The Christmas Tree Keeper: A Novel Page 4

  “I’m sure with this motivation, you can find a way,” John said.

  “And is the extra money legal?”

  “I have a determined client, Mark. Don’t you like to give your customers what they want?” John ate some bites of his lunch and waved down the waitress.

  They stopped outside the door of the restaurant and John shook Mark’s hand again. “I’m counting on you. I expect good news.”

  Mark walked unhurriedly to his BMW. What had he agreed to? As far as Mark was concerned, he didn’t have to convince Papa to sell—he had to convince Papa he was ready to take over the farm. And since Papa had asked him that morning if he was ready, convincing him wouldn’t be that hard, would it?

  Not far from the restaurant, just off the turnpike, the Blackstone Valley shops had a small jewelry store. Mark checked his watch. This shouldn’t take long.

  “Can I help you?”

  Mark stared at the rows of rings under the glass, unsure what to ask.

  “I’m looking for an engagement ring.”

  The saleslady tipped her head. “Any particular kind?”

  Mark sat down on the stool by the jewelry case.

  “Sure. How about this one right here?”

  “Does your girlfriend like the marquise shape?”

  Marquise?

  “Yeah.” He had no idea. Mark watched the woman as she unlocked the case and put the ring in front of him.

  “So have you looked at rings together?” she asked.

  “No, not yet. I’m surprising her.”

  The saleslady explained the size and color of the diamond, and detailed the setting. Mark listened, but waited in vain to hear the price.

  Natalie wore a teardrop necklace—maybe she liked that shape. Three rings later, Mark glanced at his watch and realized if he was gone from the farm too much longer, he’d have to explain himself. He looked at the princess cut one-and-a-half karat diamond ring in front of him.

  “I’ll take this one.”

  The saleslady, surprised by his declaration, stopped herself from putting the ring back and signaled her store manager. An older woman greeted him and asked about his soon-to-be fiancée while the other saleslady packaged the ring. She had a purchase agreement for him to sign. He handed over his credit card and looked one more time at his watch.

  Driving home, he wondered how long it would take to have official ownership of the farm and how soon he could propose. He and Natalie were meeting for dinner after closing time, but he refused to propose at a restaurant. He pictured taking her to the house on Hickory Street with the studio—the place where they could start their life together.

  I should buy the house first. As soon as I sell the farm.

  Mark pulled into the crowded parking lot. He took the ring and placed it in his inside coat pocket, imagining the actual proposal. How had his father proposed to his mother? He wasn’t sure why it mattered, but it bothered him that he couldn’t ask them. But he could ask Donna—maybe she’d know.

  Mark found her in the craft barn, talking to a woman buying several handmade wreaths.

  “Hey, Donna, I need to talk to you.”

  “Right now?” she asked.

  “When you’re done, or when you have a minute.” Mark ran his hand through his hair and waited. Donna finished the sale and smoothed her apron. She looked at the other customers, but didn’t see any who were ready to buy.

  “I have a few minutes. What’s going on?”

  “You were my mom’s best friend, right? Can you tell me how my dad proposed to her? Did she ever tell you about that?” Mark’s eagerness turned into sheepishness. A few minutes ago, this was urgent information, and now, maybe because of Donna’s wide eyes and confusion, he wondered why he would even ask such a question.

  “How your dad proposed? You’re asking me now? Here?”

  “If you have the time,” Mark said.

  Donna eyed a customer on the other side of the barn, pulled the stool from behind the cash register and pointed for Mark to sit down. She grabbed the broom and swept while she talked.

  “I should’ve seen this coming. So your sister never told you?”

  “Kate knows?”

  “She asked me when she was fifteen. Girls are different that way. I figured she would’ve told you by now. Or you’d ask me—when you were ready.” She emphasized the last word and looked at Mark. He shifted uncomfortably, like she was sizing him for a tuxedo.

  “Are you and Natalie getting that close? Don’t answer that. There’s a reason I told you to sit down. Your parents weren’t the most traditional couple.”

  Mark straightened up on the stool. “They weren’t married?”

  “Of course they were married. But you asked how your dad proposed. The short answer is that he didn’t—at least, not with a ring or anything.”

  She stopped, held the broom, and stared at Mark before she continued. “They were good friends in high school, and your dad knew your mom liked him. About two months after graduation, he stopped by to visit your mom, and by the time they were done talking, they had decided to take off for Atlantic City.”

  “What?”

  “Not what you were expecting, right? But remember honey, this was 1969.”

  “What do you mean? Dad didn’t say, ‘Will you marry me’, but ‘Hey, come with me to Atlantic City’?”

  “I wasn’t there for the conversation, but based on what your mom told me when they got back, I’m sure they talked about getting married before they left. That was the first thing they did when they got there. They found a justice of the peace and spent the next week at some music concert. Like I said, 1969—the summer of Woodstock.”

  “You’re saying my mom and dad hung out at a music concert on their honeymoon?” Mark asked.

  Donna set the broom down to ring up another customer. Mark stared at the snowman mitten keeper and the painted North Pole sign she bought.

  “You okay?” Donna asked after the woman left.

  “I’m fine.” His voice wavered. He wasn’t sure what kind of a proposal he was expecting, but this wasn’t it. And hearing new information about his parents meant he had to adjust his image of them.

  “If it helps, there’s more to the story.”

  “Are you sure I need to hear it?”

  “Your dad loved another girl in high school,” Donna said.

  “Okay, I’ve heard enough.”

  “No, wait. This will help.” Donna continued, “They—your dad and his first girlfriend—planned to get married, but she went to visit family right after graduation, Maine or somewhere. When your dad went to ask about her after she’d been gone a month, he was told by her parents that she’d gotten engaged to another man. Your dad didn’t handle it well. It was hard for him, and your mom—she understood. She was there for him.”

  “So Dad was on the rebound, and Mom went and married him in Atlantic City?” Mark stood up. “And you told my sister all this—what, fifteen years ago?”

  Donna stopped rearranging the crafts nearest the cash register and moved closer to Mark. She put one hand up on his shoulder; she was a good foot shorter than he was.

  “Not all love stories have the same beginning. They don’t have to match some checklist for it to be real love. Your mom and dad loved each other. You know that, don’t you?”

  Mark nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

  “And they loved you and your sister, too. Your dad wouldn’t have gone back into the house for your mom ...” Donna stopped talking, and tears rimmed her eyes. Eighteen years didn’t make a difference when it came to the pain of that night. Mark watched his dad run into the house when he realized his mom hadn’t gotten out. That was the last time he saw him.

  “Sorry, Donna. I didn’t think we’d talk about the fire,” Mark said.

  “It’s okay. I’m glad you asked—you needed to know. Believe it or not, there’s more I should tell you—about your dad and the farm.”

  Mark held up his hands, indicating he’d heard all he cou
ld for one day.

  “Good things, I promise,” she said and sat down on the stool. “Wait—does this mean you and Natalie ... are you proposing?”

  Mark looked at his watch. “I’ll catch up with you soon.” He leaned over and hugged her. “Thanks, Donna. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Papa and I need to talk.

  Chapter 5

  Monday morning wasn’t the greatest time for a job interview, but Angela didn’t tell that to the school secretary who had called to arrange it—asking for a later interview time was a luxury she couldn’t afford. The first of December was two days away, and even if she was hired immediately, she still needed more money for rent.

  “Wow, Mom, why are you dressed up?” Caroline asked.

  “I have another job interview today.”

  “Where’s this one?”

  Angela hesitated. “It’s at your school.”

  “Really? Ooo, would you be my teacher’s aide?”

  “Uh, no, this opening is for help in the cafeteria.” Angela took out two bowls from the cupboard.

  “You mean you’d be a lunch lady?” Caroline said playfully.

  “Only if I get the job, and that’s a big if. Please don’t say anything about it at school. It takes time if they decide to hire me. There’s paperwork and a background check. And I’ll still have to clean, too.”

  “So what are you going to do about the rent?” Caroline asked.

  How could one simple question from her daughter be so painful? Did other girls her age think like adults and worry about the rent?

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll think of something. I always do,” Angela said through her smile and clenched teeth.

  “Why don’t you call Grandma Elliott?” Caroline asked.

  Angela set down the bowls on the counter. While she measured two parts oatmeal and one part water, she measured her words. “I haven’t talked to your grandmother in a while.”

  “But maybe she could help us with rent. Isn’t she rich?”

  “In one way,” Angela said.

  “You mean there’s more than one way you can be rich?”

  “You can have a lot of money in the bank. You can also have a lot of love in your heart, and that way matters more than the money, I think.” She checked Caroline’s face for understanding.

  “You once said she had so much money, she didn’t know what to do with it all. She could give some to us until you get the lunch lady job.”

  “Do you remember everything I say? I don’t have the job yet. Besides, you don’t call someone and ask them for money.” Angela’s stomach turned.

  Unless you’re desperate. Am I that desperate?

  Angela had moved to the innocent town of Sutton for two reasons. One, she loved it. Two, her mother didn’t. They’d spoken twice in the four years since her father died. Her mother called a week after his death to make sure Angela saw the article in the Providence Journal about his contribution to the community. The other time, Angela called to give her their new address. All her mother had asked was, “Why do I need this?”

  “Are you and Grandma fighting?” Caroline asked.

  “I wouldn’t call it fighting. We disagree about some things, but that has nothing to do with why I’m not calling her. We’ll figure this out.”

  “Are you mad at her? Can she come for Christmas this year?”

  “Why do you think I’m mad at her?” Angela answered the question with a question, ignoring her daughter’s Christmas wish.

  “Didn’t she say your marriage to my dad wouldn’t last?”

  “Yes, but she said a lot of things.”

  “So, she was right,” Caroline said.

  She’s eight. She’s only eight. Take a deep breath.

  “She also said nothing good would come of my marriage to your dad, but I have you. She wasn’t right about that, was she?” Angela regretted discrediting her mother to win the point, but she didn’t regret making sure Caroline knew she was loved. “It’s time to leave for school. Can you finish your oatmeal?”

  In the rush out the door, Caroline stopped to admire the tree.

  “The tree is even more beautiful than it was yesterday, don’t you think? Maybe we’ll get our miracle today.”

  “Now, hold on. It’s just a tree,” Angela said.

  “Please believe, Mom. Let’s see what happens.”

  She didn’t argue this time. On the drive to school, her daughter’s words echoed, “Just believe.” Only the words were twisted, like Angela was six and school children were chanting them while she sat on the edge of the playground. Was it cruel, she wondered, to tell her daughter that miracles didn’t happen? Or to let her believe one could happen any day?

  She raced back home to get ready for her interview. She had twenty minutes. Her daughter’s questions remained in her mind.

  I’m not mad at my mother.

  She’s the one who disowned me. Who does that, disowns her daughter over who she marries? Why don’t I call Grandma Elliott? She can call me. Any time.

  Angela didn’t try to understand her life. The day Todd proposed, she had expected to have everything she’d ever dreamed wrapped up with a bow, like the big satin one on the back of her lace-and-pearl wedding dress. Instead, her life unraveled, as if she had inadvertently pulled an errant thread, causing a slight snag at first, then an irreversible hole.

  Despite the unraveling, there was one reason, one person, for whom she lived life moving forward—her daughter. Every time she looked into Caroline’s pure and hopeful eyes, she saw a saving grace. Otherwise, she would still be retracing her steps, searching the far reaches of her closet for some stray thread.

  She brushed her hair one more time and coated it with hair spray in honor of the job interview.

  Maybe I’ll call her just so I can tell Caroline I did.

  She held the phone, staring through it.

  And then what will I do? Do I want her money and what comes with it?

  She dialed and the phone rang once, then twice.

  I’m hanging up on three.

  “Hello?”

  Of course. She answers on two.

  “Hi, Mom, this is Ang—”

  “I know who it is. What’s wrong? Is Caroline okay?”

  “Why do you think something’s wrong? Can’t I call to say hi?”

  Can’t I hang up now and pretend this never happened?

  “You said ‘hi,’ so what is it now?” her mother demanded.

  This, Caroline, this is why I don’t call your grandmother!

  “Since you asked, no, Caroline isn’t okay. She’s kind of worried about the rent.”

  “You need rent money? Why didn’t you say so? How much are you paying for that place? Are you still in Sutton?”

  “I don’t need all of it. $500 would help. I’ve been working, but not full-time. I have an interview today.”

  Why do I always start defending myself?

  “I’m sure you need it by the first—how am I going to manage that? Do I have to drive all the way—?”

  “No. Forget it. I only called for ... Because I ...”

  “You aren’t finishing your sentences. Do you need rent money or not?”

  She does this to me every time. Doesn’t she have a caring bone in her body?

  “We need to stay here through December so Caroline can have a home for Christmas.” There—I said it. “You don’t have to drive here, there’s a grace period. You can mail it or whatever’s easiest.”

  “How would I even be able to find you?” her mother asked.

  Doesn’t she listen? “I said you can put it in the mail.”

  “Don’t you live in one of those apartment compounds?”

  “Complex, Mom. It’s an apartment complex.”

  “Exactly and how would I find the one you live in?”

  Am I really having this discussion?

  “I’m in apartment 34, on the second floor of the Blackstone Apartments,” Angela stated, as calm as possible
.

  “That’s what I’m talking about. Why would they number a second-story apartment with a number like 34?”

  “I guess if you do drive here, you can leave a complaint at the office.”

  Angela finished the call, walked back into her bathroom, and splashed her face with cold water. She didn’t even care that she’d already applied her makeup. She rushed to find her shoes and was stopped by a loud knock at the door.

  This can’t be an eviction. It’s not the first of the month yet.

  She opened the door to see a middle-aged man standing with an envelope in his hands. “Are you Angela Donovan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then this is for you. I’m supposed to tell you that miracles happen.” He turned and walked down the flight of stairs. Angela stared at the envelope, and by the time she looked up to ask questions, he was gone.

  Miracles happen? She closed the door and locked it. She opened the envelope full of cash and leaned back against the door. There were more green bills than she could count with her eyes. Forgetting what she was doing and where she had to go, she sat at her kitchen table and counted the crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. Two, four, six.

  Are there more? Eight, nine, ten. Ten one-hundred-dollar bills—a thousand dollars!

  Where did this come from?

  She stared at the money—the money she needed to pay rent, to have a home for Christmas. For Caroline to get her miracle.

  Was this a miracle? Who sent this?

  Her mother? No!

  Really, delivery boy? You couldn’t have delivered this money twenty minutes sooner? Of course you couldn’t. You had to wait until after I had called my mother.

  It wasn’t her. Even she couldn’t get money here that fast. And her message would have been, “Don’t plan on me next month.” She and the word miracle? It would take one for her to use it.

  Was it Mrs. Shaw? She’s generous, but she’s saving all her money so she can visit her daughter.

  The phone rang. Oh, no—my interview! She scrambled for her shoes and looked at the cash-filled envelope in her hand. She stashed it in the cabinet with the spices and ran for the door. She paused at the tree. Hadn’t Caroline confessed to Papa about how they needed money for rent?