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I slump against the counter and stare at the Santa-hatted seahorse. It’s not the first time I’ve been a grinch. Christmas has been hard since I was six and we lost my grandmother because of my own stupidity. It’s a hard thing to carry at any age, but that young? During Christmas? It’s never been the same since.
I haven’t been the same since.
The seahorse glitters at me from tiny rhinestone eyes, a reproach as clear as if it could speak.
My problems are with the holiday. Not the lights. Not even the tacky plywood cutouts. And definitely not with the gift-leaving girl next door.
I have to find a way to make this right, but I make so few apologies, I’m not good at them. I make a point of committing as few mistakes as possible so I’m not in the position of having to apologize much.
I close my hand around the seahorse.
An apology is definitely due. I’m going to have to figure out how to give one to the daughter before her mother can take my head off, because that will definitely be her instinct the next time she sees me coming.
Chapter Twelve
Paige
“Heistheliteralworst, Bill. Ebenezer Scrooge the Grinch,” I conclude my rant on Hill the Pill’s antics the next morning.
“Sounds like it,” he says with a laugh. “So what are you going to do?”
“Add more lights, for starters.”
Bill laughs. “Normally, Lisa would pat you on the back and offer to help while I tried to persuade both of you not to escalate a neighbor war, but in this case, you’d both be right. I hear the media talk about the war against Christmas, but until this Hill guy, you couldn’t have proved it by me. Better make it clear that he can resign himself to an all-out Christmas next door or . . .”
“Move,” I say, when Bill can’t seem to find something dire enough to finish his sentence with. “He doesn’t need that big old house by himself. I’m going to Christmas him right into moving away.”
“That’s the spirit.” He pauses. “Not exactly the spirit of Christmas, but I think this is a case where Santa would approve.”
“Thanks, Bill. Want to help me figure out all the different places I can use those boxes of lights in my back shed? If we have Gary work Sunday, we can start on it after church.”
“You bet, kiddo.”
I head up to the front to consider the merchandise displays. It’s not just my petty bone that’s appeased by going even wilder with the decorations; the expression on Evie’s face every time a new decoration goes up or a new strand of lights is connected would be payoff enough. Hill the Pill’s total annoyance is a bonus.
I’ve nearly finalized my plans for the store window swap I’ll do next Wednesday after we close early for Thanksgiving. I want something fresh and irresistible waiting for people on the morning of Black Friday.
It’s not quite the event here as it is in bigger cities, but there will definitely be more people bustling in and out of Main Street stores, and they’ll be expecting to see something special in the Handy’s Hardware windows. I’ve trained them to expect it, and I make a point of exceeding their expectations with every new display.
The door opens and Wayne Gervis steps in, a man who could be an old forty or a young sixty. No one knows. In Bill’s words, “He’s looked that age for twenty-five years. I just don’t know what that age is.”
Since Wayne is Creekville’s only code enforcement officer in addition to being one-half of our parks department as well as our de facto animal control officer on account of liking critters more than people, I suspect I know why he’s here.
“Need something, Wayne?” I ask. “Something break?” He often comes in for supplies to fix up paint or patch sidewalks and other maintenance that falls under the purview of the city.
He slips his “City of Creekville” cap off and scratches his forehead before resettling the hat. “You happen to notice I stopped by your place yesterday?”
“You mean because you left me a big old yellow paper on the door?”
He sighs. “Yeah, because of that. I’m sorry, Paige. Your neighbor was real insistent, but I like what you’re doing with the place. The lights make it nicer and the paintings kind of cover some of the ug—”
He saves himself with a cough.
“I understand, Wayne. I don’t hold it against you. But tell me, do I really need to have that stuff down in seventy-two hours?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Thing is, I’m the only person on code enforcement, and it’s just one of my jobs. I got kind of a full plate right now, trying to winterize . . . things.”
I stifle a smile as I realize where he’s going with this.
