It’s a pity our house and theirs are the only two on this nondescript street in the outskirts of Grafton. It would have been nice to have a friendly face around. Folks to be neighborly with. Grill, have a beer with at the end of a long day, or lend a cup of sugar to. All that small-town stuff that was part of the attraction of moving here.
Kids for Maise to play with would have been great, also.
I close my eyes, rubbing my hands down my face as I second-guess every decision I’ve ever made. My latest big change is front and center of the self-doubt that rises with each thought, more depressing than the last.
How can we ever know if we’re doing the right thing by our kids?
Who knows how the school situation will pan out... One thing I can try to give her is good neighbors. I can try again, maybe apologize for a rough start and beg for a do-over?
One can only try, right?
Chapter
Five
CELESTE
“Do we have to get a tree this year?”
My father’s face drops into a frown from the passenger seat of his old truck. I shift the stick into drive and pull out onto the street. It wasn’t long ago that he would be sitting here, taking me to the Christmas tree farm. Funnily enough, also a reindeer farm...
If the kids ever realized that the reindeer are not, in fact, waiting for Santa’s call—like Caleb has insisted on telling kids this time of year ever since he took over the family farm—they’d be horrified to learn their beloved deer are food.
“Yes, I know you kids have had a thing about Christmas after your mother, but a tree is nonnegotiable.” He looks out the window. He’s having a good day. So far...
Then, “How will Santa leave you gifts without a tree? That scooter you want isn’t going to fit in a stocking.”
And I’m seven again, at least in his mind.
I remember that Christmas. It was the first after Mom died. And I did not get the scooter.
“You alright, pumpkin?” he asks.
That name is about as old as the letter I sent to Santa about the scooter... And I can tell today is going to be a constant back-and-forth between then and now for him. For us.
I remind myself he’s healthy—physically—and still here with me. And I focus on that, the good parts. The fact that I still have my dad.
Emotion clogs my throat as we turn onto Main Street. I grip the wheel harder, and the burn on my hand from making us scrambled eggs and bacon this morning smarts, like my skin just met the hot skillet all over again.
I hiss and flick the turn signal to turn onto a side street before heading out of town to the farm.
“Is Marie meeting us there?” Dad asks.
“No, remember, she’s having the day off.” I offer a small smile.
“Oh, I must have forgotten.”
Yes, Daddy, it happens a lot.
A few minutes later, we slow and turn onto a gravel road that leads to the Christmas tree and reindeer farm, Maple Acres. The truck rattles over the cattle guard, and we jostle in our seats as I slow down, looking for a spot to park among the many vehicles already here.
Two barns sit on either side of the driveway, one lit up with people walking through, dragging their trees behind them. The other barn is flanked by a tall white fence. Behind it, the deer watch on as folks appear from the barn and make for their trucks and larger SUVs to cart their trees home.
Strings of fairy lights light up the outside of the tree barn and snow still litters the ground, giving the whole place that winter wonderland look. I park and kill the engine. Double-checking our coats are buttoned up, I slide my arm through my father’s.
“Shall we get the biggest tree we can find this year, pumpkin?” he says, leaning closer, his words excited but soft.
“Sure.”
