She retrieves the empty cardboard light box out of a barren flowerpot. “I’m teasing, big guy.”
“What does your dad do?” I ask as I fold up the ladder. Looks like we’re finished here.
“Dad’s an engineer and works for a defense contractor. They’re paying him stinkin’ good money to work overseas for two years. Mom went with him for a while, but there wasn’t much for her to do. He was working all the time, and she missed home.”
Boy, I know the feeling—but what I wouldn’t give to have the person I loved with me on these out of town jobs. Once I meet the right one, I may have to reconsider office work and stick close to home.
I quick-peek Everly’s direction.The right one?
I hang the ladder on my shoulder. “How is she feeling about him being gone at Christmas?”
“Sad. Frustrated.” She rolls her eyes, eyes decked with more makeup than usual. “It doesn’t show this year, but Mom’s a Christmas-aholic. Normally, by Thanksgiving, this yard is decorated like Santa’s workshop, and the inside of the house looks like a Christmas store.”
“I take it your dad is her helpful little elf?”
Everly smirks. “How did you guess?”
“Your mom strikes me as the marching-orders type.”
“You don’t know the half of it. But, this year, she’s going to have to chill. I’m hoping that getting these lights up around the entryway will take the edge off her sense of stuff going un-done.”
I tuck my fingers into my pockets and rock onto the balls of my dress shoes. “I could hang the rest of the lights.” I reconsider. “What I mean is, you and I could do it together.” Don’t want to waltz in and take charge like this is a jobsite. Or as if Everly isn’t capable…although, I confess to being less than impressed by her ladder skills.
“Oh, goodness. I wasn’t suggesting that.”
“Didn’t think you were…but I wouldn’t mind helping out.”
“No need, promise. That roof is steep and it takes Dad a full Saturday. Really, he needs to start hiring someone. Scares me to death every year when I think of him climbing around up there. One wrong move, and…” She clutches her elbows, shivering. “However…” Soft hair flows about her shoulder as she tilts her head. “Some of Mom’s favorite yard decorations are too heavy for her to carry alone, and I’ve been awfully busy…”
I gesture to the ladder still dangling from my shoulder. “I make a darn good pack mule.” Size and strength are practically my party trick. Need an item from the useless-to-most top of the cabinets? I’m your man. Moving to a new home? Dial Knox the Ox.
Happy to spend every second possible with Everly, I trail her through the crunchy, winterized grass, around to the backyard, and stop at the front of a storage building. I rest the ladder against it. The green structure has a barnlike roof and anxon the front door.
I have to move a few boxes across the cobwebby space to clear a path to the painted-plywood designs. A jolly Santa. A toy-stuffed stocking. A train loaded with festive, waving stuffed animals and dolls. I can’t help a small laugh.
“Kinda cheesy, right?”
“I wouldn’t go that far…” But I’m reasonably certain she hears the gurgle of laughter in my throat.
Everly tugs the zipper of her puffy jacket all the way to her chin. “Sure they are. They make the yard look like a five-year-old lives here. And wait until you see the inflatable snowman. Plus…” She points her finger to the far corner. “Throw in that nativity off to one side, and I’m sorry. Tacky, tacky, tacky.”
A smile spikes one side of my face. The classic nativity deserves the spotlight. “The two themes don’t mix well, huh?”
“Not at all. If it were my house, I’d go for white lights and Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus front and center,.” She shrugs “But that’s just me, and I’m kind of a fuddy duddy.”
An adorable fuddy duddy with spunk and attitude.
“Will we be holding up dinner if we start this now?” The thought hits me halfway across the yard with good ol’ St. Nick under one arm. Staying on Mrs. Wilkes’ good side feels wise.
Everly’s steps crunch behind me. “Funny story. Mom messed up setting the time on the roast before church this morning, so lunch is delayed. She was beside herself when she got home and checked the oven. Sorry, by the way.”
“No worries. The motel’s continental breakfast isn’t half bad.”
As we carry our loads side by side, her smile warms me. “Look at you. No lunch and put to work instead. You’re quite a trooper.”
“Hey, I like a homecooked meal as much as the next guy, butworkis my middle name. Lots of days, the jobsite gets so crazy I never get lunch at all.”
“Yeah, I have those days at the office, too.”
