Just a Little Christmas
by Janet Miller

The artificial tree leaned against the garbage can at the side of the road, obviously intended to be picked up with that week’s rubbish. One side of it listed, the branches bent, in places broken. In several spots were gaps, holes where the green flocked wires that mimicked pine boughs were missing. Broken, bent, and twisted, it looked just like what it was... trash.

To her it looked like the answer to a prayer.

Tentatively Alice Masters left her yard to examine it more closely. Just back from dropping the kids off at school, she’d noticed the tree when she’d pulled into the driveway and now needed a better look. She pulled it away from the can, giving it a shake to dislodge some of the dirt coating the branches, then had to suppress a sneeze at the dust cloud that resulted. Needed a good hosing off.

But still, not bad, hope rising within her. Sure, it had seen better days, but the bent branches could be straightened and she could move the ones that existed to cover the places were the gaps were worse. Yes, it had real possibilities.

All the way to school for the last day before the Christmas break, her six-year-old, Todd, and Emily, just turned eight, had talked about getting a tree and decorating it. They hadn’t done much last year... too many things going on to worry about decorating, but this time she’d promised the kids things would be different.

But then, just a week ago, she’d been laid off from her job. She had severance, enough to support them for a few weeks, but until she found another position, she needed to keep spending to a minimum. Even the cost of a cheap tree was too high for her now minimized budget and with the bulk of her decorations lost in the move to their humbler abode, she’d been preparing to break it to the kids that again this would be a tree-less Christmas.

But this one appeared to be free... assuming that’s what the owner had meant by sticking it out by his garbage can the week before Christmas. Cautiously Alice examined the cold silent house in front of her.

She hadn’t met the owner, not to speak to or even wave at on her way out the door. From what she’d gathered from their neighbors, Randolph Brown was a little older than she was, a single man without a family, who apparently worked from his house. He’d moved in a couple months ago, while she’d been in her home less than a year, both of them new to the neighborhood.

Alice eyed the tree again. Clearly he didn’t want it, but how would he feel about her taking it? She tried to summon up the courage to walk up, ring his bell, and ask.

As if she’d conjured it, the front door opened and a figure was silhouetted against the darkness within. With a blink, Alice took in how tall he was, a big burly man, and how he seemed to fill the doorway. He stepped into the light, a large box in his arms and stared at her as he strode purposefully toward the street. Dark hair grew thick and bushy on his head, and a full beard covered his mouth. As he approached she could see his eyes were a deep brown color.

He looks like a big bear was her instant thought, and all at once she imagined herself as Goldilocks caught in the act. Alice realized that his suspicious gaze was directed at the tree in her hand and she quickly released it to fall back against the can.

The suspicion turned to irritation. “Can I help you?” he asked, his deep voice little better than a growl.

“Uh, yeah. Well. I mean.” Alice flushed under the weight of his stare, her courage flagging defeat before attempting to flee. Maybe she should just make some excuse and leave. But then she thought of her kids, and how much they wanted a Christmas tree. She could do something with this discard of his and she didn’t mind taking the brunt of his disapproval to get it.

“This tree... you don’t want it anymore?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t have put it out for the trash. It’s from my attic,” he growled. “What’s it to you? Is there some regulation about dumping a junky tree on trash day?”

She picked up her chin and met his stare. “None I’m aware of. But I was thinking, if you didn’t want it that maybe I could have it.”

Dark eyebrows met in a continuous line of consternation. A single glance took in the pathetic wreck of Christmas past and returned to her. “What would you want that for?”

“ I need a Christmas tree for my kids.”

With a lurch he placed the box next to the garbage can and put his hands on his hips, the better to glare at her. “So why not buy a new one. This one’s a wreck.”

Much as she hated admitting it, she decided it was best to be honest. “I lost my job and can’t afford a new one. It isn’t so bad, I can fix it up. I’m good at fixing things,” she added.

His mouth twisted and almost looked like a smile, then something passed across his eyes, a memory made of pain and in the instant the smile was gone. “You’re a ‘fixer’, huh. My mom was like that, always able to make something out of nothing.” He gave a long look at the tree then turned to walk toward the house.

Alice stared after him. “So, can I have the tree?”

He didn’t stop, just called over his shoulder. “Take the tree and anything else you want. There’s more Christmas junk in the box.” Without a backward glance he disappeared into the house.

For the rest of the morning he continued to put stuff out, so it took more than a couple of trips to claim the unwanted holiday bounty, but she eventually got the last of it back across the street. After hosing off the tree and leaving it to dry in the back yard, she turned her attention to the boxes. As Mr. Brown had intimated, the contents were of interest. There was a dented and scratched tree stand that was missing one leg, several sets of lights with broken bulbs and empty sockets, a lot of odd-sized glass balls with faded and chipped paint, all of it coated in dust. It looked like Mr. Bear, as she’d mentally decided to call her burly neighbor, really had decided to clean out his attic.

What did he look like under all that hair? He had nice eyes at least, even though there really was something bearish about him. Maybe if she knew him better, she’d like the beard. It was probably soft... Now why was she thinking something like that about a man she’d barely met? Alice shook her head. She really needed to get out more.

But he did have nice eyes.

It took close to an hour to sort through the stuff and figure out which light sets were good, and which ones the cords were too frayed for use. She pulled all bulbs from the bad cords and used them to replace broken and missing bulbs from the good ones and by the time she was done, she had three good sets of lights, plus a few replacement bulbs. She put aside the balls for repainting, cleaned up the ones that were still okay, then worked on the now dry tree, straightening branches and moving them to fill in the gaps.

Once she placed the tree in the stand, using a brick to stabilize the side with the missing leg, it filled out nicely, the gaps barely noticeable. Flushed with success, she sat back and enjoyed the sight of the tree, still bare, to wait for her children to come home.

Just a little Christmas. That’s all she wanted, a little Christmas to cheer things up, to take away the sting of losing her job. An opportunity to make things bright for her kids and wash away the memory of last year when Howard had mucked things up so royally.

That bastard Howard. First her husband had decided that he couldn’t live without his secretary, so he’d left them the day after Thanksgiving. Then he’d died in bed two week later, a heart condition none of them had been aware of. Well, that’s what happens when a man doesn’t take care of himself, spend any time exercising, or go to a doctor about that nagging chest pain he’d had for months.

In some very small part of her mind, Alice was glad it had been Veronica’s bed and not hers that Howard had succumbed in. Of course, given that he’d been engaged in what had apparently been rather intense lovemaking at the time... It had been years since he’d performed that act with her in more than the most perfunctory fashion.

Alice’s lips twitched. Poor Howard. Couldn’t live with her, couldn’t stay alive with Veronica.

But his death had left a hole, at least with respect to her finances. In the aftermath of Howard’s death, she discovered that he’d stopped paying for life insurance a couple years before, and had drained much of their joint bank account to pay for baubles, fine dining, and expensive hotel rooms to meet his mistress in.

Alice looked around the living room and at the worn but still elegant furniture she’d moved from her old home to here. Howard had always insisted on quality when purchasing furnishings and at least here it had been of use. It would be years before the green leather couch and solid wood tables would wear out, even if it did look a little out of place in such humble surroundings.

She’d had been able to sell their old home for some profit and buy this smaller place while keeping the kids in the same school. With her job she’d managed the finances into an almost stable state, even starting to put a little savings away again every month. Losing her job had stopped that, at least for now.

Alice sighed and stood, heading for the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee. She might as well enjoy her little break from working daily in an office. This close to Christmas, few firms would be hiring. She’d put a resume together and sent it out, but she’d probably have to wait until the first of the year to seriously look for a job.

At least she’d be off work for a little while, able to stay home with the kids, bake some cookies, make a gingerbread house; all the things she’d never been able been able to do before because she’d had to work through the holidays.

Now she had the time... but little money. So it would have to be a little Christmas. She glanced over at the tree, the lights, and decorations she’d salvaged from Mr. Bear.

She’d hoped for a way to make a little Christmas... and it looked like things were working out.

~*~

Rand hesitated before the door, wondering for what had to be the tenth time what he was doing. He had no business with this woman... so what if she had big blue eyes and curly golden-brown hair that reminded him of honey. So what if she’d begged that old Christmas tree he’d found in the attic and taken the box of defunct decorations with a smile that took his breath away.

So what if she’d behaved like those bits of garbage were more precious than diamonds and pearls because she could make them into something special for her kids.

That was no reason to bring over this latest bit of refuse rather than dropping it on the curb. All morning she’d picked up each box practically as soon as he’d left it, her enthusiasm apparent each time. He could have left this one where he had the others, but the garbage truck had already passed by and he’d put the can away. It would have looked silly sitting on the curb waiting for her to find it, particularly since her kids had come home an hour ago.

She never left the house when they were there.

He hoisted the box higher in his arms, and debated leaving it on the stoop, ringing the bell and taking off before she could answer. No, that would be stupid. She’d no doubt answer the door before he’d get across the street, and he’d just look like a fool running away like a mischievous schoolboy.

Besides, a part of him wanted to see that honey-blond hair and look into those blue eyes again.

He eyed the bits of stuff in the box. On top were some gaudy bits of tinsel mixed with bare string, some sort of garland with the fluff pulled out. It looked like trash, but then one man’s trash... was apparently this woman’s treasure. He grunted. She was a fixer, someone able to make something from nothing. Like his late mother would’ve, Alice would doubtless be able to do something with it.

Alice. A quick call to the old couple next door had unearthed her name. A nice name -- simple, but with a touch of elegance. The old woman had also been able to confirm Alice’s job woes, as well as a few other details such as her marital status. Not that he was really all that interested in knowing that Alice was a widow. No, not at all.

Abruptly he shifted the box in his arms and pushed the door bell, listened as it rang deep inside the house and waited for the sound of approaching footsteps.

She was wearing sneakers with her faded jeans and Christmasy sweatshirt, he remembered. There were no heavy footsteps to hear, only a flash of bright green and red behind the glass inset of the door to give her presence away. Rand stiffened as the door swung open onto honey-gold hair and blue eyes with a quizzical expression.

He indicated the box. “Here... I think this is the last of it. Decided it didn’t look so good, you pulling it from my trash.”

The quizzical look vanished, replaced by a glitter as her gaze fell on the tarnished gold in the box and once again her smile stole his breath. Alice reached out to finger the bit of garland poking above the rest. “Thank you. That’s so sweet.”

Her face turned up to his, and for a moment the glitter in her eyes looked dangerously close to tears. What was he doing here? It was a good thing his hands were full or he’d be reaching to brush her cheek, see if the skin was as soft as he suspected it was. Instead he pushed the box at her.

She swung the door wide in an open invitation to enter. “Why don’t you come in, see what we’ve done so far? I could offer you some coffee.”

The aroma of fresh brew permeated the air of the doorway, wafting enticingly, and Christmas music sounded from inside. He shouldn’t. Really. He had work to do, and this task of cleaning the attic had been just a way to avoid getting started on the job. It was done now, this box the last of the junk he’d found and the last thing he needed was another distraction -- he should go back home and get busy.

But his house was cold and empty and hers... felt like home. “I’d love a cup of coffee,” he said and he groaned silently as he followed the trim figure into the house.

The Christmas music was coming from a small portable stereo, while soft childish voices sung along in imperfect harmony. A small boy was engrossed with draping a chain of paper loops on the lower branches of the tree, while a slightly older girl perched at the kitchen breakfast bar, paintbrush in one hand and glass ball in the other. At his entry, the voices stilled and two pairs of eyes watched him in quiet apprehension.

“This is Mr. Brown,” Alice said. “He’s the man who gave us the Christmas tree.”

The little boy reached him first, paper chain dropped in his excitement, the girl only moments behind. Bright smiles, reminiscent of their mother’s, were turned on him as their small arms tangled around his legs.

“Thank you, thank you,” the pair chanted in bright-eyed glee. Alice rescued the box before he could drop it on their heads, then used her other arm to free him from the children’s enthusiastic embrace.

She handed the box to the girl. “Let’s see what else he has for us,” and both children carried it to the corner to see for themselves. In a moment small cries of pleasure erupted as the rest of the garland was exhumed from box, tiny bits of glitter erupting into the air.

Alice watched them, a smile on her face, then she laid one hand on his arm, beckoning him to follow her to the kitchen. “Let me get you that coffee.”

As he passed the tree, he stopped, his jaw dropping open. Amazing - was it the same tree? He looked more closely. Yes, it was. There was that one branch with the split wire, but now it had been bent to resemble a broken twig. And there were empty holes where branches were still missing in the trunk.

But otherwise... Soft colored lights lit the branches and here and there were shiny stars, cut from foil, and small angels and reindeer made from pipe-cleaners. Glass balls with fresh paint were distributed along the branches, plus a few other ornaments of various shapes. The top branches already bore a colorful paper-chain, while the bottom ones waited for the chain the little boy had dropped.

Without thinking Rand picked it off the floor and laid it carefully into place. When he turned he found Alice’s gentle regard. “I can’t believe it’s the same tree. You’re a miracle worker.”

She laughed, and the bright sound slid in and pushed his burgeoning good mood into an even higher realm of existence. He actually grinned at her, the stretch to his face unfamiliar.

Eyes twinkling, she beckoned him again to follow her. “I don’t do miracles. But I can fix things.”

He followed the petite figure into the kitchen, past the repainting station she’d set up for those balls that needed touchup, and something occurred to him. A woman like this should have boxes of ornaments lying around. “How is it you didn’t have any of this stuff of your own?”

A short look of pain crossed her face, and he regretted the question. The last thing he’d wanted was to hurt her.

“We moved and there were a few boxes that got lost... most of our decorations were in one of them. I was lucky to find a few things, some of the more precious stuff like the ornaments my mom made for the kids, but no lights or balls. That’s why your contributions were so important.”

She perked up again and smiled as she handed him a white mug alive with cartoon characters. “We’d never had an artificial tree before. It doesn’t smell as nice, but at least my sinuses aren’t overwhelmed. I’ve always had some congestion when the tree was in the house. At least this year I won’t have to put up with that.”

He sipped the rich brew and was glad he’d stayed. That task back at home could wait a little longer. “Well, I’m just happy to see some use come from it. I didn’t even realize how much junk was in the attic until I started clearing it out.”

“What made you do something like that anyway? December hardly seems like the right time for spring cleaning.”

“I’m not sure. Just did.” He frowned. Why had it suddenly become so important to visit the dark crawlspace in the rafters and drag down all those boxes and that misshaped tree? It wasn’t like he’d needed the space, but as soon as he’d gotten up that morning, intent on working through the pile of portfolios resting on his table, he’d found himself instead pulling down the ladder into the attic. Odd. He was very glad for it though as he eyed the sweet face of his neighbor. He hadn’t felt this way about a woman... well, ever, come to think of it.

From the living room came more singing as the stereo switched to The Chipmunk’s “Christmas don’t be late” and Alice’s kids helped out with Alvin’s solo. He grinned, her smile answering him back. Yes, this was worth climbing through the attic.

“You aren’t married?” Her voice was hesitant as if anxious not to pry but interested in the answer. His hope grew over that. Maybe he wasn't the only one interested.

“Never met anyone I liked well enough. You?”

“I was. For ten years. He died last December.”

Rand could have kicked himself. He’d known she was a widow; he hadn’t needed to bring it up. “I’m sorry. You must miss him.”

A short laugh was her reply. “I missed him more before he died. He left me, you see. I wasn’t young or pretty enough anymore.”

What an idiot! “I think you’re very pretty.” He was rewarded by her sweet smile and another blush.

He wasn’t normally good with women, too abrupt with them, not enough finesse. He could never say the right thing. But she was different, easy to talk to and if he didn’t know better, he’d say she was attracted to him. He met her eyes and again she blushed.

Maybe she was attracted! Encouraged he pressed on. “So, what kind of work did you do?”

A bit of her smile faded, and again he could have kicked himself.

Alice sighed and studied her cup. “I’m a web-graphics designer. Plenty of those about these days.”

Once the words sunk in, he stared. “Graphics? Computer graphics?”

She shrugged. “Yeah.”

“You any good?” He looked around, excitement building. “Where’s your computer?”

“I don’t have one. The company took theirs back.” A rose colored flush drew across her cheeks. “And yeah, I think I’m good. The cup you’ve got has one of my designs. Some of the others on are on the walls.”

He held his mug up and stared at the image. What he’d thought were cartoon characters were actually a simple set of figures arranged into a company name. Good. More than good. He’d seen this on several billboards, loved the work. This was hers?

On the walls was computer-generated framed artwork. It ran the gamut of simple to elaborate, and all of it was excellent.

“So, your kitchen is your resume?”.

Her face was close to hot pink in color. “Look, Mr. Brown, I don’t know you...”

“That’s right, you don’t, but I own a web-design company and need a graphic artist. If you can do the work, then I want to hire you.” He held up one of the repainted glass balls on the counter, what had been trash and now held a small nativity scene embedded on the surface and grimaced wryly. “Frankly, I need a miracle worker, someone who can take the designs my customers give me and make them right. You need a job, right?”

A touch of hope touched her eyes, made the blue deeper. “Well, yes...”

“Good.” He named a salary and her mouth dropped open. “You can work from home, I’ll bring a computer over. We’ll get DSL installed. You can work flexible hours, have time to spend with your kids. And benefits, of course. Oh, and call me Rand, I like to be on a first name basis with my employees.”

She looked like it was too good to be true. “Are you sure, Mr. Brown... I mean Rand?”

Again he studied the cup. “Yeah, I’m sure.” She was good, and he needed someone. Finding that person had been the task for the day, going through resumes and portfolios of promising candidates.

Abruptly a chuckle surfaced. Instead he’d accomplished it by cleaning his attic.

One man’s trash was another man’s treasure. That was the lesson, here. Her company had eliminated her job because they didn’t know what they had. In some sense, her husband had done the same.

He wouldn’t make that mistake. It might take some time, but... Rand glanced over at Alice’s face, saw the blush in her cheeks as she met his eyes then looked quickly away. He’d take it slow at first, particularly since he’d be her boss. Slow and simple.

Something sank in then, but it was too unbelievable to be true. She’d needed decorations and his inexplicable urge to clean his attic had provided them. He’d needed a good graphical artist and she just happened to be available. And now this attraction between them... a woman unlike any he’d ever met, who stirred him with her sweetness. And she looked at him in a way he’d never experienced before with her blushes and gentle smile.

Perhaps there were such things as guardian angels. Perhaps this feeling of being home was something he could finally have after all these lonely years: a loving woman, a pair of sweet kids whose off-key harmonies made his own heart sing.

Just a little Christmas, a small celebration this year, with him given a guest role, courtesy of whatever deity was looking after them. But by next December, he’d try for a whole lot more.

And may all your Holiday's be Merry, be they little or big.

Cheers,
Janet