The Christmas Box (The Box Books #2)

10. December 11

December 11

Travis

A s I traverse slushy roads, some still snow-covered, to Bluegrass Manor, I glance over to the dog in my passenger seat. Part of me can’t believe I asked Helen if I could bring Marley to the home. I was even more shocked when she excitedly said, “Oh yes! Please do. We encourage visits by pets—on leashes, of course—but we haven’t had any in a long time. It makes the residents so happy—they’ll love it!”

Now I just hope Marley doesn’t pee on the floor. “ Please don’t pee on the floor,” I tell her now.

Though maybe I shouldn’t worry—when I got home last night, to my shock, she’d used the pad! On her own! I gave her a treat—even though I think the idea is to do it right when she goes, so she understands why she’s getting it.

“You’re really moving up in the world,” I tell her as we turn into the parking lot. “Just last week you were homeless. Now you’re, like, a therapy dog.” After putting the truck in park, I take her furry little face between my hands. “Do me proud, girl. Be nice to all the sweet people.”

She does surprisingly well on a leash, and now she trots ahead of me like a pro toward the front doors, where I stop to punch in the code that opens them.

As Marley and I step inside, the response is instant. A lost-looking woman in a long, quilted robe bends down to pet the dog, her eyes wide. A man rolls his wheelchair up to get in on the action, saying, “Nice doggie, nice doggie,” as he strokes his hand through her fur. Nurse Gabbi comes rushing up, as well, mooning at the pup from behind her black-framed glasses as she reaches down to scratch behind the dog’s ears. And Marley’s eating up all the attention, licking hands and fingers while her tail goes a million miles an hour.

As I walk her a little farther down the hall, I come upon maintenance and administrative people busy stringing lights and hanging boughs of greenery. Sparkly snowmen made of felt now decorate some of the doors.

“Oh, look at this sweet puppy.” I look up to see Helen exit the room to my right and her eyes meet mine. “I’m so glad you brought her—look at how much love she’s getting already.” Then she stoops to pet the dog herself. “Hello, Marley—it’s so very nice to make your acquaintance. Thank you for coming to see us today.”

“Looks like you guys are pretty busy here,” I tell her when she raises back up. I motion to the decorating taking place. “Are you sure this is a good day for Marley to make it busier?”

She waves a hand down through the air. “Oh, absolutely. Any day is a good day for a furry visitor.” Then she pushes out a big sigh while studying a pile of open boxes filled with holiday stuff. “We’re so behind on this. We’ve been shorthanded too long. Finally, today, I said, ‘Just start putting it out.’ If we don’t, Christmas will come without our residents getting to enjoy it.”

That’s when she hands me a green wreath dotted with holly berries and takes the leash. “Trade you,” she says, then points. “Up on that hook please. It’s too high for me to reach.”

I do as I’m told, after which she hands me more fake greenery, indicating it should be draped from other temporary hooks already lining the corridor.

“What a help you are!” she says before switching her focus in another direction. “Shannon, come meet Travis’s dog.”

I glance back to see Shannon roll up in her usual fleece pants, today’s sporting multi-colored snowflakes, and like everyone else, she looks delighted at the sight of Marley. She bends to pet her, cooing to her in words I can’t understand.

Next thing I know, even Dottie and her babydoll are inching closer, and the old woman is wearing the first hint of a smile I’ve ever seen on her expressive face.

“Her name’s Marley,” I tell Dottie from where I’m hanging yet another wreath.

“Mar-ley,” she repeats slowly. It’s the only time I’ve ever heard her speak. When Helen raises her gaze to me and our eyes connect, I suspect it’s a fairly rare occurrence.

“That’s right,” Helen tells her. “Marley. Want to come pet her? She’s very gentle.”

I pause my decorating work, watching as Dottie leans cautiously closer, finally lowering her wrinkled hand to the fur on Marley’s back. As if she senses the need for calm, Marley stands extremely still. I’m suddenly very impressed with my new dog’s behavior.

More residents come from their rooms to see her as Helen keeps me lining the hallway with boughs of holly and strands of sparkly garland. “I was about to break out a step stool before you showed up,” she tells me. “I hope you don’t mind me putting you to work.”

“Nope,” I tell her. I may not like Christmas, but I can instinctively understand the need for cheer here, any kind of cheer. If anything about Christmas lights or holly brings the residents any joy, it’s well worth dragging it out and hanging it up.

“We always get a live tree,” she goes on to say, still holding Marley’s leash as an old man behind a walker stoops to pet her, “but every time we’ve even thought about it so far, it comes a snow and sidetracks Glen, our maintenance man, from getting it for us. So that’s got to happen after the rest of this is done.”

When I turn to ask her, “What next?” she just laughs.

“Take a break,” she says.” You’ve saved me a lot of climbing.” Then she puts the leash back in my hand. “Why don’t you take this little cutie in to see your dad?”

“He’s still...?”

She nods pleasantly. “His usual self. I’ll even head in with you.”

Together, we start toward his room, and she steps in first. “Look who’s here, Tom.”

“Is it Travis?”

I enter the room as she says, “Not only Travis, but he brought his dog, Marley, to visit.”

When Dad’s eyes light up, I’m not sure if it’s for me or the dog, but it doesn’t really matter—it warms my heart to see him smile, to see him being the man I’ve come to know these last couple of weeks.

“Sorry I didn’t make it in yesterday, Dad.”

He’s shaking his head. “Don’t matter—you’re here now. And what a cute pup ya got there.”

Since Dad is in bed, as usual, I heft Marley into my arms so he can pet her. Like everyone else here, he’s fawning over her like crazy, and she’s licking at him excitedly. “What a sweetie,” he keeps saying. “What. A. Sweetie.”

I spend a couple hours going back and forth between walking Marley around the manor and hanging out with Dad.

It’s as I’m telling him I need to get back to town and put some hours in on the soap shop, but that I’ll bring him his usual burger tomorrow, that he asks me to take some pictures of the work I’m doing so he can see it. I’ve shown him photos of some of my other custom jobs and he’s been impressed.

“Never would’ve become a carpenter without you teaching me when I was a kid,” I admit to him.

That’s when I watch a sense of pride come over him that I’ve never witnessed before. “We had some nice times out in the woodshop back then, didn’t we?”

I think of the sailboat. And a hundred other projects, a hundred other moments—all things long put out of my mind until recently. “We did,” I agree.

Behind us in the doorway, I hear Gabbi talking with Helen. “I have to work Friday night, so I’ll miss it.”

“That’s a shame,” Helen replies.

I have no idea what they’re talking about—and neither does Dad, because he asks in a teasing tone, “Whatcha gonna miss just to hang out here with me ?”

“Christmas Fest,” Gabbi says, stepping in to the room. “You going, Travis?”

“Oh, I doubt it,” I say. I heard the ladies at the gingerbread bash talking about it, too, some big to-do at the park next to the Christmas Box, but... “Not really my kinda thing.”

“Oh, you oughta go,” Dad insists. “It’s real nice. Whole town comes out.”

I’m thrown to hear this since I wouldn’t have guessed it was his idea of a good time, either, but he’s just full of surprises lately.

“I don’t know,” I murmur, giving my head a light shake.

“Goodness knows I’d go if I was able,” he says.

Which is when Helen pipes up, suggesting, “You should take him, Travis.”

I turn to her, surprised, my interest freshly piqued. “I can do that?”

“Sure,” she answers. “People are more than welcome to take their loved ones on outings. It’s nice for anyone here to get a change of scenery—does wonders. You can fold up his wheelchair and put it in the bed of your truck, easy as pie.”

It’s still not my idea of fun, but I can’t imagine what it’s like being stuck here day in and day out. Even if Dad hasn’t been here long, it probably feels long. And he doesn’t have much time left, so if he wants to go, I should take him.

“Would you like that?” I ask. “A night on the town in Winterberry?”

“You don’t think it’d be too hard to cart me around?” Suddenly, he’s Mr. Considerate-Of-Others.

I shrug. “I’m sure we can manage it together if you want to go.”

The words put a big smile on his face. “That’d be real nice, Trav.”

And as if on cue, Marley lets out a bark. “Sounds like she thinks it’s a good idea, too,” I say, “so it’s a date.”

Lexi

I haven’t seen Travis all day. He didn’t even come in for coffee this morning, and I can’t deny that I missed getting to smile into those breathtaking brown eyes. Yeah, breathtaking. That’s how I think of them now. I’ve given up fighting it, I suppose, whatever it may be. Attraction. But also more. Though it’s still fruitless to think about that since he’ll only be here a short time.

Later, I saw him through the window, working in the storefront, and I forced myself not to stare lest he catch me at it.

I had a few customers, but it was another slow day—just too much snow, I guess.

Now I’m curled up on the couch after dark, Crinkle Bear at my side, getting ready to watch “Jingle All the Way”, one of my mom’s favorite silly Christmas movies. Outside, it’s snowing once again, and this time I’m not even surprised.

Reaching over, I pull Crinkle to me, remembering when my grandma gave him to me after my father’s November funeral. I couldn’t have dreamed she and Mom would be gone, too, before I even turned twenty-one.

What if I can’t make a go of the shop and this was all for nothing? Sure, I’d survive. But if it crashes and burns, along with my mom’s dreams, I’ll feel like I have nothing. Nothing to show for my life but an old building in an old town, and not even anyone to hug but a teddy bear.

I glance over at my favorite photo of Mom and Grandma. They’re standing in the diner, wearing Santa hats and silly Christmas aprons. I took it when I came home from college on Christmas break the winter before the fire. “I really miss you guys,” I whisper to the photo. “And I want to make you proud. I want to keep the things you loved alive.”

But then I set Crinkle aside and start the movie. Because I learned long ago not to get mired in the sadness—I can let myself feel it, but then I have to move through it.

A little while later, Arnold Schwarzenegger has just outrun an angry reindeer and kicked a wooden wiseman’s on-fire head through a picture window when something draws my gaze out my own window.

And I gasp at what I see.

The Christmas tree lights in Travis’s apartment have just come on.