17
T
he next day as I leaned over the bed to kiss Nate good-bye, I was still worried about him. Great sex was, well, great, but our issues remained.
Fortunately, there was no time to mull over personal matters as today was December second, which meant that the Christmas season was in full swing and The Christmas Elf would be a wonderland of sugar-coated, tinsel-covered insanity until I closed the doors on December seventeenth.
As I unlocked the shop door, Lola waved at me from the window of Miller's, giving me the “big, wide” symbol for packages. I ran across the parking lot to pick up the delivery she'd signed for: three huge cartons, which Ben helped me lug over. He disappeared while I listened to the phone messages, lit up the place, and turned on some carols. I was on the phone with the woman who'd reserved the poinsettia quilt when he reappeared with two steaming cups of coffee.
“It is a gorgeous quilt and I have to admit we're going to miss it, but I'm sure you have the perfect home for it,” I told Mrs. Papadopoulis. I mouthed a “thank you” to Ben, watching him settle in to read the newspaper by the fireplace before I turned away to set up the Styrofoam forms for some custom-ordered wreaths. The wreaths required handmade angels with heads made of large pearlized beads, halos of tiny gold beads, and skirts made of crystal beads, and as I strung them together and sang “Let It Snow!” along with Bette Midler, my spirits lifted. There is something therapeutic about being in this industry of renewal and good cheer. When the message is “Peace on earth, goodwill toward men,” you can't nurse your own worries for too long.
By midmorning, the shop was bursting with people and activity. Nate had called twice to chat, but I was so busy I couldn't focus on his details about new listings and storm damage to local streets, especially when Bitsy arrived with the gingerbread slabs. “Sorry, honey, but I've got a major construction project here,” I told Nate.
“What are you talking about?” He seemed impatient.
“A gingerbread house for the school pageant.”
“Why don't you have Adena do it?” he asked. “It's what you pay her for, right?”
I glanced over at Adena, who was loading up boxes with merchandise and bubblewrap, trying to fill orders before the UPS driver swung by. Nate didn't seem to understand the volume of work we had as Christmas approached.
Besides that, a group of preschoolers from Tuckaway Day Care clustered on the rug, constructing Christmas gifts for their parents out of foam pieces and flat, glittering faux gems under the guidance of their teacher, Diane. The shop was really hopping at the moment.
“We're really busy,” I told him. “I'll call you later.” Sliding the phone into my pocket, I turned to Bitsy. “Let me help you unload,” I said, following her out the door and to her van.
A few minutes later, we stood at my craft table, gloved and aproned and ready to frost and decorate the surrounding gingerbread. Ben had taken it upon himself to wait on the customers who'd stopped in, chatting them up and giving them personalized attention while Bitsy and I focused on architectural issues.
“I'm not sure this will hold up once we've got it put together,” I said, gently lifting one of the slabs of gingerbread that Bitsy had baked in her industrial oven. “And even if we do, will the house survive a move to the school?”
“Good point.” Bitsy whirled the electric beaters around the bowl of frosting one last time, then turned them off. “We may have to strike the mansion and subdivide.”
I nodded. “A gingerbread community. Seems like the only way. But can we cut the panels?” I tested one slab of gingerbread with my fingertip. “Seems moist enough, but it seems a shame after all your hard work.”
Bitsy was already cutting efficiently with a sharp knife. “That's the way the cookie crumbles,” she said wryly. “Don't worry. If we need to cover up rough edges I've got plenty of extra frosting.”
While she held two roof panels together, I caulked the seams with frosting. Then Bitsy moved on to assemble another house as I methodically applied “snowcapped” shingles to the roof. As I worked, I overheard the children fielding questions from their teacher.
“And who is going to visit your home on Christmas Eve?” Diane asked her group.
“Santa Claus!”
“And how does Santa get in?”
“Down the chimney!”
“But Miss Diane, my house doesn't have a chiminee.”
“That's
chimney,
Joey. And I wouldn't worry about it. If you've been a good boy, Santa will find his way in.”
“He wasn't that good,” another kid said. “Not as good as me.”
“Was so!” Joey protested. “I'm always good, but I told you. Santa can't come because there's no chiminee.”
I lifted my head from the frosting bowl for a look at Joey. Was it possible he was telling the truth?
“Come on, now,” Diane said, tousling the boy's sandy brown curls. “I know Santa visited you last year. Didn't you get a train set?”
Joey squinted at her. “That was my
old
house. It had a chimney.”
“Finish up your work,” Diane said. “And you can ask your mom to bring you here on Saturday if you want to meet Santa in person.”
I winced as I pressed down a row of gumdrops. “That reminds me, Adena,” I called to her. “If the S-A-N-T-A suit doesn't come today, one of us will have to drive into Raleigh-Durham to pick it up tomorrow.” I needed that thing by the weekend so that Nate could charm the local kids into a few more weeks of good behavior. When he'd suggested wearing the Santa suit last year, it had successfully lured families into the shop. Although I no longer needed to draw more business, the appearance of Santa had become one of the seasonal highlights of The Christmas Elf: “As much a part of Christmas as stockings and eggnog!” said the
Nag's Head Herald.
“I'll be bringing my grandchildren,” one of the women in Ben's group told me. She wore a white turtleneck with a glittering holly pin that I recognized from last year's inventory. “They thoroughly enjoyed last year.”
“Will you serve eggnog again?” her friend asked, this one decked in a charming sweater embroidered with Santa's reindeer flying up the lapel. “My husband loved your recipe. He must have had three cups.”
“Eggnog,” I said aloud, more as a reminder to myself to pull together the details for this weekend's Shopfest. “Absolutely. It's funny, most people don't care for eggnog, but that recipe changes their mind.”
“What's your secret, darlin'?” Holly Pin asked.
I smiled as I pushed back a strand of hair with one shoulder. “Vanilla ice cream. Got that recipe from my friend over at The Crusty Captain, only I leave out the rum so the kids can enjoy it.”
Just then there were shouts from the kids. I turned to see what the commotion was about and managed to jab Bitsy's sleeve with a smear of icing.
“Sorry,” I said, handing her a paper towel as Diane explained that it was okay, the kids could pick up the spilled container of beads together. Diane and Ben corralled the kids, and Adena answered the phone while I washed my hands so that I could take care of the ladies' purchases.
I waved and smiled at the kids as Diane had them recite a big “thank you.” She led them to the door, then paused. “Joey, where is your coat?”
The boy held out his arms, where a light navy sweatshirt hung unzipped. “This
is
my coat.”
Diane kneeled down to zip him up. “Honey, you've got to wear something heavier next time. It's windy out there.”
“Wait,” I called, rummaging through one of the bins. “Here. This might help.” I unrolled an acrylic scarf, red background with a white snowflake. “Would you like to wear this, Joey?”
He put his hands on his hips. “Don't you have one with a snowman?”
“Joey . . .” Diane moaned, but I quickly searched through the bin.
“A blue snowman.” I leaned down to wrap the scarf around the boy's neck, trying to cover his ears. “How's that?”
“Cushiony,” he said. I smiled.
Diane touched my arm. “Ricki, I'm not sure you'll see that again.”
“That's okay. Joey can keep it, as long as he promises to stay warm.” I patted Joey's shoulder. “Just remember your coat next time, okay?”
Pleased with himself, Joey grinned then muttered, “Thank you, Ms. Wicki.” Yes, he really said “Wicki,” and I felt my heart melt like honey in hot tea.
“You're very welcome,” I called as Diane led the group out the door in a big daisy chain of mittened hands.
“My goodness, everything does happen at once, doesn't it?” one of the women said.
“I love it that way,” I admitted as I punched in the price for her wooden nativity scene. “People are part of the magic of Christmas.”
The woman leaned over the counter and nodded knowingly. “People
are
the magic of Christmas. The people you love,” she said. “Your family. I do hope you count your blessings.”
“I do,” I assured her, trying not to acknowledge the catch in my throat. My family. I hadn't much thought about it, but my friends here in Nag's Head had really become that. Aside from my sister, whom I thought of as my lovable evil twin at times, I had felt no real connection to the world until I'd come here. It was easy to be anonymous in New York, easy to be another bobbing face on campus, another student ID number on the lists of grades. But not here.
“We're not really related,” Bitsy pointed out to the ladies. “But maybe that's why Ricki puts up with so much from us.”
“It's true,” Ben said. “I keep dreading the day Ricki tosses us all out the door so she can get some work done.”
“That'll never happen,” I teased. “I can't work without background noise.” I handed the holly pin woman her change, and she reached across the counter and grasped my hand.
“I am serious, dear. It's rare to find such a family in this world.”
Sincerity gleamed in her watery blue eyes, and I found myself covering her hand with mine, squeezing it gently, listening to the voice inside me that said:
Take a moment. Make the connection. Seize the day.
As the ladies made their way out, calling their good-byes, I thought about the wonders of Christmas spirit. That was what kept this place runningâthe whirling, swirling pixies that warmed hearts with their cinnamon breath and merry carols. My little Christmas shop had acquired its own personality, something bigger and better than I'd ever envisioned. Go figure.
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The shop was quiet that evening when Cracker stopped by to check in, crank the cuckoo clocks, and snag some free cider before he had to go next door and open up the Crusty Captain. When he saw the newly constructed gingerbread village, his jaw dropped.
“Sugar, I think you've outdone yourself this time. If that isn't the most charming little cookie town. Pure munchkin euphoria.”
I smiled up from the bin of old decorations I was using to decorate the fragrant, fresh-cut spruce Ben had brought me late this afternoon, and I was rushing a little to add some homemade ornaments so it wouldn't look so bare. “The village was mostly Bitsy's creation,” I said. “She showed me how to make these trees out of candy canes and Hershey's kisses. Clever, isn't it?”
“Smart 'n' tasty.” Cracker inched his fingers toward the chocolate paved sidewalk, but I smacked his hand away.
“Don't touch. It's for the school pageant.” I tossed him two kisses from a bowl on the counter.
Cracker caught them in one fist and smiled. “That's right. The pageant is tomorrow night, isn't it? I don't usually attend, but for this mouth-watering wonderland I just might make an appearance. Show some community support.”
“That's the spirit,” I said. “Nate and I will be there.”
“Oh, dear.” Cracker folded his arms. “Does that mean I should reconsider?”
“You don't have to sit with us. Nobody says you have to like Nate, though I'd love it if the two men in my life could just be civil.”
“Talk to Mr. Nathan Graham about civility. I saw him at the Texaco this morning and I swear I had to work him over to get out a greeting. The man was glued to his cell phone, ignoring everyone in sight, pacing like a maniac, arguing like a she-devil. I do believe he would have driven off with the hose still in his gas tank if Hank hadn't come out to take command of the situation.”
I winced. “Poor Nate.”
“Poor Nate? Don't you have pity on the rest of usâthe innocent bystanders who must tolerate his lack of civility?”
“Nate's feeling down about his divorce right now.”