Sweet Christmas Kisses (137 page)

“Remember, Mommy,” Matthew whined. “My new friend, Mr. Jim.

“Yes, Sweetie. I remember Mr. Jim.”

It was completely impossible to forget him, and I’d tried for a lot of years.

****

The next morning, still sleep deprived, I managed coffee and a shower, but looped my long hair into a knot at the back of my neck because anything else seemed too much effort.

I practiced my speech.
‘Emily, we need to talk. I’m not sure how I failed to communicate clearly before, but I have certain expectations regarding Matthew. Um…’

The phone rang.

“Mommy, can I answer it?”

I narrowly beat his quick little hand and scooped up my cell. “MM Investments.” As I listened to the voice on the other end, I felt a rushing in my ears. I don’t know how much later Matthew was standing next to me, patting my arm.

“Mommy? Mommy?”

“Oh. Oh, my God, Matthew.” I swept him into my arms and held him tight, not able to stop the flow of tears. The caller had been Emily’s mother. Emily had been in a terrible car wreck late last night and had been flown to a hospital in Louisville. Both Emily’s parents and her siblings were with her now. They had been told by the doctors there was a fifty-fifty chance for the young woman to leave the hospital alive. They didn’t know—they didn’t know.

It was the first week of November. The weather had chilled. Christmas songs had been playing on the radio forever already. Young, energetic Emily might or might not live to see another Christmas.

I felt horrible. Here I had been, rehearsing a speech to straighten Emily out, and my main complaint was going to be junk food?

The doorbell rang and Matthew was up, racing to answer it. I pushed myself up from the chair I’d slumped into, and followed him.

“Hey, guess what today is, Matthew,” said Carla, looking strangely overexcited.

“What?” The child began to nearly dance with enthusiasm. “Birthday?”

“Nope. Better than that. Today is your first visit to a Christmas tree farm.”

“Yay. What is it?”

“Oh, Matthew.” She looked at me. “
Melissa!
He’s never been to a Christmas tree farm?”

“Well, you know, big city….”

“So sad. So very sad. Just a few miles from Serendipity is the very best Christmas tree farm. And it’s the best because it’s where I grew up.”

“You grew up in—Christmas?”

“Well, yes, kind of.” Carla winked at him.

“My mom—Miss Lillian—lives there now, in the house where I grew up, and she wants you to come and see her. She likes to bake cookies, but she says cookies are best if she has a good helper. Do you think you could learn to help, Matthew?”

He considered carefully. “I can help. Does she got a truck on her farm?”

“Does she a have a truck? Heavens yes. A truck and some tractors and four wheelers.” She held up a hand. “Those are for the grown-ups, and you always have to ask permission to ride with somebody.” She kissed the top of Matthew’s head and spun him away from her. “How about you go get your jacket and I’ll drive you out there?” He was on the move immediately, racing up the front stairs to his room.

Carla lowered her voice. “Honey, we heard about poor Emily. Mom and Francie came up with the idea for Matthew to go out there, at least for today. Mom’s looking forward to it, and that’s really encouraging for those of us who’ve seen her struggle to have any enthusiasm for life since Dad died.” She cleared her throat. “You don’t mind, do you?”

I sagged against her, hugging her close. “Of course, I don’t mind. Sounds like a wonderful idea, and I’m so grateful to all of you. Matthew and Lillian will have fun together, and I’ll work, and maybe by this evening there will be good news about Emily.”

Matthew raced back down the stairs, clutching one of his favorite little trucks, and dragging his jacket behind him. “Mommy, can Em’ly come with us? I don’t want her to be sad.”

I helped him put on his jacket, then crouched down in front to zip it. I kissed him and he kissed me back.

“Matthew, I love you so much. Thank you for thinking about Emily.” I sniffed back a tear. “She’s with her family today, but maybe another time she can go to the farm.”

Carla smiled determinedly. “Emily has been getting her Christmas trees from our farm her whole life, Matthew. She’ll be glad that you get to see it. Ready now?”

They were gone in an instant, leaving me weak with worry about Emily, and with gratitude for Carla and the Standish family.

I turned off the state highway onto Tree Farm Road to retrieve my son. Emily was enduring rehab at a facility in the metro area and doing well, but it would be a long time before she would be able to supervise Matthew. So the one-time event of him spending the day with Lillian Standish had become every weekday at her insistence, and everyone involved seemed happy with the set-up. I still had to cajole her into taking payment at the end of the week, but that was a small thing.

Lillian had so much patience with him, not worrying if he got dirty or spilled something by accident. She treated him as moms of her time had treated their kids, not as concerned about things as I always was. Lillian even let Matthew use a wooden toy truck that had been her husband Harry’s and then later Jim’s and his brother David’s. 

That truck was Matthew’s favorite thing to play with there, and on sunny days I might pull up and find Lillian standing at her kitchen window watching Matthew play outdoors. He’d be bundled up and loading trimmings from the pine trees onto the wooden truck ‘to take Christmas to people.’ The nearest grove of trees started a few dozen feet from the back of the house, so Lillian, and sometimes Francie too, watched to be sure he was okay. He’d crawl on his hands and knees driving the truck with Harry’s black Lab, Daisy, sitting beside him. A couple of times when I arrived, if I closed the car door quietly and slipped around the side of the house, I’d see Matthew playing like that or standing among the young trees, talking to Daisy. You could watch an exchange between those two, but, of course, none of us asked what their private conversations were. I was grateful Matthew was able to have this type of grandmotherly attention. And I got really good at washing ground-in dirt out of the knees of his jeans.

As I drove along thinking of how well this was all working out for Matthew, I was also encouraged about my business. Today a developer had come to my office and told me about the place he wanted to build in the Serendipity area. It seemed extremely ambitious to expect people to build huge luxurious homes in this small rural community, but he insisted it was a goldmine.

“These are people who are tired of the miserably hot summers and the crime and dirty air of the city, Ms. Singer. These are people who don’t mind an hour-plus commute, because when they get home they’re in their own kind of nirvana. Picture it.” He swung one hand above him. “Big, placid lake, lots of trees everywhere. Large lots, but mowing service provided for them, and paid monthly. Low maintenance, see? So much cool shade and loads of
privacy
which maybe they’ve never had, if they’ve always lived in the city. The pricier lots will have their own piers into the lake, and folks can have canoes or those little paddle boat things. Nothing noisy or powerful. It’s all about luxury and relaxation.” He turned to me, his face near mine as I pictured it too. I blinked a couple of times and stepped back. “Can you see it?”

“Um. Yes, I think I can, actually. Nice.”

“Nice? It’s fabulous. Amazing.” He spun around and gestured toward Main Street. “Ms. Singer, this development is the best thing that ever happened to this little backwater. Tax base goes up, schools are improved, more people shop in the grocery, buy their jewelry at the little shop on the square. Suddenly, there are more jobs in town, and the quality of life goes way up
.
”

Though I might use the term myself, I didn’t like him referring to Serendipity as a backwater. Other than that, what he said sounded good. Potentially good, that is. At this point, his vision was just an idea, but Jared Barnett was quite a salesman. I wasn’t easily sold, yet I’d been completely dazzled.
Wow.
Was I losing it, or was it really possible?

“I want a couple hundred acres ideally. Needs to be close to a state highway, and have lots of beautiful trees, and those rolling hills. And a lake, if you can manage it. We can build a lake if we need to, but it’d be nice if it was already there. You have any properties like that, Ms. Singer?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t. At least, not at this moment. You never know when something might come on the market though. Farmers are having a hard go these days.” It was heartbreaking to see that change so drastically since I had left town. “What kind of price are you thinking?”

He told me the figure and I clenched my jaw to keep it from dropping. He was crazy or had a vision of something that was headed off the charts.

 “Well, maybe another realtor in the area will be able to help me.” He masked his features, rolled up his drawings and slid them into the tubes they’d come out of.

“We all know each other’s properties, Mr. Barnett. Realtors have a cooperative attitude in our county. If there was something like that represented by a different agency, I’d be aware of it.” His raised an eyebrow and an almost-sneer showed he didn’t believe me.

“I’ll see what I can find. Thank you for your time.” He reached to shake my hand and I gave him a business card.

“And I have your card too, Mr. Barnett.” I stood it up in my computer keyboard so he’d see I had it quickly accessible. “If something comes on the market, I’ll give you a call.” I forced a smile, hoping I looked more confident—and less hungry for the commission—than I felt. “Perhaps we’ll be speaking again soon.”

After he left, I stood looking up at the county map framed on one wall. I wracked my brain to think where a parcel that large, in the type of location he’d described, might still exist. There just weren’t any that I could think of, but I could ask somebody at the Standish farm if they had any suggestions. After all, I’d been gone a long time, and although I had seen much of the county since returning, I was still out of touch to some extent.

As I pulled into the parking area by Lillian’s house, I noticed an unfamiliar car sitting there. I got out and went up onto the porch, and just when I would have knocked, the door swung open. Mathew flung himself against me, hugging my legs.

“Mommy! Hi, Mommy. Guess what we maked.”

I crouched down to him and kissed the side of his chocolaty mouth.

“Um. Chocolate chip cookies?”

His eyes got round and he hugged me around the neck.

“Yes! Me and Miss Lillian maked ‘em. You want one?”

“Goodness, yes I do. Miss Lillian is about the most famous chocolate chip cookie maker in the world.”

Matthew rushed into the kitchen. Lillian had taught him how to carefully place a few cookies on a plate and serve them to a guest, complete with a napkin.

When I stood, I saw Lillian sitting on the couch beaming at Matthew’s enthusiasm. A handsome man with sharp brown eyes sat next to her, but rose and walked toward me.

“Hello, Melissa.” He held out his hand as if to shake mine, but I hugged him instead.

“David. It’s been forever. I take it you’ve met my son.”

“Are you kidding? He and I basically solved all the world’s problems at the kitchen table this afternoon.” He turned to Matthew as he came back in, cautiously carrying a plate toward me. “Isn’t that right, Matthew?”

Matthew nodded sagely. “I told Mr. David people need to be nice to each other and eat cookies.” He handed me the plate and the napkin that had gotten a little creased in his hand, then beamed up at me.

“There you have it. Cookies save the world.” David’s smile was genuine and he patted Matthew on the shoulder gently. When he relaxed a little, I noticed that David’s eyes looked tired.

“It’s nice to see you. Are you home for the weekend?”

“Yes, just got here. And I imagine much of my weekend will be spent being bullied by my older brother. He’s trying to turn me into a Christmas tree farmer, but I keep telling him my specialty is marketing.” He shrugged, looking amused. “I try to stay with my strengths.”

I chuckled. “He’s difficult to deal with at times, I suppose.”

“You know better about that than many.”

Though I didn’t see any malice on his face, the comment stung. Old wounds were best left alone, if possible. Even though I’d been coming to the farm twice a day for a while now, I hadn’t seen Jim since our first day back in town. He seemed to make an effort to stay out of my way, and that suited me fine.

At David’s graceless remark, Francie kicked him in the ankle from her seat in an armchair where she continued to page through a magazine. He winced but only whispered the epithet that came to his lips. Of course, Francie was on my side. I would have expected as much, although so much time had passed, there shouldn’t be a need for sides at all. What’s a broken heart or two among friends?

“You’re a realtor, Melissa. I keep telling Mom she should consider selling the farm and getting a nice little apartment in town,” he said. “Let somebody else take the job of providing Christmas to the entire southern half of Indiana. What do you think?”

I could only stare at him.

“Uh. Melissa?” David waved a hand in front of my face.

“Oh. Oh, sorry. I was—I was thinking of…you know, work…stuff.” I crossed my arms. “Sell? You want to sell the farm?”

“Oh, honey, no,” Lillian insisted. “David is pulling your leg. And mine.” She sent David a hard look. “This is the Standish Christmas Tree Farm, and that’s what it’ll be as long as I live. Harry wouldn’t hold with me selling, for goodness’ sake.”

“Plus where would everybody move?” Francie tossed the magazine onto the coffee table. “The whole fam damily lives on the farm. David, you know it doesn’t make sense.”

“What doesn’t make sense is for us to try to keep up this sham. None of us has the time for the farm. Much as we love Mom and loved Dad, this farm isn’t the dream for us that it was for them.”

Francie glared at him. “So you’re ready to find a new place to live? Sell your lot and house and buy a condo in Louisville?”