Page 35 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
“You know these people?” Harvey asked, his tone only slightly less belligerent than before.
“Very well, I’d say. Actually, we’re related. Aren’t we, Cousin Jack?”
Jack smiled, and I wondered if anyone else could see the tension in his jaw or the odd light in his eyes. I assumed they hadn’t, or they’d all be moving back to a safe distance.
“No, actually, we’re not.Matt.” He emphasized the name he’d been calling Marc since they’d met.
Marc swayed a bit on his feet, but his grin remained. “No matter.” He turned to Harvey. “This is Jack Trenholm. You probably haven’t heard of him, so don’t worry if the name doesn’t sound familiar. But he and his wife own Fifty-five Tradd Street. The house where our movie is set.”
Our movie.I knew for sure now. This was the producer of the film based on Marc’s book. Or Jack’s book, I corrected myself.
Harvey examined us now with interest, and I wanted to grab myentire family, run into the house, and bar the door before he came to the same conclusion that I had already reached, and that I was certain Marc and Jack had, too.
I took a step toward Nola so that Jack and I flanked her as Jayne and my dad looked on, realization dawning in their eyes, too.
Marc continued, his grin never dimming. “And that girl, the one who nearly killed us, is their daughter Nola.”
“Is that so?” Harvey said. “So this is the family who’ve been denying us access to the house for filming?”
“That’s right,” Nola said, stepping forward, apparently not hearing my silent screams for her not to speak, to admit nothing. “I was driving, but it was an accident. I was just practicing backing out from our driveway and I didn’t see you coming.” She hiccupped, her voice coming between shallow breaths. “And Marc stole my dad’s book idea, and that’s why we willneverallow that movie to be made in our house.Never.That’s why Melanie said she’d dye her hair purple and restore another house if that ever happened—which means it never will.”
She was shouting by the last word and I drew her to me so she could bury her face in my shoulder and catch her breath.
“Is that so?” Harvey said, his grin now matching Marc’s. He leaned in close to Nola’s ear. “Because I think never is going to be a lot sooner than you imagined.” He straightened, focusing his attention on me. “And I sure hope Melanie likes purple.”
Jack moved forward, blocking Nola and me. “Are you threatening my wife and daughter?”
Marc threw back his head and made a sound that could have been a chortle, his pallor even worse than before. He ignored the two EMTs on either side of him trying to coerce him into lying on the gurney. “That wasn’t a threat, Jack. I think he was just explaining that you lost. Again.”
Jack’s expression didn’t change. “Don’t count your chips yet, Marc. Because no matter how many times I might lose, you’ll never be a winner.”
Harvey was back to shouting to his lawyer on the phone, and the police had begun to take statements from Nola and Jayne. Which was whyno one noticed when Jack hooked one of his feet behind one of Marc’s. Marc slid to the ground like a kebab without its stick, landing with a smalloomph.
The EMTs struggled to lift him off the ground and onto the gurney while Jack got the attention of one of the policemen. “Make sure you check him for alcohol. He didn’t appear to be too steady on his feet.”
Jack didn’t wait for a response, instead returning to Nola and me, putting his arms around us both as Nola and Jayne made their statements to the police while I weighed which was worse: being sued for everything we had or learning to like purple hair.
•••
I sat on the floor of the master closet with my labeling gun, organizing the Christmas presents I’d already bought. Before my family had increased exponentially, I’d usually finished with my shopping and wrapping before Thanksgiving. But ever since the twins were born, I no longer seemed in complete control of my life. Not that I ever regretted having children—I couldn’t imagine my life without all three of them.It was just that even with a nanny, two sets of grandparents who lived nearby and were involved in our lives, and a supportive husband, there never seemed to be enough hours in the day to do all of the things that had once filled my days.
Like decorating and labeling the new storage bins I’d bought to store gifts in my closet. Part of the problem had been that my labeling gun kept disappearing, but even my gift spreadsheet, where I listed gift recipients along with gift ideas, was still mostly blank, with only the headers along the top. My brain felt pulled in too many directions to settle on any one thing, so nothing seemed to get done, leaving a trail of half-finished projects in my wake.
I sat back and sighed. Despite its already being December, the bins were nearly empty and those gifts that were inside hadn’t yet been wrapped. Jayne had bought four tickets for the King Street and Downtown Holiday Shop and Stroll for the following weekend, so I hoped I’d make a dent in my list. Assuming I ever finished making the list.
I rubbed my eyes, exhausted from watching two back-to-back Hallmark Christmas movies with Nola. We’d settled ourselves in front of the TV in the upstairs family room while Jack finished with the police and called the insurance company before driving my dad home. Nola had been resistant at first, but after five minutes she’d been hooked. Four hours and two bowls of extra-buttery popcorn later, she said she felt much better. But that if I ever told her friends what she’d just watched, she would make sure no doughnut would ever cross the threshold of my house again.
I felt Jack’s presence before he joined me in the closet and pressed a kiss on the top of my head. He sat down on the floor beside me and smiled, although I could see the tense lines around his eyes and mouth. “You look so cute when you’re organizing.”
“Thanks. You might try it sometime. It’s very relaxing.”
His eyebrows rose. “Do you have an extra labeling gun?”
“Is the sky blue?” I leaned forward and flipped off the lid of a shoebox. Like all of my shoeboxes, this one had a photo of the shoes inside taped to the outside to make finding the right pair easier. Except this box had a photo of a pair of shoes I’d given to Nola last year. I reached inside and pulled out my spare labeler and handed it to Jack. “The last time it disappeared, I bought two.”
He looked down at it with a frown.
“It’s the old-fashioned kind,” I explained. “Where you have to dial the disk at the top and click it with the trigger. They’re harder to locate than the new digital ones, but I find the clicking very therapeutic.” I gently elbowed him in the arm. “Go ahead and try it. Right now I need two sets of numbers one through ten. That’s so I can label each of the presents for the twins so they get the same amount.”
