates Christmas, but…for some reason I still hold out hope.

Not because I’m into him like Dara thinks. But because I made that wish. On the star. The truth is, every time I see him—whether he’s being gruff or nice—that wish comes back to me.

And something about that night, that moment, just felt...like someone somewhere was listening. God, the universe, angels—whoever makes such things happen. And sure, if I said that out loud to anyone, they’d think I was a loon. But I personally think miracles are all around us if we care to look. I think they happen every day—we just don’t always know about them.

And despite all of Travis Hutchins’ many flaws, I guess it just makes me sad when someone can’t embrace the goodness of the season. The more I come to know about him, and about what’s happening with his dad right now—well, I continue to think that he, more than most people, would really benefit from letting a little Christmas warmth into his life, believing in the magic.

Or…maybe I’m deluding myself. Maybe I want him to be someone he’s just not. Someone who apologizes for his mistakes. Someone who cares about his dying father. Someone who could believe.

Or…maybe I’m just letting myself get wrapped up in this idea of wanting him to like Christmas because I’d rather think about that than the potential grim reality facing my brand new business? Maybe I’m distracting myself from my own problems, which I have no idea how to solve, by worrying about something I think I can fix? Though why I think that, I have no idea—that wish certainly hasn’t shown any signs of coming true yet.

This morning, I’m standing in the same spot as last night when Marley nearly got hit by that truck, peering out the window. And just like then, it’s snowing. It’s snowed off and on all night. The streets are slushy and Main Street is depressingly still when Dara comes plodding up the snow-covered sidewalk in her fur-trimmed snowboots, bundled from head to toe.

“I probably should have called and told you not to come in,” I say glumly as she pushes through the door, the bells jingling her arrival.

“I can go home if you want,” she offers, “but the snow is supposed to end soon and it’s Saturday, so I think people will come out anyway.”

I gesture to the empty, quiet thoroughfare outside. “It’s ten o’clock, our lights are lit, our door is open, and no one’s here.” I let out a sigh and confide, “I thought…if I build it, they will come, you know? Like in that old Field of Dreams movie.” I shake my head. “But if this is what a Saturday in December looks like, how empty will we be the rest of the year?” Maybe Travis was right and this was a stupid idea in the first place.

Unzipping her parka, she walks over to stand behind me and uses mittened hands to massage my shoulders in a pep-talky way. “Know what I think you need? To put a wish in your pretty new wishing box. Have you yet? Has anyone?”

I glance at it, now ready for business with ink pens and slips of paper. “No. Snow’s kept everyone away since it showed up yesterday.”

“Then I say we christen it,” she suggests, pulling me toward it by one mitten.

I let out a thoughtful sigh, liking the idea. “Maybe you’re right.”

“You first,” she says. “You dreamed up the idea—yours should be the very first one.”

I fill out one of the little forms she created.

Name: Lexi

My wish: For the Christmas Box to be a grand success in every way.

Then I fold it in half and slip it through the slot on top.

I watch as Dara does the same, dropping hers inside as well—and then we share a smile.

“There,” she says. “Didn’t that feel good?”

I nod. “Thanks for suggesting it.” Then I look around at the empty shop, all glistening and glowing for no one but the two people working there. “Now if only we had customers to make wishes, too.”

After Dara gets the hot chocolate and coffee going, she wipes down the counter and is soon reduced to fluffing tree branches. Despite the cheerful holiday music playing, the place feels quiet and still. A few minutes later, she looks up from behind an artificial blue spruce to say, “Maybe I should go. I know you can’t afford to pay someone when there’s nothing to do.”

It depresses me in more ways than one. The my-brand-new-business-failing way and also because I know she enjoys being here. She loves her mom very much, but got thrust into the role of full-time caregiver without much choice.

She’s right, though—I have to be practical. I just give her a sad nod of agreement.

She heads to the back room where she stashes her coat, and when I see her through the doorway rewinding the scarf around her neck that she just took off a little while ago, the sight only adds to my sadness.

We need some joy around here, but where is it going to come from?

That’s when I hear the slam of a door and glance outside to see Travis Hutchins’ old red pickup rumble to life. The wipers swish powdery snow from his windshield and a few seconds later, the truck pulls away, leaving a snow-free rectangle behind. The Lucas Building looks drab and lifeless in the December chill, like Travis’s bah-humbug attitude is somehow taking root in an old storefront I’ve always found perfectly charming until right now.

That’s when it hits me for the first time that it’s the only building on Main with no holiday decorations. No wonder it looks lackluster in comparison.

And as Dara starts back toward the door, rebundled, I say, “Wait.”

This halts her in place. “Why?”

“I just came up with a plan.”

She blinks. “A plan? About how to get more customers in the store?”

“No. About how to spread Christmas cheer. To Travis.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. Understandably, since I’ve changed gears pretty fast there. But it surprises me when she says, “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s a terrible idea.”

I push back. “How can you say that? You don’t even know what it is.”

“But what I do know is that if the guy’s not into Christmas, that’s his business. And maybe not something you should insert yourself into?”

I scrunch my nose up to tell her, “It just bothers me. He needs some Christmas joy in his life.”

She sends me a knowing sideways glance. “Like I said yesterday, you like him.”

“Do not,” I argue with the all the maturity of a fifth grader.

“And that’s why you care about how he feels.”

“I care about how everyone feels,” I claim, letting my gaze widen to punctuate the statement. “This just happens to be the person in front of me at the moment, the person who needs some merriness. And maybe I don’t need his lack of merriness bringing me down. There’s enough to worry about without having a Christmas hater right outside my window.”

Even as her eye roll tells me she’s not buying it, she asks, “Well, I still think drumming up business would be a much better use of your energy, but what are we doing to de-Scrooge the unsuspecting guy across the street?”

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Dara says.

She’s carrying the top of the fake Christmas tree and I’m toting the wider bottom. We’re lugging it up the old metal stairway that runs along the outside rear of the Lucas Building. Which is snow-covered. Which I didn’t factor in to this. So it’s a little treacherous, but we’re careful and make it up okay.

The door to the apartment is unlocked. Which I did factor in and got lucky with. I’m not sure Travis ever even uses this door, but I happen to know Wally and Edie never locked it back when the furnished apartment upstairs was vacant, just in case someone needed to drop something off after business hours.

As the two of us drag the tree inside, we’re met by a familiar white dog. “Marley!” I say in greeting. “Well, well, well—looks like your brush with death got you a home.” I feel smugly victorious. “And he claims he doesn’t like dogs.”

She’s wagging her tail, clearly happy to see us, too. But she’s also peed on the floor, which I decide I’ll clean up before I leave. One less black mark against her with Travis.

“Um, where are we going with this thing?” Dara asks.

“Sorry—got sidetracked there.” I scan the small studio apartment and see the perfect spot. “In front of the windows.” Three connected sash windows line the front of the old building, providing a nice view of Main Street.

After we get the tree set upright—one that came conveniently in one piece, no assembly required—Dara asks, “Okay, what next?”

“You go back for lights and ornaments, and I’ll clean up the dog pee. Unless you’d rather swap tasks.”

“Nope, lights and ornament-fetching it is. I’m on it.”

Ten minutes later, the floor is clean and dry, I’m trying to school the dog on using the paper Travis has set out, and Dara is wrapping twinkling colored lights around the six-foot artificial Norwegian spruce.

She grabbed simple garden-variety ornaments—packages of colored glass balls—which I walk over and join her in hanging.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she says doubtfully.

But I just shrug. “It’s the opposite of being a Grinch. He stole Christmas trees—I deliver them instead.”

“Only I don’t think Travis wants a Christmas tree,” she insists on reminding me.

“ Or ,” I say, “maybe he doesn’t know he wants a Christmas tree. But now that it’s here, who wouldn’t enjoy it? Some lights will make my view nicer from across the street anyway.” As a final touch, I arrange a red, knitted tree skirt around the bottom. After which I move a few steps back and take in our handiwork with pride.

Dara lets out a sigh. “It is cheerful.” Then she glances out the window. “Hey, it stopped snowing and the sun is actually out. And—oh my God.”

“Is he back?” I ask, rushing closer. “Please tell me he’s not back.”

“No, over there!” She points across the street to the Christmas Box, where no less than seven people are standing outside the door, clearly trying to get in and wondering why it’s locked at this hour.

“We can’t let ’em get away!” I declare. “You grab the ornament boxes and make sure Marley doesn’t get out while I dash back to the shop!”

“Don’t slip on the steps!” she calls as I fly out the door.

I nearly do, but catch myself, then scurry the rest of the way down.

Emerging from the narrow alley between the Lucas Building and the antique mall, I see that now cars line Main Street and Saturday shopping has indeed commenced. “Ladies,” I call. “Sorry you had to wait—I ran an errand, but I’m so glad to see you all!”

“Well,” says Marianne Jorgensen, an older woman I’ve known my whole life, “I heard you had some kind of a special box to put wishes in, so I brought my grandkids.” Indeed, the two little ones, a boy and girl of around five or six, are peering eagerly in the window as if expecting to catch a glimpse of Santa.

“We heard about the box, too.” Wendy Acara, still looking as blond and pretty as in high school, is with her older sister and niece.

“How did you guys find out about it?” I ask, unlocking the door. I have no idea how word got out so quickly.

Marianne says, “I was visiting my mother at Bluegrass Manor and some of the nurses were chatting about it.” Hmm, maybe Travis mentioned it to Helen?

And Wendy replies, “My mom was talking to Mrs. Burch on the phone last night and said Dara was raving about it.”

Holding the door open to usher them all in, I say, “Come in, come in! The wishing box is right over there by the mantel.” I point. The “And feel free to grab some coffee or cocoa on the house since I kept you waiting.”

By the time Dara is back five minutes later, wishes are being made, hot chocolate poured, and purchases gathered. Wendy Acara’s arms are loaded down before I can even offer to hold her selections behind the counter until she’s ready.

“Lexi, this shop is adorbs,” she says. “I’ve been meaning to check it out and I’m so glad I did. And that box is beautiful. What an awesome idea.”

“Feel free to spread the word,” I tell her loudly enough for other shoppers to hear. A few more have arrived and found their way to the box, as well. “When it comes to making wishes, the more the merrier.”

“Let me at it,” a laughing forty-something mom with her college-age daughter says. “I’ve got so many things to wish for, I might be here all day!”

That’s when her daughter announces, “Mom, I have to have this,” pointing to a fleecy Rudolph blanket. “And that snowman figurine.” She points. “We have to get that for Mimi.”

“Good thing I didn’t go home,” Dara says to me under her breath as she ditches her coat and hat behind the bar. “The rush to make wishes is on and you’re officially a genius.” She starts toward the register as several shoppers head in that direction while still more walk in the door.

And though I don’t know if I’d go that far, I’d at least say things are looking up. Maybe the wish I put in the box just a little while ago is already starting to come true. And maybe my wish upon a star will, too?

That night I’m curled up in my PJs watching Elf in my apartment upstairs. Sitting with me on the couch is my beloved teddy bear, Crinkle. A gift from my grandma when I was very young, he wears a red, fur-trimmed Santa coat and, as the story goes, was introduced to me as Kringle, but apparently my four-year-old brain heard Crinkle. And Crinkle he has been ever since. I’m treating myself to a star-shaped sugar cookie from Janie’s Bakery as I watch Buddy the Elf walk across the candy cane forest and through the Lincoln Tunnel, and I’m also...keeping an occasional eye out the window for Travis’s truck. He’s been gone all day.

Not that I’m keeping tabs on him or anything.

It’s certainly none of my business where he is or what he’s doing.

But when finally I hear the familiar rumble of the old Ford, along with the slam of its door, I peek out to see Travis going inside. The Christmas tree Dara and I snuck in this morning has been shimmering in the second-floor window all day, and now that darkness has fallen, it adds to the cheer of all the other holiday lights up and down Main. And frankly, I’m glad it’s there to provide some light for Marley. Only, wow, I wonder how many times she’s gone to the bathroom by now, probably not on the paper.

The movie continues, but my mind stays across the street. I imagine him walking up the stairs, emerging into the apartment to be greeted by the happy glow of a Christmas tree. I envision him feeling warmly toward me for doing it, and then deciding maybe Christmas isn’t so bad after all.

That’s when an interior light illuminates his apartment. And the Christmas tree lights promptly go out.

Just like that.

My heart sinks.

Why was I so foolish to think he’d respond the way…well, the way most people would? He’s not most people. I guess I was wrong and that particular wish isn’t coming true, after all, and my distraction was…just a distraction. So much for Operation Wish Upon a Star.