Christmas in Tinsel Tree Village Page 2
Jackson hugged Neve. “It is. It’s important to honor old traditions and start new ones.” He stared at her for the longest time. “And you look absolutely beautiful. Your mom and dad would be so proud of you.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I know they would love you as much as I do.”
The two sneaked outside and stepped into a horse-drawn carriage.
“You are pure winter magic,” Jackson said. “I love you more than anything.”
The carriage took off, the horse’s hooves clomping, and Neve put her head on her husband-to-be’s shoulder and closed her eyes.
I may have lost my family, but I found another, Neve thought. Simply by believing.
As if on cue, it began to snow when she opened her eyes.
The first snow of the season, she thought.
* * *
Neve hated getting the mail.
It’s the surprise I can’t control, she thought. I can ignore a call on my cell, I can delete messages, but the mail...it finds you. Like death and taxes.
When it came to the mail, Neve felt akin to the squirrels she enjoyed watching in the park, a spot she felt the most at peace. They would find an acorn and rush off at warp speed to get it home without stopping for anyone.
Neve kicked off her shoes, hung up her coat and dropped her keys and the mail into a bowl by the door. She walked over and turned on her gas fireplace, then stood in front of it until her fingers began to warm again. She thought briefly about grabbing the mail and tossing it into the fireplace, but she stopped.
Nothing is real anymore, she thought. Not this fake fire. Not the holidays. Not even my life. I miss the way things were.
In the city, especially during the holidays, people liked to pretend as though they were creating an old-fashioned Christmas, but—like Neve’s window designs—it was all pretend.
They turn on gas fireplaces, order from Amazon and have their gifts delivered directly to their front door, or stroll through shopping centers and have their gifts wrapped for them, Neve thought. They pick out a tree that’s already been cut and have someone load it onto the top of their car, they hire firms to decorate their homes and they order a prepared turkey or honey-baked ham, as well as a pie from their favorite bakery.
The true beauty comes from all the effort.
Neve strolled to the window and looked at the city. Dusk was falling, and Chicago shimmered as if she’d bedecked it with little lights. She curled up in the window seat, as she had this morning, and pulled a blanket over her lap.
The holidays were the hardest and the loneliest. Everyone had someone. Everyone had somewhere to go. The pain was amplified.
Who wants to make a Christmas dinner for one?
Who wants to decorate a tree that no one will see?
And every holiday decoration had a memory associated with it, a memory so real that she could actually see the person, hear their laughter, smell their perfume. Every ornament, every snow globe, every tree skirt, every candle, every bell, every toy soldier...
In a high-rise across the way, someone arrived home, and the lights in the condo brightened the space, followed by the colored lights on a Christmas tree in the window.
Every tree has a memory.
Neve’s hands began to shake. She went to the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of wine. She took a big sip to steel herself and then walked over to retrieve the mail.
She started to rifle through it: car insurance, health-care enrollment notification, an HOA holiday party invitation.
Neve sighed.
But then she saw it, an envelope still sitting in the bowl. She knew the looping cursive on the envelope immediately. Her heart raced, and she looked at the tree across the way.
How did she find me again? Every holiday.
My Dear Neve,
My, you’re a hard little elf to track down. How many times have you moved in the last few years? I send letters, and they’re returned. I mail cards, and they reappear in my mailbox. I call apartment managers, and they say you’ve just moved. I call you, and you don’t call back, or your number has magically changed yet again.
I miss you. The entire family does.
Jackson’s death has been hard on all of us. I can only imagine the heartbreak you endure every day. And I know that will never end. I miss my Elmer every second. But that doesn’t change what happened, my dear. You can run all you want, but you’ll never be fast enough to escape all the pain and memories. And you shouldn’t. You and Jackson had a wonderful—albeit much too brief—life together. But it was still beautiful. It was still magical. And it was real.
I understand why you left Frankenmuth. But I don’t understand why you left us. We are your family, too. You are our family. And we love you just as much as my beloved grandson did.
Our home and our hearts are always open to you, not only at Christmas, but all year long. We miss you so, so much, Neve. And we just want you home again, if and when you’re ever ready.
By the way, I’ve been following your career. That’s how I was able to put on my Nancy Drew shoes and track you down this time. Chicago. You’re quite the big deal there now, aren’t you? I’m so proud of the new Neve. But, I know, deep inside of you, the old Neve is still there, too—all shiny and bright. I can see it in all your beautiful designs, the way you make the world feel good, even in the midst of all your pain.
Who knew that you could make all my little trees such a big deal!
I did!
And that’s what you need to do with your own heart, my dear. It may feel so little and so boxed away right now, but with a new start and a lot of love, it can grow into something amazing once again.
Maybe you just need to take one of those little bottlebrush trees and give your soul a good scrubbing, so you can see how shiny it can become again. I mean, that’s what those brushes were meant for, right?
I know I’m the last person you want to hear from, especially at the holidays, but I don’t have many years left, and though I understand your pain, I don’t understand why you left your family behind when we needed you the most, too.
I love you, my sweet Neve. We all do. Frankenmuth—the entire state of Michigan—just doesn’t have the same Christmas spirit since you left.
Merry Christmas, my wounded angel. I hope one day you can see the light again...and maybe even decorate your home with little trees and your heart with big love.
Grandma Madge
Neve wept so hard that her teardrops made the ink on the letter run.
She stood to get a tissue and looked around: her new condo was as devoid of personality and holiday decor as her heart.
Neve’s own holiday decorations were all hidden away in boxes in a storage unit somewhere off the interstate. She couldn’t even locate them unless she gave her car directions.
And that’s how she liked to feel on the holidays.
Lost.
Not found.
Neve’s cell rang, and she jumped at the sound in her silent condo. She set down Madge’s letter and retrieved her phone.
“Hello?”
“Neve Ford?”
“Speaking.”
“It’s Trent Wilkes.”
“Who?”
“Trent Wilkes.”
“I’m sorry, you must have the wrong number.”
Neve lowered her cell, and then she heard the man respond. “Your boss.”
Wilkes International. The international conglomerate that owned every single store for which she had done window designs every holiday season the last couple of years.
“Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry,” Neve spluttered. “Long day.”
“I can imagine,” Trent said. “We keep you busy.”
Trent’s voice was deep, calm and empathetic—not at all what she imagined a man of such power might sound like at all.
You pay my salary. Your contracts helped me buy this condo. You literally gave me a new start. What do I say? “No, I don’t have time. Thank you. Have a nice evening.”
“Of course. It would be an honor.”
“The honor’s all mine,” he said. “It’s rather personal.” Trent stopped. “But I’ll talk to you all about that tomorrow. Say, ten o’clock?”
“Now I won’t sleep,” Neve said.
Trent laughed. “I thought you probably slept better than anyone in the world, dreaming of lollipops and twinkling lights.”
You don’t know me very well, Neve thought. I haven’t well slept in years. And the only thing I dream of is...
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Neve said. “I look forward to it. And, Mr. Wilkes? Thank you for your belief in me and my work. It means the world.”
“I should be thanking you,” he said. “Our sales are up anytime you touch a window. And...” He paused, then continued. “Anyway, I will see you tomorrow. Good night, Neve.”
“Good night, Mr. Wilkes.”
“Trent, please.”
“Good night, Trent.”
Neve hung up. She had never spoken in person to him, only his minions. She never imagined he’d actually seen her work much less knew she existed.
I can’t believe he called me personally, Neve thought, rather than have his assistant email or call to set an appointment. And what could he want to discuss with me? And why did he sound like he had a secret to share?
Neve immediately googled him.
The first photo she pulled up made her legs feel like the Jell-O molds her mom used to serve at the holidays.
She returned to the window seat to steady herself and stared at the photo.
Trent Wilkes was standing in front of the window she had just completed today, just like the strangers from whom she’d run. Snow swirled in the window behind him, and he looked as if he was dreaming.
He was handsome, yes, but it was more than that. His blue eyes, his blond hair, the dimples, the snow... Neve stopped and clenched a hand over her mouth.
He looked just like Jackson the very last time she saw him alive.
Three
Trent Wilkes’s office was on the top story of Water Tower Place, a skyscraper on Michigan Avenue famous for its tourist-friendly shopping center on the ground floor.
Neve arrived early and window-shopped to help calm her nerves. There was a line of people already snaking around Water Tower’s Garrett Popcorn Shop, waiting for the Chicago institution to open.
People wanted—no, needed—their fix this early in the day, Neve thought.
Neve had laughed when she moved to Chicago, and everyone told her that this popcorn was gourmet.
“Gourmet” popcorn, she thought. C’mon.
But it was true.
Garrett Popcorn was like eating a miracle, as if heaven had a popcorn machine and the kernels fell from the skies slathered in goodness.
Neve looked at her cell and moved toward the line. She could already smell it.
Neve’s favorite was the Garrett Mix, a combo of caramel and cheese, a salty-sweet mixture that made your taste buds explode.
And left your hands a mess.
Neve looked at her outfit. She was wearing a winter white pantsuit and a pretty holiday pin.
Just one bite of the cheese corn, a swipe of her hand or a dropped orange kernel and Neve’s outfit would be ruined.
That’s why they always give you a thousand napkins with your order, she thought. Step away from the corn, girl.
Neve meandered into the flagship American Girl store instead and stared into the dolls’ faces. Her mind instantly wandered to the letter Madge had sent her.
Is there still a little girl filled with hope and wonder inside of me? she thought. Or am I forever frozen at this stage of my life?
Finally, Neve walked over to the elevator, got in, hit the button for the top floor and took a deep breath. When the doors opened, her eyes widened.
Wilkes International was no typical corporate headquarters. Instead, it resembled Ralph Lauren’s lodge, a homey, rustic space filled with worn leather sofas and armchairs, old-fashioned hook rugs and an assistant perched behind a live-edge maple desk.
Neve turned left and right, just to make sure she was in the right place, and sighed when she saw the corporate logo on the wall.
The receptionist motioned for Neve to have a seat. Neve unbuttoned her coat, plopped on a comfy couch and thumbed through a magazine to busy her brain, scanning an article about a celebrity’s “heartache” over selling a home in the Maldives.
Please, Neve thought.
“Ms. Ford?”
Neve never knew how to react when someone called her Ms. In her heart, she was still a Mrs. She again thought of Madge’s letter.
I kept the family name, she thought, but not the family.
“Ms. Ford?”
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
“Mr. Wilkes will see you now. Let me take your coat.”
Neve handed the assistant her coat and then followed her through a set of doors, down a long, hushed hallway and then into a massive office overlooking Chicago.
“Would you like anything to drink? Coffee? Water?” the assistant asked.
“No, I’m fine,” Neve said.
“Mr. Wilkes will be with you shortly,” she said. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Easy for you to say, Neve thought.
“Thank you,” she said as the assistant closed the doors behind her.
The city was spread out before her, Lake Michigan in the distance, and everything—the skyscrapers, high-rises and lake—looked so small from up here. Neve couldn’t help it: in order to calm herself, she walked to the window and pinched her fingers together to make the world look even smaller, more manageable.
“So that’s how you do it.”
Neve yelped.
“What are you doing in here?” she said, her voice high.
“It’s my office.”
Neve’s face flushed. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I was lost in my thoughts.”
“I could tell. I’m Trent Wilkes. It’s nice to finally meet the queen of Christmas, Neve Ford.”
Neve blushed again. “Thank you. And, again, I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. That’s what I meant when I walked in here—that’s how you do it, isn’t it? You envision the world in miniature.”
Neve nodded. Her body felt hot. She felt like one of her own windows, like this man could see through her, into her.
“Have a seat, please,” Trent said. “I mean, it’s our office.” He laughed, and the friendly sound eased Neve’s nerves.
Trent motioned for her to take a seat in a comfortable armchair near his desk. He sat in his office chair and took a drink of water. Then he smiled widely, which made his dimples seem bigger than the world beyond his desk.
“Thank you for meeting with me today,” Trent said. He was wearing a dark suit, crisp white shirt and beautiful silk bow tie striped with holly. “We think alike, it seems. I like your holiday pin, by the way.”
“It was a gift,” she said.
From my late husband.
“Well, it’s beautiful,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
“I like your tie,” she returned.
“Thank you.” Trent looked at her and then at his computer. “As I said on the phone, I’ve been so, so pleased by your work for us these last couple of years. I feel like you’ve become a part of our team, although you run your own show.”
“I’m glad,” Neve said, crossing and recrossing her legs nervously. “That means the world. I’m so gratef
ul for all the opportunities you’ve given me. I don’t know exactly how this all started or came to be, but I’m incredibly thankful. Working for you has changed my life.”
Trent smiled. “I was the one who discovered you, Neve.”
“Excuse me?” Neve sat forward in her chair. “You?”
“Well, my mother actually.” Trent laughed. “I grew up in Michigan. My family is from there. I keep close tabs on anything and everything happening in business, design, style, the holiday trends. The only way to keep so many arms of this corporate octopus swimming in the same direction is never to come up for air.” Trent moved closer to his desk and placed his elbows on it. “My mom saw you trending on Instagram a few years ago. She loved your bottlebrush-tree displays. She actually collects them herself. So does my grandmother. She showed them to me, and I knew immediately you’d be perfect.”
Neve’s mind whirled.
My Instagram account exploded after people knew what had happened to Jackson, she thought. The widow still embracing her love for her dead husband and the holidays. So many newspaper interviews. So many opportunities followed, mostly from people who felt sorry for me.
“You knew,” Neve mumbled. She looked at Trent. “You know.”
Trent stood and walked around his desk, taking a seat next to Neve.
“I do. I’m so, so sorry for your loss and all you’ve gone through.”
His voice was as hushed as his office.
“Thank you.”
Madge’s words filled her head.
You can run all you want, but you’ll never be fast enough to escape all the pain and memories.
“May I ask you a question?” Neve asked.
Trent nodded.
“Did you—” she began.
“No,” Trent said, cutting her off, as if reading her mind. “I didn’t hire you because I felt sorry for you. You need to know that. I respected that you created something beautiful from your memories. It’s what I try to do as well.” Trent leaned toward Neve and looked at her so intently, she could see herself reflected in his eyes. “We have a lot in common, it seems.”
He continued. “So you’re probably wondering why I asked you to join me today?”