A Christmas to Remember

On December 15th only one day before he left New Jersey, he rented a modestly furnished apartment, a three room, second floor walk-up. A realtor, who also managed rentals, set him up. The first floor held an antique store. That pleased him because for some reason antique store shoppers usually behaved like people visiting an art gallery. They tended to speak softly. “Look at those tiny tables. I’ll bet they’re from the 1950s,” every word delivered in reverential tones.

Customers tended to be middle-aged too, another promising sign. Since he worked nights, and slept during the day, he was also sure his sleep wouldn’t be disturbed by unruly young men and women who had been drinking. He laughed to himself trying to imagine a drunken fiasco where a rowdy bunch, having spent an afternoon drinking in the pub across the street, would pay their tab and decide, “Hey! Let’s check out the antique store. I hear they have several vintage Longaberger open weave baskets on display.”

Arriving in the tiny town of Bent Creek, Tennessee on December 19, he started work the next day. He had found the job through an online jobsite. He was hired as a security guard at the Bella Shoe Factory. The company was a throwback to the 19th Century, when it was common for shoes to be American made. He wasn’t sure why the company felt they needed a security guard, but he’d answered the ad and was hired. The job was simple. He had to tour the factory from one end to the other making sure no one was helping themselves to sheets of leather or shoes that were about to be shipped. Each tour lasted about 15 minutes, which gave him 45 minutes to write.

Of course, he was working on his version of the great American novel. The factory manager gave him a desk and a comfortable chair, a small, but adequate lamp and said, “I don’t care what you do between inspections as long as you make your tour at the start of every hour.” The pay wasn’t much, but he’d made a few bucks on his first novel, so money wasn’t an immediate worry.

There was a knock on his door. “Mr. Sambuca?” A woman’s voice, soft and tentative.

He opened it and saw a pretty girl, a woman really, who had passed girlhood a while ago, but still retained a pretty, youthful look. 

“That’s me. Can I help you?” He quickly straightened his 5’8” frame.

“I’m Colette. I own the antique store downstairs.”

“I’m Spencer, the security guard at the shoe factory.” He said this in a good-natured way, a nice smile in his brown eyes. 

She couldn’t help it. She laughed, but she understood he intended for her to laugh. “My, you sure know how to make a girl’s knees buckle,” she said. 

“Is that right, Colette? My entire body shook when I heard antique store.”

Again, she laughed. “Anyway, I just wanted to introduce myself, seeing that we’re neighbors. I guess I’m a welcoming committee of one. If you need help with anything though, I’ll do what I can, even if it’s only to point you in the right direction.”

“Likewise. Especially If you need someone to watch your store, while you run an errand or something. That’s sort of my specialty.”

“Why thank you. I hear you’re an author.”

He nodded slowly. “The landlord gave you my Social Security number, didn’t she?”

Colette stiffened. “I wasn’t trying to pry,” she said. 

Spencer realized his joke fell flat. “Sorry, I was only kidding.”

“I’m sure. Anyway, welcome to Bent Creek.” She turned and walked down the stairs.

He stood at his door and watched her. “Way to go Spencer,” he whispered. He thought she was pretty, and in her mid-thirties like he was. Petite too, just the right height. He closed his door and started unpacking his things. He made a mental note to visit her store to try to make amends. Never having worked the night shift before, he was surprised to discover that working through the night and sleeping during the day was quite an adjustment. He was exhausted all the time. He had just started the job, and already he was too tired to get much writing done other than when he was working.

The next day, he made it to Colette’s store. It wasn’t a large store but what she had was interesting and neatly displayed. Since it was so close to Christmas, there was a long table near the entrance to the store, filled with holiday related items, from a ceramic Christmas tree with lights, to Santa’s of various shapes and sizes, to Spode Christmas plates. There was an older woman standing behind the counter, preoccupied with her cell phone. Aside from her gray hair, even at first glance, he could see this woman was Colette’s mother. The resemblance was undeniable. 

“Is Colette here?”

“No sir, she’s off today. May I help you?”

“I live in the apartment upstairs. Colette was kind enough to stop by and introduce herself. I just wanted to say hello and see her store.”

“Oh, right! You’re Spencer, the new security guard at the shoe factory.”

He raised his hand. “I am.”

“You’re the writer. I’m reading your novel. Just bought it on Kindle.”

He smiled. “Thank you. I hope you enjoy it.”

“Too soon to tell,” the woman said, giving him a wink. “My name is Linda.” 

He was about to say, “No refunds,” but thought better of it. He surveyed the store from where he was standing, which wasn’t much help.

“Have a look around. If you see something you like, I’ll be happy to tell you about it.” 

He walked through the store, taking note of lamps, old records, tea sets, etc. 

“See anything you like?”

He grinned. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about antiques,” he said. “It would be nice to have something in my apartment to observe the Christmas season, I guess.” He walked over to the table where the holiday items were. “How much for this Christmas tree?”

Linda came from behind the counter and lifted the ceramic tree. Looking at its base, she said, “Oh! This is $100. It’s a retro piece, probably from the 70s. Colette would know for sure.”

“That’s a bit steep for something I’m going to use for a few days,” Spencer said. 

She eyed him with curiosity. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Why did you choose Bent Creek? We have maybe 1,200 people living here if you count the squirrels. It doesn’t seem like you plan to settle down here. Are you doing research for your book, or something?”

He ran his fingers through his jet-black hair. “A guy I went to college with, in Pennsylvania, lived in Bent Creek when he was in high school, I think. He used to tell me stories about how nice the people were. He was fond of describing its small-town charm.” He plugged in the tree. The multi-colored lights sprang to life. “Looks great. Anyway, I am doing a little research because my story takes place in a small town.”

“Are you from Pennsylvania?”

“No, New Jersey, across the Delaware River from Philadelphia.”

Linda nodded. “I was in Philly once. Didn’t much care for it. Do you have family in New Jersey?”

“Not anymore.”

“I see. So why did you choose this time of year to come here?”

He shrugged. “The story takes place during the Christmas season.” 

A customer walked in; a woman Linda had been friends with for years. Before she turned to speak with the woman, she said, “If you want that tree I’ll see if Colette will give you a discount. I’ll let her know you stopped by.” She paused for a moment. “Don’t tell her I said so, but I think Colette was impressed with you. And, by the way, she does have your Social Security number. I’m her mother. I own this building and I’m your landlord.”

Spencer’s face flushed. “I didn’t mean anything by that. I just made a stupid joke.” With that he went up to his apartment and flopped onto his bed. He was still exhausted. When he woke up, he was shocked to discover it was a few minutes after nine o’clock. He had to be at work at eleven. He showered, dressed and walked across the street to the bar, where he ate a hamburger and washed it down with a Miller Lite. He sat and watched an NFL game without much interest, until it was time to go to the factory.

He settled down at his desk, pulled his laptop from his backpack, ready to write as soon as he completed his first tour. When he stood up, his eye caught an envelope with his name on it. He opened it and found a message from his boss. Change of plans. You are off Christmas Day (or night actually). So, when you get off at 7:30 Christmas morning, you don’t have to come in until eleven on the 26th. Forgot to mention that! Ed Kays, manager.   

He frowned. He could handle that, but he was sure that spending the holidays in a small-town setting during Christmas would give him the exact feel he was going for. That included working Christmas, even if it was during the middle of the night. The novel that had been rattling around in his head for three years now, would have elements or romance, tragedy and if he could get it right, redemption. While the hours he’d be working wouldn’t be ideal, he was confident he could manage. He had plenty of time to explore the town during the day.

When his shift ended at 7:30 a.m., he stopped at the diner for breakfast. He decided to take a table rather than sit at the counter so he could make a few notes. He liked to observe how people dressed, what they ordered for breakfast and maybe eavesdrop on a conversation or two. Listening to Southern accents was a new experience for him. He found it charming but not always easy to decipher. The ones with a deep drawl tended to be challenging.

Just as the waitress brought him his egg and avocado toast, an older, heavyset man approached him. “Mind if I join you?” He asked.

His first instinct was to politely say he was working. Instead, he said, “Not at all.”

“Name’s Clyde Barker. I’m the mayor here. I like to meet folks who are new to town.”

“Spencer Sambuca.” They shook hands.

“You’re that writer, the one working at Bella’s Shoe Factory. Security guard, right?”

Spencer laughed. He noticed the man was wearing a Christmas tie. A big Santa Claus with an extra long white beard, a pipe between his teeth. “That’s me. How did you know?”

“It’s a small town, my friend. Word gets around fast. Understand you rented that walk up for just three months.”

“Do you have my Social Security number too?” He couldn’t resist.

“No, but I can get it if I need it. Linda, the woman who owns the building, and I have been seeing each other for near a decade now.” He pointed to Spencer’s plate. “Go ahead and eat. Y’all don’t want your breakfast to get cold.” He turned and caught Becky’s eye. “Just a little coffee, girl. You know.”

“Right,” she answered, “Half regular and half decaf. Got it.”

The mayor chatted for a bit, telling the newcomer about the festival of lights that was happening that night. He spoke about the difficulty the town was having persuading young people to stick around. “Most of them want to run up the road fifty miles and get in on the excitement of Nashville. I don’t blame them, I guess, but there’s something to be said for staying close to your roots, too, you know what I mean?”

Spencer took a bite of toast and a sip of coffee. He felt himself getting tired already. How long would it take for his body to adjust? “Not really, no.”

“I suppose not. But it ain’t easy on some of us. Take Linda’s daughter, Colette, for example. A fine young woman she is. Wants to stay right here where she grew up.” He shook his head, sadness enveloping his face. “She can’t find a guy. Not a good one anyway.”

“Is that so?” I hear good men are hard to find these days even in the big city.” He was putting the mayor on a little, but the man was up to it.

“Have you found a good woman in the city? Cherry Hill, New Jersey, right?” The mayor gave him a little wink.

The waitress stopped by. “Here’s your coffee Mr. Mayor. She smiled at Spencer. “I’ll bet he’s giving you the third degree. Used to be a lawyer. You know the type.” Just as she turned to go, she looked at Spencer and said, “Merry Christmas. Don’t be a stranger.”

The mayor grinned. “I think Becky likes you.”

Spencer loaded his fork full this time swallowing the egg without chewing. He was not inclined to parry with this guy. The old man had an advantage. Obviously, he had seen his rental application. “Good women are easy to find. Not so easy to keep.”

“They are if you treat them right,” Clyde said. “Take Colette, for example. She has a little boy from her marriage to Chester Barnes, a bad apple, probably since he was two years old. Linda and I did our level best to talk her out of marrying him. I admit he was probably the best-looking guy in the county; drove a Corvette too. Anyway, as soon as Colette told him she was with child, he packed a bag and drove his Corvette to Hollywood.” He shrugged his shoulders to match his disdainful frown. “At least that’s what we heard.”

Spencer took his final bite and placed his fork on his plate. “Why are you telling me this Mr. Barker?”

“I guess I got nothing better to do, boy.”

Linda Daily was a widow. Her husband of 24 years died in a head on collision caused by a drunk driver. With Clyde’s help, she won a settlement large enough to buy a mixed-use building. She set her daughter up in the antique business, rent free, mostly so Colette would have a source of income to help her raise her little boy, now almost ten years old. The apartment turned out to be hard to rent. While she wasn’t desperate for cash, she appreciated even short-term rentals. It helped to pay property taxes and upkeep.

Linda’s ranch home was small but cozy. It had been upgraded, including new furniture, the year before her husband died. That was eleven years ago. She wasn’t about to change a thing. Too painful.       

Early on Christmas Eve morning, she and Colette sat in their kitchen drinking coffee. “Mama, do you think I got enough for Grant? I wrapped everything except the things I got for his stocking.”

Linda rolled her eyes. “You probably bought too much. It’s not like Grant still believes in Santa Claus.”

“I still believe in Santa, sort of,” Colette said.

“I know honey. I hope you never stop. I’ll bet I know what you really want for Christmas, too. You know I’d get it for you if I could.”

Briefly, they exchanged a look, one filled with compassion. “I know you would.” She squeezed her mother’s hand.

“What do you think of my new tenant?” Linda asked.

“Very subtle, Mama.” They laughed. “He seems nice. His sideburns are too long. I don’t love them.”

Linda let out a frustrated sigh. “Your father had a handlebar mustache when I met him. He shaved it off when I asked him to. A good man will do that sort of thing if he’s in love with you.”

“Have you asked Clyde to lose 25 pounds?”

Linda shook her head and gave her daughter a loving swat on the arm. “You’re impossible.”

The antique store was busy that morning and into the early afternoon. Busy enough that the noise woke Spencer. He rested in his bed and listened for a while. He couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was, well, merry. He couldn’t think of a better word for it. Here he was lying in bed and doing research. He got up, took a shower and ate a half bologna sandwich for lunch.

He decided to take a walk through town. He would keep his eyes peeled for sights and sounds he could use. As soon as he stepped onto the sidewalk next to the antique store, he ran into Becky from the diner. “Oh! Is this where you live?” she asked? Becky had a kind face and wore her hair a bit too long for a woman in her late forties. She was vaguely aware that she was too old for Spencer, and she didn’t like it.

“The mayor didn’t tell you that?”

“She shook her head. “Believe it or not, he’s usually kind of closed mouth about, well, almost everything.”

“Not the other day. He told me Colette’s secrets.” He nodded to the antique store’s door.

“Maybe he was trying to send you a message.” She gave him a gentle push. “Go in and say hello to her. What do you have to lose? I’ll bet you don’t have a date for New Year’s Eve, unless you were planning to ask me out.” She grinned and gave him another push.

Spencer walked through the door. The store was quiet now. He felt awkward. “I thought I’d take another look at your ceramic Christmas tree. Your mother said you might offer me a discount.” He looked at the table and noticed it was missing.

“Hi, Spencer. It was sold a few days ago. I don’t even know who bought it. My mother made the sale.” She pointed to a three-foot-tall artificial tree with colored lights. It looked sad, as if it had been stored in an attic, ignored for years, forced to suffer through sweltering heat and bitter cold nights.

“Do you deliver?”

“Sorry, no. “She offered a cute sideways glance. “Cash and carry, but I can give it to you for five dollars if you’re interested.”

“I think you’re going to have to give somebody five dollars to take it off your hands.”

They chatted for a while. She asked him about his book and whether he had family. “You don’t mind being alone on Christmas Day?”

“I haven’t thought about it. He lied. Now that it had arrived, he felt lonely. He kept reminding himself it was his choice, but that didn’t help much. He had spent last Christmas with his former girlfriend in New Jersey. The relationship ended a month later when she decided to take a job in Seattle.

“What will you do tomorrow?” She asked.

“Sleep, probably. I have to work tonight. I’ll probably get some writing done too.”

“Sounds kind of lonely.”

He shifted his feet and looked toward the door. He wanted to ask her what she’d be doing, but his instincts warned him off. He had a good idea what she’d be doing anyway.

She noticed his hesitancy, took a breath and said, “I’ll be home with my son, Grant and my mom. I’m sure Clyde will be there too. It will be an exciting afternoon spent trying to assemble something or other that Clyde got for Grant.” She managed to smile, but barely.

“Well, Merry Christmas,” he said and headed to the door.

“You too.”      

It was  especially cold that night. Walking to work, his bare hands shoved in his pockets, he couldn’t wait to get to the shoe factory. When he got to his desk, he saw a package covered with Christmas wrapping paper. There was a tag with his name on it. He decided to complete his first tour before he opened it. As he made his rounds, he considered taking it home so he would have something to open Christmas morning. But when he returned to his desk, he took a closer look at the box. The only questions were what kind of shoes and what color? They were brown, mid-top boots. There was a note in the box. Merry Christmas, Spencer. I guessed your size. If I got it wrong, we’ll swap them out for you. Ed Kays.

He tried them on. Perfect fit. He decided to wear them. He had to admit. Bent Creek had some nice people. Even Mayor Clyde Barker seemed like a nice guy He got a lot of writing done that night. He managed to work through a particularly thorny scene involving a brother and sister who discovered they weren’t related.

When he left the factory he was surprised to see snow on the ground. It wasn’t much, a light coating, but he was sure the kids and the adults in town would be delighted. He climbed the stairs to his apartment, opened the door and got the surprise of his life. Sitting at the center of his kitchen table was that ceramic Christmas tree, lit and looking wonderful. Each side of the tree had a wrapped present on it. He had no doubt about where these things came from. He tried to fight back tears but lost that battle. He made some coffee. While it was brewing he opened one of the packages.

It contained an imitation leather portfolio. “Merry, Merry, from Linda and Clyde. Wishing you adventures, good surprises and much success as a writer.” 

He took a deep breath and wiped his tears. He poured a cup of coffee and took a sip. He opened the other one, his curiosity on high alert. It was a very nice shaving kit from Colette. There was a card that said, “Merry Christmas, Spencer. Have a great Christmas. I hope you’ll remember us and this Christmas even after you become a world famous author.”

He sat on the loveseat and drank his coffee. He was overwhelmed by their kindness. He kept staring at the tree. Too wired to sleep, he picked up his new portfolio and started writing. Just before noon, he heard a knock at his door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s the mayor.”

He smiled. Had the mayor brought him Christmas dinner? He opened the door. Clyde was wearing that Christmas tie again. “Get a move on boy. You look like hell. You’ve been invited to Christmas dinner at the Daily home.”

“What? Why?”

“Are all you Yankees that dense? You need to shave, shower and dress. I’ll wait, but you gotta move fast.”

Spencer did as he was told. He found a decent shirt and clean pants. He put on his new boots, too. “Are you sure about this, Clyde?”

“Well, I don’t know why these people like you so much, one of them seems especially sweet on you. Anyway, do you have anything else to do this afternoon?”

“Not really, but I hate to go to dinner empty handed.”

“Okay, we’ll stop at the gas station. You can buy a few candy bars if that will make you feel better.”

Spencer smiled. “Thanks Clyde.”

“Do you happen to have a Christmas tie you can wear?”

Spencer laughed. “I’ll bet the gas station will have one.”