Джей Эшер - What Light

“Thank you for this,” Caleb says. He brings the drawing close to his chest. “But it was my pleasure.”

The mom takes a deep breath. “The girls wanted to thank you in person.”

“We said a prayer for you,” one girl says.

Caleb slightly bows his head toward the girl. “That means a lot.”

“When we called the food bank, the man said you do this on your own,” the mom says. “He told us you worked here and probably wouldn’t mind if we stopped by.”

“Well, he was right about that. In fact…” Caleb steps aside and points to the nearest table. “Would you like some hot chocolates?”

The girls cheer, but the mom says, “We can’t stay. We—”

“I’ll put them in to-go cups,” Caleb says. When the mom doesn’t decline, he begins walking in our direction and I turn back to Heather.

When he’s in the kitchen, I whisper, “That’s why he buys all these trees? To give them to families he doesn’t even know?”

“He didn’t say anything to you when he bought them?” Heather asks.

I look out the window to the cars passing by. I charged him full price for that first tree and I’m sure Mr. Hopper’s doing the same. But here he is working at a diner, buying tree after tree after tree. I’m not sure where to place this new information with the other story I’ve heard about him.

Caleb returns from the kitchen. In one hand he holds a cardboard carrier with three to-go cups with lids. In the other he has a mug of coffee, which he sets in front of me before continuing on to the family. I stare at Heather as I sip my coffee, already mixed with the perfect combination of cream and sugar.

Eventually Caleb returns and stands beside our table. “Is the coffee okay?” he asks. “I mixed it in back because I couldn’t carry their drinks and yours with the cream and sugar.”

“It’s perfect,” I say. Beneath the table, I kick at Heather’s shoe. She looks at me and I slightly tilt my head to the side, asking her to scoot over. If I were to ask Caleb to sit beside me, it’d be a definitive sign that I’m interested. If Heather invites him, after already saying she’s with Devon, it becomes a mere friendly conversation.

Heather scoots over. “Have a seat, tree boy.”

Caleb looks surprised but pleased by the offer. He gives a quick glance to the other tables before sitting across from me.

“You know,” Heather says, “it’s been a while since anyone gave me a crayon drawing of a Christmas tree.”

“I was not expecting that,” Caleb says. He sets the drawing in the middle of the table, turning it so it faces me. “It’s really good, isn’t it?”

I admire the tree, and then I look at him. He’s still looking down at the drawing.

“You, Caleb, are a man of multitudes,” I say.

Without taking his eyes off the drawing, he says, “I need to point out that you used multitude in a sentence.”

“It’s not the first time,” Heather says.

Caleb looks at her. “She may be the first person in this diner to ever use it.”

“You—both of you—are ridiculous,” I say. “Heather, tell him you’ve used peruse in a sentence before. It’s two syllables.”

“Of course I…” She stops herself and looks at Caleb. “No, actually, I probably never have.”

Caleb and Heather bump fists.

I reach over and snatch that silly looking soda jerk hat from Caleb’s head. “Then you should use more interesting words, sir. And buy yourself a comb.”

He holds out his hand. “My hat, please? Or the next time I buy a tree, I’m paying for it all in one-dollar bills, each one turned a different direction.”

“Fine,” I say, still holding his hat out of reach.

Caleb stands up, his hand out for his hat, and I eventually give it back. He perches the completely uncool thing back on his head.

“If you do come for a tree, don’t expect any drawings,” I say, “but I work from noon to eight today.”

Heather stares at me, a half-smile appearing on her face. When Caleb leaves to check on the other customers, she says, “You basically just asked him to stop by.”

“I know,” I say, lifting my mug. “ That was me obviously flirting.”

I get to work an hour before Mom thought I would be needed, which is a good thing. The lot is busy and a flatbed truck full of replenishing trees from the farm arrived early. With my work gloves on I climb up the ladder at the back of the truck. I step carefully onto the top layer of trees, all netted and laid sideways one on top of the other, their wet needles brushing against the bottom of my pants. It must have rained for a good part of the trip, giving the trees a smell that’s close to home.

Two more workers join me up here, moving their feet as little as possible to keep the branches from snapping. I lace my fingers into the netting of a tree, bend my knees, and slide it over the edge of the truck so another worker can grab it and carry it to a growing stack behind the Bigtop.

Andrew takes the next tree I lower and, rather than carry it to the Bigtop himself, he passes it off to someone else.

“We got this!” he shouts up to me, clapping his hands twice.

I almost tell him we aren’t in a race, but Dad drops his hand on Andrew’s shoulder.

“The outhouses need restocking, pronto,” he says. “And let me know if you think they need a deeper cleaning. That decision’s up to you.”

When my muscles start to tire, I take a moment to stretch my back and catch my breath. Even when exhausted, it’s easy to keep a smile going on the lot. I look out at the customers moving through our trees, the joy on their faces evident even from way up here.

I’ve been surrounded by these sights my entire life. Now, I realize that the only people I’m seeing are the ones who will have a tree for Christmas. The people I don’t see are the families who can’t afford a tree even if they want one. Those are the people Caleb brings our trees to.

I put my hands on my hips and twist in both directions. Beyond our lot—beyond the last house in the city—Cardinals Peak rises into the cloudless pale blue sky. Near the top of that hill are my trees, indistinguishable from here.

Dad climbs the ladder to help me slide more trees down to the workers. After lowering a few, he looks at me with his hands on his knees. “Did I react too strongly with Andrew?” he asks.

“Don’t worry,” I say, “he knows I’m not interested.”

Dad lowers another tree, a delighted smile on his face.

I look out over the workers on the lot. “I think everyone here knows I’m off-limits.”

He stands up and wipes his wet hands on his jeans. “Honey, I don’t think we put too many restrictions on you. Do you?”

“Not at home.” I send down another tree. “But here? I don’t think you’d be too comfortable with me seeing anyone.”

He grips another tree, but then stops to look at me and doesn’t pass it over the side. “It’s because I know how easy it can be to fall for someone in a very short time. Trust me, leaving like that is not easy.”

I lower two more trees and then notice he’s still looking at me. “Okay,” I say. “I understand.”

With the trees finally unloaded, Dad takes off his gloves and shoves them into his back pocket. He heads to the trailer for a short nap and I walk toward the Bigtop to help ring up customers. I pull back my hair to wrap it into a bun when I see, standing at the counter, Caleb in his street clothes.

I let my hair fall to my shoulders and scrape a few strands forward.

I pass him by as I head to the counter. “Back again, making someone else’s Christmas bright?”