1
CARSON
The metallic scentof motor oil and the sharp bite of antifreeze battled for dominance as I tinkered with the engine of an old Chevrolet. The car was far from a classic, but try telling that to old Mr. Graham. He was a frequent flier at the shop, fixing the latest thing to break down on the beast nearly every month. But try as we might, there was no convincing him he’d be better off investing that money in a car payment for something built this century.
The garage’s cozy ambiance was punctuated by the occasional clink of tools and the hum of the radio, its upbeat melody announcing the advent of yet another holiday season. It sucked that, even on the classic rock channel Rodney preferred, we couldn’t escape the Christmas tunes. Outside the grimy windows of the shop, the world was dressed in festive lights and gaudy tinsel-outlined figures, the snow gently falling and covering the town in a blanket of white. But while the rest of Harmony Grove seemed to be caught up in the spirit of Christmas, I found my gaze narrowing with annoyance every time I caught sight of the garish decorations.
“Carson!” Rodney’s voice echoed from his corner office, the walls of which were a testament to his love for automobiles, plastered from end to end with car calendars. “You ever notice how these holiday songs keep getting worse every year?”
I rolled my eyes, choosing not to indulge him. It wasn’t that I disagreed with him, but once Rodney got going, he’d rant about it for the rest of the freaking day. It was worse than sucking it up and dealing with the stupid carols. Just as I pulled the first plug wire, the bell above the garage’s side door chimed, signaling the arrival of a new customer.
The door creaked open, allowing the chill of winter to enter. A familiar voice boomed through the room, and I immediately looked up.
“Carson! Just the man I wanted to see. Got a minute?” Anson’s voice was filled with purpose and a hint of mischief. It was clear this wasn’t a social visit. Anson was up to something.
Brushing grease off my hands, I smirked. “For the town’s potential next mayor? Always. What’s up?”
We’d been giving him a hard time about blurting that he was going to run against our bigoted mayor when the two had a confrontation at the Harmony Grove Harvest Festival last month. I hoped like hell he succeeded because someone needed to put Mayor Thompson in his place, and Anson was the sort of fresh blood we needed in city hall.
Anson waved a brightly colored flyer in front of me, the image of a Christmas tree prominently displayed. “Got something big in the works. You remember Kevin, right? He thought we could put together a Christmas event for the kids at Harmony House.”
Raising an eyebrow, I replied, “And you went along with it? What’s the catch?” I knew it wasn’t Anson’s style to dive headfirst into anything remotely holiday-themed. In fact, our matching cynical takes on Christmas had earned us the nicknames Grinch and Scrooge from our family.
With a twinkle in his eyes, Anson began to paint a vivid picture of the proposed event. His words were so descriptive I could almost hear the carolers, the laughter of children, and the rustle of gift wrappers. This was more than a simple Christmas party in the main hall at Harmony House—it was a full-blown extravaganza.
For a brief moment, I was tempted to buy into his infectious enthusiasm. But then, Rodney interrupted with a bucket of ice water.
“Another politician trying to woo voters with festivities? Spare me,” he drawled sarcastically from his office doorway.
Anson met Rodney’s gaze without flinching. “It’s not about the politics, Rodney. It’s about bringing a community together and doing some genuine good. Kevin wasn’t wrong to say I need to do a better job putting my money where my mouth is. Isn’t that what most people want politicians to do?”
“Fair, but if you’re being forced to do it, you need to ask why you’re doing it,” Rodney challenged. He set the parts for my next job on the roof of the car as he ambled toward us. “And you have to admit it reeks of desperation that you’re here trying to rope Carson into helping you.”
“Rodney, put a sock in it.” I wiped my hands on a ratty red shop rag. “If they’re doing something for Harmony House, they’re obviously going to rope me in. It’s part of what I agreed to when I put my money into the place. We all knew there’d be times when we’d have to chip in to help.”
Despite the skepticism around me, I found myself slowly being pulled in. Anson’s face softened, showing a rare vulnerability. “This isn’t just a fleeting idea, Carson. It might not have been my idea, but it’s a good one. Kevin’s right about there not being much that’s designed with kids in mind, and some of these kids will have a shit Christmas if someone doesn’t step up to the plate.”
He handed me the flyer, its glossy surface cold against the warmth of my grease-streaked hands. After a moment’s contemplation, I said, “Look, I’m not big on Christmas. But… I promised you guys I’d help when you asked, so I’ll do it. Just don’t expect me to wear a Santa hat.”
Anson beamed, his usual reserved demeanor momentarily forgotten. “Deal. I knew I could count on you. So what I need from you is help with the food. You like food, and that’s not strictly Christmas, so I figured it would be the least offensive to your sensibilities. We’re not doing anything super fancy, not even a full meal. Kevin mentioned mostly desserts with some finger foods and such.”
“If Kevin’s got it all figured out, why not have him do it?” I figured that was a better question than asking him when he and the newest cop at Harmony Grove PD had gotten close enough that they were planning parties together. If and when Anson was ready to talk about it, he would. But there wasn’t a chance in hell that it was just friendship if he was falling over himself to follow another man’s lead.
“Because he’s busy too. The only way for us to pull this off is if everyone works together,” Anson explained. “So, can I count on you?”
“I already said I’d do it, didn’t I?” All things considered, it was one of the easier tasks. Shiloh was a master at his job, and he’d recently expanded his catering menu. One phone call to Shiloh’s Sweets might allow me to hand over the reins to someone who actually knew about parties and shit. “Shoot me over the details on how many people you’re expecting, budget, all that. I’ll take it from there.”
“Thanks, man.” Anson gave me a quick one-armed hug. “I’ll send you a text this afternoon so you know what you’re working with. We’re having a planning meeting on Thursday night. Can you make that?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there.” It wasn’t as if I had a bustling social life. My days were spent under the hoods of cars that, more often than not, weren’t worth fixing, and my nights were spent in the spare bedroom at my apartment, which I’d turned into a little workshop of sorts.
I watched as Anson shuffled down the snow-covered sidewalk, wondering what in the hell I’d just gotten myself into. Planning a Christmas party sounded about as fun as a root canal. He was lucky I’d do just about anything for my brothers.
Rodney cleared his throat, snapping me out of my reverie. “You really think he’s genuine about this? It’s not just some political gimmick?”
I looked at Rodney, whose age-worn features betrayed a hint of hope. “Honestly? I think Anson wants to do something good. You give him shit, but he’s not really a politician. It shocked the hell out of all of us when he made that crack about running. To be honest, I figured it was just him blowing off some steam because Mayor Thompson’s a Grade-A dick who needed to be put in place. Now, we’ll have to see what happens come spring. But if he’s planning a Christmas event, he’s truly doing it for the kids. I know I’m not as active as Billy and Anson, but that place is a labor of love for all of us, so I get it in a way.”
Rodney’s lips twitched in a semblance of a smile. “Well then, if the Langsford brothers are about to bring Christmas to town, who am I to stand in the way?”
