“I’m Holden Carmichael from down the street this is my… my friend and coworker Atlanta Creekmore.”
“Yes, hello Holden, Atlanta. Nice to see you both again. What brings you out on this nice day?”
It’s a gorgeous Montana morning, clear and blue, the mountains framing the town.
I speak first. “We noticed you don’t have a yard decoration out this season.”
Mr. Miller rubs his clean-shaven face and adjust his glasses. “Come on in out of the cold.”
He walks us to the kitchen, where Mrs. Miller puts on a kettle. A pang of longing hits me as I see the years of love in this house. We sit at the table when Mr. Miller acknowledges the reason for our visit.
“Well, the homeowners association didn’t like our inflatable turkey or our inflatable Frankenstein.”
Mrs. Miller shakes her head. It’s just not as easy for Frank and I to pick up decorations like we used to. The grandkids loved them.” She traces a striation of wood in the oak table. “But we understand. Rules are rules.”
A look of shame crosses Holden’s features before he masks it. “That’s why we’re here, actually. We want to design and build a yard decoration for you. On the house from Big Sky Architecture.”
I raise my eyebrow. He’s putting the firm behind this?
“Well, uh, from me. I want to do this for you.”
“Oh no we couldn’t ask that.“ Mrs. Miller smiles and heads to the kitchen, where she retrieves a service tray with an assortment of flavored teas, hot chocolate, and gourmet single-serve coffees bags. She sets it on the table in front of us and hands us each a cup. “Help yourself.”
Holden looks so uncomfortable that I want to reach out and squeeze him. They are as old as my grandparents. How would I feel if someone had turned my grandparents into the HOA for wanting to decorate for the holidays? Like a weasel, that’s how.
And that’s exactly how Holden looks.
He takes a deep breath and places both hands on the table. “Please let us do this. We have the whole day free. Just tell us what you want and we will get it done by tomorrow.”
The Millers look at each other before the husband speaks. “That would be fantastic. Our grandkids have been asking what we’re putting up next.”
I don’t miss the way Holden looks into space as he fiddles with the cup handle.
Pulling out my sketch pad, I write down sketch ideas as the couple talk about what they’d like. The Millers settle on a life-size Christmas wreath with festive presents underneath, eachbearing the initials of their children and grandchildren on the tags.
Once Holden has their approval, we say our goodbyes and head to the hardware store.
The thing about being a designer and an is that creating yard art is right in our wheelhouse. We head over to paint first, then get the rest of the supplies we need before heading over to the plywood.
It’s nice being with Holden. We haven’t spent time outside the office… well, ever. Except for business lunches, but those don’t count.
As we study the plywood, a man down the aisle walks up and holds out his hand to Holden.
“Hey, there. I’m Mike. Are you the architect on the billboard coming into town?”
“I am. Holden Carmichael. Nice to finally meet you.”
“Can I ask your opinion? I’m building this awning over my back door, but I’m not 100% sure which bolts to use.”
He shows my boss a paused video, and Holden’s head immediately shakes a “no.”
He points to the screen. “Are you building this awning?”
When the guy confirms, Holden explain that the man needs to account for snow load. He search for a different video on his phone, and when satisfied it’s the right tutorial, they discuss bolts.
“You saved me, man. Appreciate it.”
I stands off to the side as the man walks off, Holden’s chiseled features softer somehow. “That was a good thing you did.”
