Murphy was standing in the middle of a knot of mostly women, all of them chattering, although there was a sprinkling of men in the crowd too. She saw Vic, struggling as he tried to strap three trees onto his bike-hitched wagon.
Her brother looked trapped. And panicky. As she arrived at the stand his eyes met hers over the crowd and he mouthed one word: Help.
“Hi,” she said, wading into the fray. “Sorry. Let me just put my bag in the trailer…”
“Miss!” a woman called. She had her arms wrapped around a small tabletop tree. “How much is this? And do you have any more this size?”
“Miss.” A middle-aged woman butted her way around the one with the tabletop tree. “I was here before, and I need…”
She heard a twenty-something exclaim to her friend, “Oh my God. That trailer is just the cutest ever. I just want to move in and live here.”
Kerry opened the door to the trailer, tossed in her bag, and turned around to find a middle-aged man shoving his credit card at her. “I have an appointment and need to pay for my tree right now.”
“In a minute, please. We only have one credit card reader, and my brother is using it.” When he started to protest, she turned away and made her way to Murphy’s side.
“What’s going on here? Where did all these people come from?”
“That’s what I want to know. These women are about to start a rumble over Christmas trees. They say they read it on Ashley somebody. Who the hell is that?”
“They must be talking about AshleyActually. She and her fiancé bought a tree here last week. Turns out this woman is a big-deal lifestyle influencer. She’s got a social media following of over a million people.”
Kerry pulled out her cell phone, tapped the Instagram icon, and typed “ASHLEY ACTUALLY” into the search bar. She immediately recognized the stylish blonde and her fiancé, standing beside the Tolliver sign, and then another of herself and the duo, with the caption:
Last week Shaun and I discovered the coolest spot in New York City to buy a Christmas tree and soak up some holiday cheer. Run, don’t walk to the West Village and Tolliver Family Farms Christmas tree stand to support a great family business. Their trees are fresh-cut from their farm in the North Carolina mountains and smell amazing. And don’t forget to check out the cute little camper they call Spammy. They actually live there during the Christmas season!
She passed her phone to Murphy. “There are over eight thousand likes and more than seventeen hundred comments. And she only just posted this a couple hours ago.”
“Some girl you never met before is responsible for all this … chaos?”
“Apparently. Isn’t it great?”
“Did they all have to descend on us at the same time?”
“Sir? Sir?” A young woman dressed in head-to-toe purple waved a credit card. “I want a six-foot tree, and where do you keep those cute wreaths like the one Ashley showed on her IG post?”
“The wreaths are on back order,” Kerry said. She handed the woman her notebook. “Write down your name and phone number and I’ll text you when they come in again in the next day or so.”
“Hey!” A man with a tree slung over his shoulder pushed his way toward the siblings, narrowly avoiding poking someone in the eye with the tip of the tree. “Bro, can you cash me out? My Uber is only a block away.” He had a handful of bills in his hand. Kerry plucked the money and gave him his change.
The next two hours were a blur, as fresh waves of customers arrived at the stand, clamoring for trees and wreaths and for Kerry and Murphy to pose for selfies or for permission to tour Spammy.
The pile of trees awaiting delivery grew precariously tall, and Vic pedaled away from the stand countless times, with a sweaty face and an ear-to-ear grin.
Shortly before four, the crowds subsided and brother and sister collapsed, in tandem, onto their folding chairs.
“This is nuts,” Murphy said, surveying the picked-over assortment of trees, some of which had been knocked down during the crush of business. “Look at this place. If business keeps up at this pace, we’ll be out of trees by Sunday. Maybe before.”
“What happens if we actually do run out of trees?” Kerry asked.
“Not sure. We’ve never had it happen before Christmas Eve. We sure as shooting haven’t ever sold out this far ahead of Christmas. I mean, usually we hold back a few trees so we can still help out the last-minute crowd. I guess, if we run out, we just pack up and go home.”
Kerry’s mouth went dry and her stomach did a little dip. A few days ago, she would have jumped at the thought of heading home, to a real bed, plumbing, and an actual silent night not punctuated with Murphy’s snores. But now?
She looked around, at the square, with the pigeons pecking at the bread crumbs left by the elderly woman who tottered out to the park on her walker every morning with a sleeve of stale crackers, at the now-familiar businesses and their owners, who’d quickly become like family, and the neighbors walking their dogs along the sidewalk—she knew all their names and their dogs’ names too. She thought about her visits with Heinz, and his tactless, but spot-on critiques of her art. Mostly though, she thought about Austin, and their unfinished story, and about Austin’s father, Patrick.
“Can we get more trees?”
“You want me to cab over to Central Park and chop some down?” he asked.
“I mean, do we have any more trees back on the farm?”
Murphy tugged at his beard. “I’m not sure. Dad always holds back a certain number to sell at the roadside stand, and to a couple guys over in Asheville for their stands.”
“Maybe you should call him and ask,” Kerry suggested. “Or how about the Joyners, or the Fletchers? Maybe they’ve got some extra Christmas trees they’d be willing to sell us?”
“Even if they still had some to sell, how would we get them up here? Those guys aren’t gonna drop everything and truck a couple hundred trees up here at the drop of a hat.”
“Could you drive down and pick them up?” she asked.
“And who’d run the stand while I was gone?”
“Me,” she said. “Vic can help. We’ll pay him a regular hourly salary. And maybe he can enlist a buddy. It would just be until you get back.”
“Ten hours’ drive down to the mountains and then back? Not to mention the time it’ll take to load the trees? And who knows if I could even get trees at this late date.”
“But what if you can? If business keeps up like this, think of what it could mean for Dad and the farm. It would put you in the black and then some. And maybe, just maybe, it would show Dad you actually do have some expertise in the business. Will you at least think about it?”
“Maybe.” He disappeared into the trailer.
chapter 27
The next wave of customers materialized fifteen minutes later. Another dozen chattering, hyper women with an apparently endless number of questions, and requests.
“Do you deliver to Queens?”
“Can you get me this exact shape tree, but flocked?”
When Vic returned from his deliveries, she put him in charge of writing receipts and taking down orders for deliveries—half a dozen—and three tree-lighting gigs.