“Oh, come on, Hold. You’re my only heir to carry out my last dying wish.”
“Hey now,” Sarah piped up from the floor, where she and Laney stacked ABC blocks into a wooden tower. “What about me?”
“You’re not dying, Dad,” Holden redirected. “You’re in a cast. One that you will get off in six to eight weeks if you just allow yourself the time to heal.”
“I might not be dying, but my dream of winning this tree competition will, unless you can help me get some intel.”
Holden didn’t like the sound of this, but he had to give his old man credit. He had a knack for playing up the theatrics.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Do you have night vision goggles?”
“What?” Holden jerked his head at the odd request.
“Okay, those might not be entirely necessary. But what about all-white clothing? Something to camouflage you in the snow.”
“I have a jacket and we sell white snow pants at the shop. I could probably get a pair there, if I really need them.”
“You do, son. You do.” His dad’s calloused hand came over the top of Holden’s, emphasizing his point. “You’ll need that measuring stick you made too.”
“Dad, what are you going to have me do? What are we talking about here?”
Zeke’s chest expanded. “Son, I need you to sneak over to the Joy’s property to measure their tree.”
“What?” Holden yanked his hand out from his father’s grasp. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
“It’s my final wish.”
“Again, Dad, you’re not dying,” Holden reiterated. “This is crazy.”
“It’s crazy for an old, feeble man to think his one and only son could help him achieve his holiday dream?”
“Are you all hearing this?” Holden turned to his mother, then his sister.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Jill said. “Loud and clear.”
“How many painkillers are you hopped up on, Dad?” Holden inquired in all seriousness.
“Not nearly enough,” Zeke deadpanned. “I need you to do this for me, Hold. I have to know if we stand a chance this year.”
“And why can’t you just wait until the tree lighting officials make that call like everyone else?”
“I’ve never been all that good at being patient.”
“I’m sorry.” Jill cupped her ear, leaning in dramatically. “Did you just admit that you’re not a good patient?”
“No time for jokes, Jill.” Zeke cut his wife a solemn look, then swung his gaze back to Holden. “Whatever you got for me for Christmas, son, please feel free to take back. All I want is to know if our noble is in the running. That’ll be the best gift anyone could ever give.”
It was a simple enough request, even if the absurdity of it all had Holden pinching back laughter. “Fine. I can go over tonight.”
“Thank you!” Zeke swiveled up from his lying position on the couch, knocking his heavy boot against the side table in his haste. “Oomph.”
“Be careful, Dad.” Guiding his father back to rest on the couch, Holden asked, “What’ll you do if their tree is taller?”
“Let’s not even plant that idea in his crazy brain,” his mother advised. “And Holden, please don’t get caught.”
“Do you honestly think anyone else is taking this whole tree competition even remotely as serious as you all are?”
