“I wish there was something I could do to help,” her mother said. “Honey, I’m so proud of you and the way you stepped up. I know you’re going through a rough patch in your own life. Have you heard from Blake at all?”
“Blake is old news. But Mom, I’ve been thinking. As soon as the holidays are over, I’m going to seriously start looking for a place of my own.”
“Here in town?”
“No. You were right. I’ve got to quit hiding out and playing safe with my life. It’s time to reinvent myself. I don’t know exactly what that will look like yet. But I’ve started drawing and painting. And it feels like I can breathe again. Like my creative soul has been set free.”
“That’s what I’ve been praying for,” Birdie said. “That’s all I want for both my children. For you to be happy and fulfilled. And safe. Good night, honey.”
“G’night,” Kerry said, not bothering to stifle a yawn.
“Don’t forget to lock the door,” Birdie said, right before she disconnected.
* * *
Ten minutes later, her phone rang again. It was Murphy.
“Hey,” he said. There was a long silence. She could dimly hear his radio, playing country music, of course.
“Hey,” Kerry said, just to break the silence. “What’s up?”
“Uh, I been thinking. I guess I was sort of a prick earlier tonight.”
“Sort of?”
“Not gonna let me off the hook, are you?”
“Not even a little bit,” she said.
He took a deep breath. “Anyway, I think I was out of line yelling at you. It’s actually a good thing that we almost sold out of trees today. And that was all you.”
Kerry laughed. “Mom called and read you the riot act, didn’t she?”
“Yeah.” He sounded sheepish. “Okay, that’s about it. Let me know how it goes tomorrow.”
“I will. And Murph?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for calling. Drive safe.”
chapter 30
It was Saturday morning and the trailer, even with the space heater turned up as high as it would go, was cold as … what was Jock’s favorite metaphor? A well-digger’s ass? Kerry shivered as she splashed icy bottled water onto her face—the closest she’d get to a shower today.
Someone was knocking at the trailer door. Already? It was barely seven.
Queenie jumped down from her bunk and gave a menacing bark.
“Yeah?” she hollered.
“Ma’am? It’s me. Vic. Just wanted to let you know I’m here.”
“Hang on a sec.” She donned a thick sweater over her flannel shirt and pulled a knit beanie over her messy hair before opening the door.
“Hi,” she said. “I’ll be out in a minute. Can you take Queenie for a quick walk?” She handed him the dog’s leash with a poop bag tied onto it, and Queenie eagerly bounded outside.
Kerry picked her jacket from the hook by the door and stepped into the morning.
The darkness was punctuated by the twinkle lights strung around the tree stand’s perimeter. Murphy had them on a timer, set to turn off at daylight—which hadn’t arrived.
The street was relatively quiet. A delivery truck was unloading goods at the bodega. Commuters walked past at a brisk pace, headed for the Fourteenth Street subway stop.
She filled Queenie’s bowls with food and water, then walked around the stand, picking up stray tree branches and tossing them into the fire barrel.
“I’m back,” Vic reported a minute later. She patted Queenie’s head and unclipped her leash.
Kerry gazed up at the low-hanging clouds overhead. “Do you think it might snow today?”
“Maybe. It’s sure cold enough. Uh, Miss Kerry…” Vic stared down at his feet.
“You can just call me Kerry, Vic,” she said gently. “I’m not one of your teachers.”
“Okay, uh, well, the thing is, I can only work until noon today.”
Her gray mood darkened. “Oh no. Today of all days?”
“I’m real sorry, but my mom says I gotta go upstate today to see my dad and stepmom before the holiday. She says it’s kind of a command performance. You know?”
She nodded. “I get it. Not your fault.” She looked over at Anna’s, where the lights had just blinked on. “I’m gonna need some coffee. And carbs. Mind the store, okay?”
* * *
When she returned, she handed Vic a steaming cup of cocoa and a cruller. He had a wide smile as he bit off a huge hunk of pastry and chewed enthusiastically. She envied his energy and his metabolism.
He pointed at the last remaining big tree on the lot. “A guy came by while you were gone. He wants to buy that tree. As long as he can have the lights on it.”
“Awesome. He can have all the lights. Did you tell him the price?”
Vic gulped some cocoa. “I wasn’t sure what it was. There’s no tag.”
“It’s twelve hundred. And if he goes ahead and buys it, you’ve just earned yourself a fatty commission.”
“Cool! He wants it delivered today. But no way that tree will fit on my bike.”
“Wonder if it would fit on Murphy’s bike trailer?”
She looked around the stand, but the bike and trailer, which her brother usually kept chained to the utility pole, were missing.
Kerry pulled out her phone and called Murphy. “Hey. Are you home yet?”
“Just crossing the line into North Carolina. What’s up?”
“Did you move the bike and trailer?”
“No. When I left last night it was chained to the pole, like always.”
“It’s gone this morning,” Kerry said. “No sign of it.”
“Damn. Somebody must have stolen it. But where was Queenie? She didn’t bark?”
“Not a peep.”
Murphy let off a string of expletives. “It’s those friggin’ Brody brothers.”
“Probably so. They were royally pissed yesterday when they saw how much business we were doing. What now?”
“I’ve got another bike at the farm. I can bring it back with me, but I had to build that trailer rig myself. No time to make another one. Guess you’ll just have to make do with Vic and his bike for now.”
“More bad news. Vic can only work till noon today.”
“See if he has a buddy?”
Kerry looked up at Vic. “Do you have a friend who might want to help out today?”
“Sorry. I called a couple guys, but everybody already had plans.” He polished off the cruller and wiped his hands on his jeans.
“No dice,” Kerry reported. “Never mind. I’ll figure something out. In the meantime, should I call the cops and make a report?”
“Forget it,” Murphy advised. “New York ain’t Tarburton. The bike and trailer are history. Just do what you can until I get back. Then I’ll deal with those punks myself.”
* * *
Kerry hooked her phone up to a Bluetooth speaker she’d bought at a nearby electronics store and downloaded a playlist of up-tempo holiday music.
By nine, the Tolliver Family Tree Farm stand was packed with customers, all of them clamoring for trees and selfies with Spammy and quaint stories about life on a Christmas tree farm. She resisted the temptation to start fabricating stories about magical elves, watch owls, and dastardly bike-stealing trolls, and concentrated on pasting on a (mostly) cheery smile.
Vic scurried around the stand, helping buyers choose trees, wielding the chain saw to cut down trunks, and carrying their purchases to cars or nearby addresses.