He was right. It was like looking up at a high-rise building from ground level and trying to calculate the number of floors to the top. The higher it got, the fuzzier the details. How on earth had his father been able to measure their own tree with such accuracy?
“I need a better vantage point,” Lance said.
Holden tracked Lance’s eyes toward the cabin. At the back of the house, there was a large deck. Holden didn’t like where this was going.
“Not an option,” he answered before Lance had the opportunity to ask.
“Come on. I can sneak over there real quick and get a good read. It’s the perfect vantage point to view it from.”
“Or you could head back to the shed and take a look from there.”
Lance tossed his head in a ‘no’. “It’s too dark. I need the porch lights from the cabin to see the markings on the pole. I’ll be fast.”
This was a bad idea, another tally on the regrettably long list of them. Holden shouldn’t have agreed to help his father. They shouldn’t have stopped by the market earlier in the day. Those were bad decisions. But creeping onto the Joy’s deck in the still of night to measure their tree? That was downright idiotic.
“Come on, buddy. We’re already in this far. Might as well see it through.”
“You can’t let them catch you, Lance.”
“I’ll be faster than a speeding bullet, Superman style. Promise. They won’t see me.”
Maybe the Joys weren’t even home. Sure, their porch lights were on, but it was night and most people left their outdoor lights illuminated all hours to keep critters away. The house itself was dark inside, not even a table lamp left on. If they were home, they were likely sleeping. With the continuous soundtrack of music to muffle their noises, Lance and Holden just might pull this off.
“You have to be quick,” he instructed. “And quiet.”
“Quick and quiet. Got it.”
Holden gave one clipped nod, signaling go-time.
Bent at the waist, Lance maneuvered through the snow. His boots sank into the layers, coming clear up to his shins. He looked like a fisherman wading upstream. He wasn’t remotely fast, but he hadn’t made it to the deck yet, and from the cabin, he still couldn’t be seen.
Holden trapped in a stinging breath.
Lance’s tread met the first step. He gripped onto the railing to find purchase and keep from slipping on the icy boards. He looked like one of those cartoon capers sneaking about, their movements slow but dramatic all the same.
Almost there.
Holden waited for a light to flicker on. If they were found out, that’s how it would happen. Rachel would sense the commotion and venture outside to locate the source. She’d flip the switch and shine a light on their foolishness.
Holden had watched enough movies to know the script. He wished he could write himself out of the scene entirely, but he had a job to do. Securing his grip on the pole, he held it upright.
Lance continued to slink his way across the deck until he stood squarely in front of the tree, but at a distance of a dozen or so yards. His forehead buckled as he strained to read the measurement.
“Hurry,” Holden hissed.
“I can’t see. Move the stick to the front.”
Grimacing, Holden clomped his way around and jammed the pole back into the snow. “Now?”
“Twenty feet….” Lance’s gaze tightened again. The guy needed a trip to the optometrist. “Three inches.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Holden groaned.
“Yep. Twenty feet, three inches.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes,” Lance sneered. “I’m sure.”
