Christie Ridgway: Must Love Mistletoe

Curiosity killed the cat, she reminded herself, but even as she felt guilty for her sudden nosiness, she flipped her right clicker and made her own turn.

Ambulance chasing wasn’t such a difficult art in a small town with wide streets on a quiet Christmas morning. Today was clear of fog too. She cruised slowly through each intersection, looking for signs of trouble, and didn’t find any even as she approached downtown.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she realized she was definitely getting closer to the siren sound. She unrolled her window an inch to get some fresh air in the suddenly close car.

It’s probably just a tourist gone apoplectic after getting a load of his hotel bill from the Del, she told herself. Or maybe the security alarm at the boutique next door to The Perfect Christmas had tripped accidentally again.

Then she smelled something burning.

Then she turned a corner and saw the emergency vehicles, lights flashing, gathered at a familiar block.

Then she got closer and realized they were parked outside The Perfect Christmas and that over the tall profiles of the bright red vehicles, there was smoke rising.

It took several hours for the emergency workers to put out the fire to their satisfaction. They figured that after old Mr. Baer finished his morning coffee in his patrol car outside the store, he’d mixed up the brake and the accelerator-Bailey had only mentally added again when they told her about it-and though they’d managed to extract him from the car that was lodged in the first floor before the fire started…well, then the fire had started.

The whole town had shown up at one time or another to watch the action until the fire trucks had pulled away. A little something to do between Christmas breakfast and the hour the ham had to go in. Tracy, Dan, and Harry, who had arrived on scene short minutes after Bailey, had expressed appreciation for the community support, but now they were gone too, off to the hospital to visit Mr. Baer. He was checked in for observation but expected to make a full recovery.

The same could not be said for The Perfect Christmas.

The police had strung yellow tape around the destruction-what Mr. Baer’s patrol car hadn’t gutted, the ensuing fire had finished off. All that was left were remnants of the outside frame. Most of the roof had collapsed.

Bailey sat alone on the curb across the street and watched ashes flutter up, then drift back down in the afternoon breeze, a little like snowflakes. A stiffer wind drove a flurry of them all the way across the pavement, where they floated in the air around her.

She’d done it, a semihysterical voice said inside her head. Though she might not have saved the store, she’d brought snow to Vermont.

A couple of blocks away, the Methodist church was playing carols from its bell tower. It seemed almost too plain-one simple melody at a time-after night after night of the unlikely and sometimes boggling carol collaborations at Christmas Central.

Bailey didn’t look away from the blackened shell that had once been the family business when a body sat down beside her. Her peripheral vision took in battered jeans and motorcycle boots.

Finn.

“I talked to your mother,” he said. “I promised I’d stop by and see how you’re doing since she said you’re not answering your cell.”

How nice of him. Neighborly. Being her mother’s friend.

“You look cold,” he continued. “Do you want my jacket?”

She didn’t feel the temperature. Her hand waved absently. “I have something in my car.”

“I’ll get it.”

He was back in moments, and he draped her short parka over her shoulders, then dropped back down beside her. “Maybe you should head over to Walnut Street. Take a shower to get that smoky smell off you.”

“I really need to get on to L.A.,” Bailey said. She sounded numb. She felt numb. “They’ll be expecting me back at the office in the morning.”

“The day after Christmas?”

Bailey shrugged. “In retail, it’s December. It’s like March is for tax accountants. For divorce attorneys, the busy time is right after the New Year. Folks who’ve vowed not to spend one more Christmas with their spouse du jour.”

He didn’t have a response to that. Maybe because the idea depressed him as much as it suddenly did her.

The breeze picked up, another gust fluttering the yellow police tape. More ash swirled. Through the store’s blackened exoskeleton, Bailey saw a charred beam finally lose its battle with gravity, crumbling as it dropped.

Her spine crumbled with it.

She curled into her knees, pushing the heels of her hands into her eyes. Though she couldn’t move away, she couldn’t watch any more of this.

“Bailey?” She felt Finn’s hand hovering over the back of her head, but then it was gone.

She wished he’d touched her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

She didn’t know. “Nothing should be, right? This is all I’ve ever wished for, isn’t it? I called the store an albatross and now it’s gone. No one would blame me for not wanting to take over the nothing that’s left, would they?”

“I guess not.”

“Yes. So…so, it’s happy holidays to me.”

But instead of being relieved, she was all at once angry. “I hate it,” burst out of her mouth and she jerked straight, her hands curling into fists.

Suddenly she wanted to have every tantrum she’d swallowed, she wanted to cry every tear she’d held back, she wanted to scream with all the frustration of a five-year-old who had lost her trust that a family would last forever. “ I hate it .”

Her nose started to run and she swiped her hand underneath it, smelling the smoke on her own skin. Another puff of air tried cooling the heat of her face, but it only burned hotter as a piece of charred paper fluttered by. The remains of a Perfect Christmas shopping bag.

She snatched it out of the air and squeezed it in her fist. “Here’s my secret,” she said, learning it herself as each word exited her mouth. “It was never Christmas I hated, but December 26. We’d go back into the store and it wasn’t pretty anymore. You’d see all that was left was damaged or broken, just like what happened to my family.”

“Bailey-”

“I hate when things get ugly. When they aren’t perfect anymore. It’s why I wanted to leave by the twenty-fifth. But this time the ugliness came too early.”

As quick as it had appeared, the anger inside her extinguished. Her voice sounded as weary as her soul. “This time it came too early.”

“I’m sorry, GND.”

She opened her fist to stare at the scrunched paper and ash in her hand. “I held some of the vintage things back so there’d be new stock the day after Christmas. But I guess they’re all gone too.”

Glancing over at Finn, she saw that he was staring at what was left of the store. “I don’t know why I’m so upset about this.” She managed a hoarse little laugh. “It’s almost funny, now that I think about it. I joked to myself I wanted to burn the place down. I even told Mr. Baer that first night I came back that nothing flocked can stay.”

She sighed, looking around the quiet block. “Nothing stays. Nothing lasts. Nothing.”

The street had been deserted after the fire engines left, the lookie-loos having gone home and the stores around them closed for the holiday. But in the distance she could see a small, ragtag parade heading their way. Shepherded by a couple of young teen girls in new pastel-colored hoodies, a half-dozen littler kids were tooling along the sidewalk on skateboards, scooters, and bicycles, each one buckled into a gleaming helmet.

Trying out their new gifts, Bailey decided. When she and Trin were girls, they used to speed up and down the streets, hair flying free, never thinking of what accident might lie around the next corner. Kids were so much safer today.