Page 40 of The Forever Christmas Tree

They’d babied that seedling with fertilizer, netting for protection from the sun and wind, bug repellants, and lots of love. And it grew. Very slowly, but by the time of their high school graduation, it had been four feet tall. But it had survived. A miracle, his father had said. Probably the fertilizer, his grandmother had proclaimed. But she and Ethan had known why the little tree survived. Their love.

The blasted tree was probably dead by now.

Back to the tree in front of Wendy. There were so many keepsakes-turned-ornaments that tugged at her heartstrings, but the one that made her heart ache was the miniature lighthouse Ethan had given her to mark the place where they’d first made love. Her father and Aunt Mildred probably thought it was just a souvenir from visiting the Bell Cove lighthouse before it closed. She and Ethan had known it meant so much more.

She swiped at the tears that slipped from her eyes and determined to toss all these items in the trash before she returned to California. But just then, the house phone rang in the hall. In the distance, she could hear the town clocks tolling the hour. Who would be calling at midnight?

If it was the guys or Diane, they would have called her cell phone. But maybe something had happened, and it was the police, or a hospital calling. She rushed to the vintage telephone chair stand in the hall, sometimes called a “gossip bench,” to pick up the cordless before it awakened others in the house.

“Hello.”

A moment of silence. Then a male voice said, “We need to talk.”

She put a hand to her chest, as if that could still her wildly beating heart.

“Meet me tomorrow at four.”

“Where?” she asked, although she knew—she just knew—what he was going to say.

“The lighthouse.”

Chapter 10

Oh, how clueless some men could be! . . .

Ethan couldn’t sleep at all that night.

So, he got up at five and prepared to fly over to the mainland tree farm, earlier than he’d originally planned, but that would give him plenty of time to be back by four. An opportunity had come up suddenly for him to purchase a hundred acres of adjacent land, which he’d been after for the past year. If this transaction worked out, he could double his production and profits within five years. Plus, he could diversify with some new species adaptable to a warmer climate. Shades of my father and grandfather!

Which was one more reason why he should move to the mainland. But his grandmother wouldn’t budge, no matter the incentives he offered her.

“I’ll build you a new house, with all the amenities.”

“I like my house, and what’s wrong with the amenities here? The stove cooks, the fridge freezes.”

“You’d have free time to go back to your painting.”

“And what good would that do me? I paint Outer Banks lighthouse scenes.”

And so, he stayed. He owed his grandmother too much for all she’d done for him, caring for Beth Anne and Cassie. Hell, she’d cared for him, too, when he’d been a walking zombie for months there, back when . . .

Which brought him to the reason for his sleeplessness. Wendy. He wasn’t sure what he hoped to accomplish by meeting with her. He must be a glutton for punishment. But, no, it was just the opposite. Time to end the punishment with a shot of hard-reality closure. Just like his grandmother kept hammering away about.

It’s not like he hadn’t thought about Wendy over the past twelve years, but somehow he’d managed to push the memories to the background. The crushing hurt of her leaving had slowly morphed into a mere sore spot when he’d allowed himself to think about her at all. But now, since she’d come back, it had become an open, festering wound. So much guilt! So much bitterness! So many questions!

It had to stop.

Sure, he could ride it out. She’d leave again in another week or so. Then, he could go back to the way things were.

Or could he?

It didn’t help that those buffer-than-Rambo Navy SEAL buddies of hers showed up at the tree lot last night. And they’d been nice. Dammit. It would have been better if he could picture her with a bunch of brain-dead apes. Instead, they’d been articulate and friendly, although the female with them kept giving him the stink eye, as if she knew something about him.

All was quiet in the house when he left. His grandmother wouldn’t get up till seven, then would go in to the tree lot to open up at nine.

When he got to his office on the mainland, he took some ribbing over the grinch contest, news of which continued to spread, mainly due to daily reports being given on NBX’s Morning Show. The subject even came up at his meeting later with the irascible old man, Jeb Parkins, farmer-turned-real-estate-magnate (picture Beverly Hillbilly in a Walmart suit), who did, in fact, sell Ethan the land he wanted, for more than it was worth.

Once they’d settled on an amount, Jeb added, “Let’s put another thousand on top of that and I’ll donate it to that grinch thing over at Bell Cove.” Parkins winked at Matt Holter, Ethan’s lawyer and best friend, who came to the negotiating session with him, having already been on the mainland this week on a court case. Parkins’s wink conveyed where that thousand bucks would go. Two hundred votes. For guess who? Not Matt.