Джей Эшер: What Light

“The lot has barely broken even the past few years,” he says. “Last year, with the bonuses I gave to the crew, we actually lost money. We made up for it with the wholesalers, and I guess that’s where things are turning. Your Uncle Bruce has been really focusing on that while we’re gone.” He takes another sip. “I’m not sure how much we can handle before we finally admit…”

He trails off, unable to say it—or unwilling to say it.

“So this might be it,” I say. “Our last Christmas in California.”

Mom’s face is a mirror of gentleness. “We haven’t decided anything, Sierra. But it might be a good idea to make this one memorable.”

Heather steps into the trailer carrying two more bags of leftovers. Her eyes are electric, and I know she wants me to dish on the cute guy who came by yesterday. Devon walks in after her, looking at his phone. Even with his face bowed, I can tell he’s good-looking.

“Sierra, this is Devon. Devon, this is… Devon, look up.”

He looks up at me and smiles. His short brown hair frames round cheeks, but it’s his comforting eyes that make me like him immediately.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say.

“You too,” he says. He holds my gaze long enough to prove his sincerity, and then his face dives back into his phone.

Heather hands Devon one of the bags of food. “Baby, go bring this to the guys out there. And then help them out loading trees or something.”

Devon takes the bag without glancing up from his phone and then leaves the trailer. Heather sits across from me at the table, and I move my computer onto the pillow beside me.

“I’m guessing your parents weren’t home when Devon picked you up,” I say. Heather looks confused, so I point at her hair. “It’s a little messy in back.”

Her cheeks go red and she rakes her fingers through the tangles. “Oh, right…”

“So are things looking up between you and Mr. Monosyllabic?”

“That’s a nice word,” she says. “If the choice is between listening to him or kissing him, kissing is a much better use of his mouth.”

I burst out laughing.

“I know, I know, I’m a horrible human being,” she says. “So tell me about that guy who came in.”

“I have no idea who he is. There’s not much to say.”

“What does he look like?” Heather pops the lid off a container of turkey salad, which has walnut and celery chunks. Her family is still trying to rid their house of Thanksgiving.

“I only saw him for a moment,” I say, “but he looked about our age. He had this dimple that—”

Heather leans forward, her eyes narrowed. “And dark hair? A killer smile?”

How does she know that?

Heather pulls out her phone, taps it a few times, and then shows me an online picture of the very guy I was talking about. “Is this him?” She does not look pleased.

“How did you know?”

“The first thing you mentioned was his dimple. That was the giveaway.” She shakes her head. “Plus, that would be my luck. Sorry, Sierra, but no. Not Caleb.”

So his name is Caleb. “Why?”

She leans back and sets her fingertips on the edge of the tabletop. “He’s just not the best choice, okay? Let’s find someone else.”

I’m not letting this stop here and she knows it.

“There’s this rumor,” she says, “but I’m pretty sure it’s true. Either way, something happened.”

“What is it?” This is the first time I’ve heard her speak so cryptically of someone. “You’re making me nervous.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t want to get into this. I hate being a gossip, but I am not going on a double date with him.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s unconfirmed, okay? It’s only what I’ve heard.” She looks me in the eyes, but I am not saying a word until I hear it. “They say he attacked his sister with a knife.”

“What?” My stomach twists. “That guy is… Is she still alive?”

Heather laughs, but I can’t tell if it’s from my shocked expression or because she was joking. My heart still pounds, but eventually I laugh a little, too.

“No, he didn’t murder her,” Heather says. “From what I know, she’s fine.”

So it wasn’t a joke.

“But she doesn’t live here anymore,” Heather says. “I don’t know if that’s because of the attack, but that’s what most people think.”

I lie down on my bed and place a hand over my forehead. “That is intense.”

Heather reaches under the table and pats my leg. “We’ll keep looking.”

I want to tell her not to bother. I want to tell her I’m not interested in a holiday love affair anymore, especially if my radar is so off that the one guy I picked out once attacked his sister with a knife.

After we finish the turkey salad, we go outside to round up Devon so I can head back to work. He’s sitting at a picnic table behind the Bigtop with a bunch of the guys, all picking through Heather’s leftovers. There’s also a pretty girl I’ve never seen, snuggling up close to Andrew.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” I say. “I’m Sierra.”

“Oh, your parents own this place!” She holds out a manicured hand and I shake it. “I’m Alyssa. I just stopped by to meet Andrew for lunch.”

I glance at Andrew, who is now three shades of red.

He shrugs. “We’re not… you know…”

The girl’s face drops. Her hand covers her heart and she looks at Andrew. “Are you two… ?”

“No!” I say quickly.

I’m not sure what Andrew’s trying to do. If he is with her, does he want me to think it’s not serious? Like I care! Anyway, I hope they become serious. Maybe Alyssa will help him get over whatever he holds for me.

I turn to Heather. “Will I see you later?”

“Devon and I can pick you up after you close,” she says. “Maybe we’ll go out and try to meet some people—or someone . You only want one, right?”

Heather is not only pushy, she doesn’t even attempt to be subtle.

She raises an eyebrow at me. “One month, Sierra. A lot can happen in a month.”

“Not tonight,” I say. “Maybe soon.”

But for the next few days, I can’t stop thinking about Caleb.

On most weekdays, Heather stops by on her way home from school. Sometimes she hangs out at the counter and helps me out when parents show up with young children. While I ring up the mom or dad, she distracts the kids.

“Last night, I asked Devon what he wanted for Christmas,” Heather says from the drink station. She’s carefully putting mini-marshmallows, one by one, into her hot chocolate.

“What did he say?”

“Hold on, I’m counting.” After she places her eighteenth marshmallow, she takes a sip. “He shrugged. That was the extent of the conversation. So I figured, it’s probably for the best. What if he wanted something expensive? Then if he asked me, I’d have to say something expensive.”

“And that’s a problem because…”

“I can’t have us buying nice things for each other right before I break up with him!”

“So you can both make something,” I say. “Something small and inexpensive.”

“Homemade and thoughtful? That’s worse!” She walks to a flocked tree and gently touches the fake snow. “How do you break up with someone who just carved you a wooden figurine or something?”

“This is getting way too complicated,” I say. From beneath the counter, I pull out a cardboard box full of bagged mistletoe and set it on the stool. “Maybe you should do it now. He’s going to get hurt either way.”

“No, I’m definitely keeping him through the holidays.” Taking another sip, she approaches the opposite side of the counter. “But it’s time to get serious about picking someone for you. The parade is coming up and I want you to double with us.”