Page 4 of Chasing Mr. December

I was born and raised in Chicago. While there aren’t many bad memories of that time in my life, I admittedly didn’t see much of my mother and father growing up. They were both hard-working individuals who strived to provide a good life for their family. My sister and I didn’t want for anything. We received a good education, participated in sports, and enjoyed holidays and vacations together when my father had the time off.

However, unbeknownst to me, my parents had plans to move to a smaller environment once they reached retirement. “To enjoy the fruits of their labor,” they’d said. My father had worked as a police officer and my mother as a horticulturist. She worked with a large company that serviced high end hotels in downtownChicago. Mom looked forward to having enough land to grow plants, flowers, and a small vegetable garden of her own.

The first place they visited was Sycamore Mountain, and I was hooked. With clean air, outdoor activities, and the enjoyment of all four seasons, what was there not to love? Apparently, the cooler temperatures the mountains brought with it, that’s what.

My parents were sick of the cold Chicago winters and wanted a warmer climate year-round. So, they continued looking further south, until they found a home for sale on a large piece of property in the low country of Magnolia Point. Once they discovered the seller owned the lot next door, home to the town’s Christmas Tree Farm, it was as good as sold.

I tried to redirect them to Sycamore Mountain. Yet Mom was excited about the two of them starting a business together that was centered around evergreens and all things Christmas. I couldn’t fault them for their choice. I was starting my freshman year of high school and decided to give the town a chance. If I still felt called to the mountains, I’d move after graduation.

While most parents retired and planned to travel and see the world, mine were content to plant roots deeper than the cypress, cedar, and pines on their tree farm. Yet Mom was barely unpacked long enough to call Magnolia Point her home. Pancreatic cancer had struck within six months of moving to South Carolina. She didn’t make it to their one-year anniversary in their retirement home before her illness claimed her.

Magnolia Point High School was a surprisingly good experience for me. In a short amount of time, I’d made some great friends who provided the support and compassion I needed once Mom was gone.

After graduation, I applied to the fire academy and was eager to begin my career. I was dating a beautiful girl with plans to settle down. My best friend and I were thick as thieves, and Dad seemed to be thriving at the farm with friends of his own to prevent him from spending all of his down time mourning my mother. Life was good.

Until it wasn’t.

Chapter 3

Jason

“Hey, Dad. You’re looking good,” I greet, finding him sitting in a chair beside his bed. He’d thankfully sailed through surgery with flying colors. Coming in closer, I give him a hug before dropping a few of his things from home on his bed.

“Yeah, they don’t waste any time around here. They get you up and going as soon as possible. The physical therapist said if I keep this up, I should be home in a day or two.”

I’m shocked. I was certain he’d need to go to rehab. “That soon?”

“Other than my age, I don’t have any risk factors. And they’re sending therapists to the house.”

“That’s fantastic! You always were an overachiever.” I chuckle. “We need to make a list of what you’d like me to get from the market, so we’ll be prepared once you’re discharged.”

Dad flashes a proud smile. “Knowing the good folks of this town, we’ll likely have a freezer full of casseroles as soon as the word gets out that I’m home.”

I should find comfort in this statement, but can’t help the scowl that develops.

“Come now, Jase. If you’re going to be in Magnolia Point for the next six weeks, the least you could do is be neighborly,” he grumbles. He’s right.But it doesn’t mean I have to like it.

“How have you been eating? I know yesterday was tough coming out of surgery. Did you eat any breakfast this morning?”

“Yes. Wasn’t bad for hospital food. And having a pretty nurse help me with my tray beats your grumpy mug.”

“Watch it, ’ole man.”

Speaking of nurses… the kind woman who called about Dad’s fall comes to mind. “Dad, who was it that called me after you fell? I never got her name.”

“It was Quinn. Quinn Patterson.”

All of a sudden, my blood runs cold. Why would my ex-best friend’s little sister be calling?

Knock, knock.

A redhead in light blue scrubs enters carrying a lunch tray. “You okay to eat here in the chair, Mr. Bristow? Or would you prefer to get back in the bed?”

“I’m fine here, Jeanette. And please call me Calvin.”

I stand from the side of the bed where I’ve been perched and reach to remove the lid from his plate. “Pork chops. Your favorite.”

“Would you like me to cut this up for you, Mr—I mean, Calvin?”

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