Authors: Ruth Logan Herne
Max held her hand. “I believe you.” He turned his attention toward the dining room. “Do you feel up to filling your own plate, or can I fill one for you?”
“Since getting up isn't as easy these days, I'd be obliged, Max Campbell, and I do love your mother's tartar sauce with my fish.”
“I'm on it.”
Max went to get her food, and Tina bent closer. “You're an amazing woman, Mrs. Thurgood.” She gave the older woman's arm a gentle squeeze. “I wanted you to know that.”
“Well, thank you, but I'm common enough,” she argued lightly. “I do prefer everyday people, though, Tina. The simple folks, the kind I run with. I look at my friend Charlie, thereâ” she jutted her chin across the wide room “âand I'm just plain sad to see him so ill at his age, but for myself, honey?” She reached a thin-skinned pale hand to Tina. “I won't mind goin' home when the time comes. Seeing my husband. Hugging Butch. It's been a long time gone.”
An old mother's lament, but brave and true despite her eccentricities. Tina would miss her bright-eyed initiatives when God called the aging woman home. How blessed she'd been to know her and her quaint wisdom for so much of her life.
* * *
“Paydirt.”
Luke nodded and sent Max a look of pure surprise the next morning. “It's organized.”
“It is that!” Mrs. Thurgood bustled into the sprawling barn after she'd grabbed a mismatched tangle of coat, boots and hat. “The barn wasn't my domain, so I've left it alone. Butch had a nice little apartment over the garage, just the right size for someone on their own, and doing this Christmas stuff for folks was something he and his dad loved. If you look over thereâ” she pointed to a long group of shelves by the far door “âthat's where Butch kept most of the stuff. He had a love for electric from early on, and he took courses in high school at the cooperative place in Clearwater, so he had a fine hand with wiring. 'Course, things were simple back then, not all fancy-schmancy like they have now, but sometimes that simple stuff is more Christmasy than all the electric doodads they've got out today.”
“Is that Rudolph?” Luke asked, looking up into the hay loft.
“And all of his friends!” declared Mrs. Thurgood. “With Santa and his sleigh parked on that end.” She pointed left of center, and sure enough, Tina spotted a full-size wooden sleigh with a wooden Santa sitting front and center in plain sight, an amazing find.
Max whistled.
Tina grabbed Mrs. Thurgood's arm when the older woman slipped on an uneven surface. “You really don't mind us using this stuff?”
“Mind?” Mrs. Thurgood snorted as if that was the silliest thing she'd ever heard. “Why should I mind? Butch would be sad to think his hard work sat gathering dust all these years. No, you guys load it up and use what you need. I can't say we've got enough for the whole park, but we've got enough to make a difference.”
“I'll say.” Max slung an arm around the old woman's shoulders and gave her a half hug while he set a plan in motion. “I'll get Dad's trailer and gather all this stuff tomorrow. We'll start rigging the park right away. I can't tell you how grateful I am, Mrs. Thurgood.”
“That's what friends are for, Max Campbell.” She gave him a big old hug and smiled. “Glad to help.”
“Are you as amazed as I am?” Max muttered to Tina and Luke as they approached their vehicles a few minutes later.
“Astonished. I think she's got more than half a park full of classic Christmas decorations in there, totally vintage and yet timeless,” Tina declared.
“Vintage.” Max rolled the word around on his tongue, thinking.
“Right.” Tina opened her car door and turned. “You know, dated but sweet. An upgrade from
junk.
”
“Thanks for the dictionary lesson, but I got that part. I mean,
vintage
is how we can get this all taken care of. We put out a call for any old-fashioned or classic Christmas decorations we can borrow to line the park drive.”
“That could work,” Luke agreed as he opened the door to his SUV. “If everyone pitches in, we can set up great displays in plenty of time.”
“A Vintage Kirkwood Christmas!” Tina grabbed Max's hands. “Max, that might be brilliant.”
“Well, it is or it isn't, but knowing we'll have half the park set with Mrs. Thurgood's collection puts me at ease,” he admitted. “And I bet the town would get behind something like this.”
“Let's notify the committee of the change in plans.” Tina ticked off her fingers. “I'll do that so you can focus on planning. I'll put an announcement on Facebook, and I bet Hose Company 2 would let us use their lighted sign to ask for donations.”
“I'll call Bill Ripley over at the fire hall, too,” Luke said. “Between their ladder truck and the town equipment, we should be able to get this squared away in time for the lighting ceremony Wednesday night.”
“Perfect.”
Max turned toward Tina as Luke started the engine. He wrapped big, strong arms around her and hugged her close, grinning. “We might have actually nailed this thing. Nice work, Martinelli.”
* * *
The slight buzz of an incoming text on his burner phone alerted Max as he climbed the church steps a short while later. The army was contacting him.
He stepped into the anteroom of the church entry, pulled out the phone and scanned the coded message.
Rocking to âNeed You Now.' Love Lady A!!!
Translation: You're needed down South.
Max keyed back
Concert tickets unavailable
.
He was on their payroll for six more weeks. He'd left Fort Bragg knowing he might be called back, hoping it wouldn't happen because his parents needed him here. His commander understood the situation in Kirkwood, and only a serious emergency would push him to request Max's services, which meant if this current situation deteriorated, he could be called into action.
For how long?
That was anybody's guess, but now, with his father's condition, the holidays and his responsibilities here, assuming an instant new identity didn't make the short list. And how would he explain this to Tina? He'd left town once and hadn't returned for ten years. If he disappeared into the night on army business, how would she feel? Would she ever learn to trust him?
A new text buzzed in.
Front row filled. Balcony seating options.
Which meant they'd covered the situation for now. But Max knew the drill. With international tensions mounting, anything could happen in that length of time. And probably would.
Chapter Eight
“W
hile I'm very sorry to do this, I'm going to have to withdraw the permission certificate for the drive-through part of the Festival of Lights.” Town Supervisor Ron Palmeteer didn't look the least bit sorry when he faced off with Max that afternoon. The self-serving politician seemed oddly confident about the confrontation. Max's guard went on high alert.
“On what grounds?” he asked. His easy tone let Ron be the instigator, a practiced tactic.
The store was busy, but nothing Tina and Earl couldn't handle for a few minutes, and having the rug pulled out from under this long-established Christmas project wasn't something Max would leave unchallenged.
The supervisor kept his voice low, as if hoping other customers wouldn't hear, but the well-heeled bully wasn't going to get his way on Max's watch. Not if Max could help it. “In order for me to sign off, we'd need a licensed electrician to lay out the schematic and oversee the displays.”
“And what else?”
Palmeteer frowned. “I think that's quite enough, don't you? With just a few days to get ready, there's no way your hodgepodge of donated lights can handle six weeks of wear and tear. Your father's expertise wasn't lost on any of us, but with him out of the picture, and the contracted company pulling out, we've got to let the park thing slide.”
“Oh, I think we'll be okay.” Max kept his voice at normal volume. His father had told him enough about the supervisor to suspect the man's motives weren't exactly altruistic. Ron had led a drive to access the lakefront property owned by McKinney Farms, just west of the village. His ploy failed, but revealed his true colors: the supervisor wanted Kirkwood to become more upscale and exclusive, a getaway destination spot geared toward the financially secure. For the moment, Ron was in charge, but Max wasn't about to let him mess with the town's sweet devotion to Christmas. Not if he could help it.
The town supervisor sputtered. His reaction drew curious shoppers closer.
“We won't be okay,” hissed Ron. His eyes narrowed. His jaw went tight. Clearly he came into the store ready to do battle. But why? Max wondered.
Charlie and Jenny entered the hardware store just then.
Palmeteer's dark expression said the supervisor hadn't been able to muscle Charlie Campbell about anything, ever, but he wasn't above trying to gain leverage on Charlie's son. Well, that wasn't about to happen.
“Charlie! How are you doing?”
The customer's greeting stalled the Campbells' progress, but realization broadsided Max. His sick father was about to walk into a confrontation he knew nothing about and it was all Max's fault for not telling him about Holiday Lighting's demise.
“Hanging in there,” Charlie replied with practiced ease. “I just wanted to swing by and see how things were going while Jen does some rearranging upstairs. Then Beeze and I are heading home for the afternoon.” Jenny kissed his cheek before she hurried upstairs to the housewares shop. As soon as she did, Charlie moved beyond the stairway and faced Ron and Max, his face grim. “Problem?”
Max shook his head. “Nope.”
“Yes.”
Charlie gave the supervisor a look that said he'd wait him out, but not with any level of patience.
“Your son takes casual regard in brushing off fire code. Fortunately for the welfare of the populace, we take it much more seriously at the town offices.”
Charlie turned to Max and hooked a thumb at Palmeteer. “You got any clue what he's talking about?”
“The park lights for the festival.”
“From Holiday Lighting in Buffalo?”
Palmeteer whistled lightly between his teeth. “You didn't tell him? The entire committee knows that Holiday left us high and dry, but you didn't bother telling the committee chairperson?”
Max ignored the supervisor and faced his father, but the look on Charlie's face showed disappointment. Disappointment in Max? In the situation? Probably both, deservedly.
He waded in. “Holiday backed out of their contract two days ago. They filed for bankruptcy and protection, so the money for the down payment on their services was lost. I waited to tell everyoneâ” he shot a dark look at Ron Palmeteer “âbecause Tina and I wanted to come up with an alternative plan. Which we did this morning. Mrs. Thurgood and others have donated a hefty supply of vintage Christmas lights and decorations for us to use in the park. We'll start setting them up tomorrow.”
“We
won't
do that because we have no certified electrical contractor on-site,” the supervisor countered.
“Chad Bartolo is certified, and he works for the town. I'm sure he'd be glad toâ”
“Not gonna happen,” declared Ron, looking pleased to shoot down the idea. “There's no money in the budget to pay overtime for frivolity. The town council would laugh me out of a job if I approved something like that.”
Charlie's face went tight, and Max figured the supervisor was lucky that Charlie Campbell was a man of peace. “I'm not dead yet, and if the job needs overseeing, I'll do it,” Charlie announced. “We aren't canceling the park. The kids love it and people come from all over to see it. And you know the Clearwater Women's Shelter counts on the money we raise. It's crucial for them.”
“Your health won't allow you to oversee weeks of an outdoor lighting display.” The supervisor stressed the word
health
, as if Charlie needed any reminding, but when Charlie opened his mouth in rebuttal, Max held up a hand.
“He won't need to. I'm here.”
Palmeteer sighed, loud and overdone, as if he had better things to do than stand around and argue with simple laborers. “As I saidâ”
Max flipped open his wallet and withdrew a card. “If the U.S. government allows me to oversee multimillion-dollar projects, I expect they'll okay me to cover six weeks of Christmas park duty.”
“Well, Iâ” Palmeteer backtracked, clearly at a loss.
“The number's right there.” Max pointed to the lower right side of the card. “I'm sure they'd love to talk to you.”
The stout, middle-aged man huffed, tossed the card onto the counter and strode out of the store, leaving looks of interest in his wake.
Max turned to Charlie, wishing he'd said something sooner. “Dad, I'm sorry. I should have told you.”
Charlie glared at him, and Max couldn't remember the last time his father had looked that angry. Charlie turned and walked out through the back of the store without a word, leaving Max to deal with customers.
Jenny came into the front of the store a few minutes later. “I was upstairs for ten minutes and the world imploded. What happened?”
“I messed up. Big-time.” He explained the situation to his mother. When he got done beating himself up, she gave him a big hug, but it didn't help much. He'd come home to help his father, and managed to insult the best guy on the planet by keeping this from him. “I can't believe I did that.”
“Max, you stumbled into the middle of an ongoing tug-of-war between the people who would like to see Kirkwood Lake become a go-to resort area for Buffalo and Erie, and those that like the eclectic mix we've enjoyed for a century. Most folks at this end of the lake like our mix of rural, vacation and tourism, and don't want to upset that balance with high-scale development. Your father and Ron don't see eye to eye, and you happened to be in the middle of it.”
“I should have told him, though.” Max had read the look on his father's face, the expression that said he was tired of being protected and overlooked. And after forty years as a leader in this end of the county, he was right. Max should have gone to him first.
“Max, this is a Christmas lights display, not a peace treaty.” Jenny's expression said he should go easier on himself. “Let's be sensible here. Yes, your father wants to know everything that's going on, but if we forget something or don't want to worry him, he'll deal with it. I'd rather have him focused on getting well and gaining strength than wrangling with Ron Palmeteer.”
“Well, that's because you're trying to protect him, too.” Max wasn't sure if his mother's blessing counted for very much right now, because Charlie got annoyed with her attentiveness on a semi-regular basis.
Jenny sighed, glanced around the now-quiet store and faced Max. “They say there are stages you go through when you fight a tough diagnosis and prognosis like Dad's.”
Max swallowed hard, not sure he wanted to hear this but knowing he needed to pay attention.
“Acceptance is the last stage. Dad hasn't gotten there yet.”
“But he seems so calm.” Max mentally drew up the times he'd shared with his father over the past few weeks, and while Charlie seemed tired and worn from the treatments, he hadn't seemed overly stressed.
Because he's protecting you. He's protecting everyone. Like he's always done
,
advised Max's conscience.
Putting others first has always been his motto. It's what makes him Charlie.
“He's pretending to be calm so we don't worry.”
“Yes.” Jenny put her hand on his arm, the hand that bore a wedding ring from over forty years before. “But part of that pretending is to still feel like he's in charge of something, and he's lost the chance to run the store, run the festival, run his life.” She made a face of dismay. “Your dad is used to running things, helping folks, being sought after for advice. To suddenly have everything taken away because he's fighting for his life seems wrong to him.”
“So to have us going overboard being nice isn't in his best interests.”
“Exactly.”
“I'll talk to him tonight. And maybe he can help me plan some kind of schematic for this whole park thing. He's got an eye for it. I don't.”
“But Tina said you flashed that card at Ron as if you were some sort of electrical genius.”
Max shrugged as he slipped the card back into his wallet. “I can find my way around a fuse box as needed.”
Jenny stared at him, then pointed a finger toward the wallet as he tucked it away. “What kind of card was that, Max?”
Max grinned. “A special one.”
“And if Ron had taken the number and called?”
“He'd have been told that my electrical expertise has been essential to the safety of the country.”
“And if someone called them about excavating a bridge?”
“They'd find out that my bridge-building expertise was essential to the safety of the country.”
Jenny studied him, his face, his gaze, and then she grabbed him into a hug, a hug that said she was happy to have him home. “What exactly have you been doing all these years, Max?”
He returned the hug and whispered, “Whatever they asked me to do, Mom.”
She held him long seconds before letting him go. She lifted an armload of light boxes she wanted for a Country Cove display and moved toward the stairs. Halfway there she paused. Looked back. “You hang on to that card, you hear? A card like that can come in real handy, son.”
She was right. There'd been many a time when someone called that number to check on Max's story, and the caller was always reassured that Max was exactly who they needed him to be.
So far, the army's strategy had worked well. Max wanted that to hold true in his hometown, because no matter what else happened, Max was getting those Christmas lights up and running. And hopefully Uncle Sam wouldn't need him before that happened.
A few hours later, as he pulled into his parents' driveway, he spotted a lone figure standing on the shoreline. Tall and broad-shouldered, Charlie faced the lake he'd known all his life, his bald head covered by a snug winter hat, his arms crossed. He turned, saw Max approaching and shifted his attention back to the water. Max had never seen his father look this sad, this aggrieved before, as if joy itself had been sucked out of him.
“I'm sorry, Dad.” Max stepped in front of the man who'd taught him so much, the father who exampled the very best way of being a man, honor bound and family-oriented, and met his gaze. “I messed up and I won't do it again.”
Charlie's mouth went tight. “You didn't mess up.” His voice was gruff, almost harsh, totally unlike the Charlie Campbell Max knew so well. “You're doing just fine, and I shouldn't take my frustration out on you. Or your mother, or your brothers, orâ” He paused, looking beyond Max, his expression seeking, then he pressed his lips into a firm line and brought his attention back to Max. “I'm dying.”
Max's heart gripped. His throat went tight. For the life of him, he couldn't muster words past the sudden lump in his throat, and he couldn't look his beloved father in the eye and pretend, so he stood perfectly still and blinked an acknowledgment.
“And I'm not sure how to handle that,” Charlie continued. He waved a hand at his body. “All the pills, the IVs, the treatments. They're stopgaps, Max, ways to gain me some time, time with you.” He smiled at Max and in that smile, Max saw the first glimmer of acceptance in his father's eyes. “And your brothers and sisters. Time with the kids. I just didn't expect this to come so soon.”
“We never do.”
Charlie nodded. “That's right. And I don't know what to say, what to do, how to help your mother.”
“Can't that be our job?” Max supposed. “After all you guys have done, I think it's okay to let us step in. Take a turn.”
“I'm willing enough to share the tasks, but seeing Mom bustling around, all full of hope, trying to keep me on the straight and narrow so I get better...” He hauled in a deep breath, his forehead creased. “I don't think I'll be getting better, Max, but I'm scared to let her down.”
“You've never let me down, Charlie Campbell, not one day in your life, so if you've got something to share with me, I expect you to do it.” Jenny's voice made them both turn, and the look on her face, the raw acceptance, told Max it was time to slip away.