I’m doing them a favor, I tell myself as I grab one bin and start walking to the trash can in the garage.
I’m about to dump them all, but then something catches my eye on an envelope. Jayda’s name is written on the corner on the return address. Frowning, I set the letters on the concrete floor and I reach for hers, tearing it open quickly.
My heart pounds. I’m not Santa. I’m not my mom. I probably shouldn’t be reading this, right? But I can’t help it. Curiosity takes over as I unfold the letter and read…
Chapter Five
“Ho ho ho!”
Mr. Harris’ voice booms out over the crowd of excited little kids who are lined up to see him. Of course they think he’s the real Santa Claus, and he looks pretty convincing. Mr. Harris is a portly man in his sixties, with a long white beard and a kind smile that reminds me of my grandfather. He’s the owner of Harris Christmas Tree farm and he’s my Christmas angel right now.
He replied to my job post online and said he needed someone to help him with Santa photos for this weekend and next weekend since there are two weeks left until Christmas.
The pay is ten dollars an hour, four hours a day, and all I have to do is wear a green elf hat and help the parents pick out which photo package they’d like to buy while their kid gets a photo on Santa’s lap.
I’m so grateful and happy to have landed this gig. I had a blast working yesterday and now today it’s even more fun—plus I will walk away with eighty dollars in cash tonight.
The whole farm is filled with Christmas spirit, and it’s starting to rub off on me, too. Mr. Harris’ tree farm is a local tourist spot. People drive from hours away to pick out their Christmas tree every year, and then they stay a while for all the fun stuff Mr. Harris has on site. You can get a picture with Santa, take holiday photos next to the old red antique truck he has on the property, play in bounce houses, or get a hot chocolate from the food truck. There’s also his wife’s store on site, which is a year round Christmas store.
The air is filled with the smells of the holiday: cinnamon, fresh pine, and warm apple pie. The pie is also available for sale. My mouth waters every time I walk past the food truck that sells it by the slice, but I know I can’t spend any of my hard earned cash on a pie, as much as I want to. All of this money will go to getting Max presents. After next weekend, I’ll have one hundred and sixty dollars. I haven’t decided if I’m going to tell Mom, or just surprise her with it. She’ll be so thrilled that I found a way to get my brother gifts this year.
I can’t stop smiling as I help the next customer in line. At seven o’clock, it’s time for Santa to take a fifteen minute break, so I put out the velvet rope that blocks the line to Santa’s large red throne, and I tell everyone we’ll be right back.
“You’re doing a great job, Jayda,” Mr. Harris says as I follow him toward the store. There’s an employee breakroom in there as well as a restroom, which I totally need after having chugged three cups of the free soda in the break room. We haven’t had soda in months since Mom says it’s a waste of money that we could be using for food.
“Thank you, sir,” I say, unable to hide my smile. This has been a great two days. I’m earning money, and I’m surrounded by families and happy kids and Christmas spirit. It feels good to be happy again. I only wish Max could come hang out with me while I work.
“I wish I had more work to give you,” he says, holding open the door for me. “You’re such a good worker. But we’re only busy here once a year, unfortunately.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “I’m just so grateful for this opportunity.”
Mr. Harris smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I haven’t seen your momma come by here yet. Don’t you usually buy your tree right after Thanksgiving?”
This is the curse of living in such a small town. Everyone knows everyone. But I guess the word hasn’t spread that Mom lost her job.
I shrug. Heat fills my cheeks as I admit the truth. “Yeah… we’re not getting a tree this year. Money is kind of tight.”
Mr. Harris frowns. “Oh, dear, that’s not a problem. Your momma has been buying trees from me since the year you were born. I think you deserve a free one by now, yeah? Why don’t you come get one this week and it’ll be on the house.”
My heart floods with warmth. “That’s really nice, Mr. Harris. Thank you.”
As we go our separate ways, I think over his offer. A free Christmas tree would be great. It’d make our apartment smell nice, and we could decorate it with our lights and ornaments. But on the other hand, having a tree would highlight the fact that there are no presents underneath it. Even though Max still believes in Santa, who would bring him gifts on Christmas Eve, Mom always puts extra gifts from her under the tree before the big day. It’ll definitely be weird having a tree with no gifts underneath it.
Maybe I’ll wait to take him up on his offer. But my heart still fills with joy as I think about it. Getting a tree is another one of our family traditions. Mom, Max and I come out here and pick a tree, then cut it down with the handsaws they let you use. It’s something we continued even after Dad divorced Mom. She didn’t let it faze her – we still piled into her car and drove over here and picked out the perfect tree. We didn’t have Dad’s truck that first time, but we got the tree tied to the top of her car with no problem. This is one tradition I’m going to make sure continues. Maybe Mom will be happy about it, and maybe it’ll pull her out of her funk.
On my way to the bathroom, I get distracted by a cute rack of stocking stuffers. This whole store is a thing to behold. It’s pretty big, and it’s filled to the brim with Christmas items. I mentally add a few things to my list of what I’ll buy for Max when I get paid. I also find a stuffed puppy that’s super adorable. I wonder if Max would be happy with this as a consolation gift for the fact that he can’t get a real dog.
I set the stuffed animal back on the shelf and then make my way toward the employees only hallway, wondering if I should drink another soda just because it’s free.
There’s a guy standing at the end of the hall, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. I recognize the back of his head, and it makes my heart do this little jumpy motion and I’m not sure why.
“Connor?”
He turns around, eyes wide with surprise. “Jayda? What are you doing here?”
“I work here,” I say, pointing to my elf hat. “What are you doing here?”
He takes a hand out of his pocket and scratches his neck. “I’m uh, shopping for something.”
