Page 29 of The Christmas Mittens
Chapter Thirteen
Saturday, December 19
Standing back to gaze at the garland I’d hung from the front windows of the shop, I realized it wasn’t draped properly.
When Katie was alive, she would have fiddled with it for hours until each loop was precisely the same as all the others. I, on the other hand, hung a satin ball from a few long loops and called it good. No one would give a tinker’s dam if one hung lower than the others. Ninety-nine percent of my clients were male, and I had to assume they didn’t care if garland was draped perfectly or not. To be honest, if not for Gilda being in my life, I’d not bother to decorate at all. That child has been the sole reason I didn’t fall into a funk so deep after Katie passed that I never emerged. Even with my seasonal blues, I still did what a dad had to do. Rise, try to shine, and live my life so that she can enjoy hers. Now there was someone else in my life, a man shadowy with mysteries. Secrets that were going to be unclassified today. For my own peace of mind, I needed to know who he was and why he was shadowed by two behemoths in Gucci dress shoes and Versace shades. Not that I knew those were the names behind the twinmonstrosities’ sunglasses and shiny black Oxfords. I wouldn’t know a Ferragamo loafer if it bit me on the ass, but I could toss around fancy names to make me sound somewhat erudite.
I glanced at the clock on the wall—a humorous-looking round clock with a smiling lawnmower and my shop name on it—and saw that it was nearly noon. I hurried to complete the decorations. Gilda came bouncing into the shop just as I was stuffing the tiny fake tree into an even smaller plastic stand.
“Dad, for serious?” She shucked off her coat with a shrug, handed it to me, and nudged me aside, the bright sun shining through the dirty glass to make her cheeks glow. Her acne was good right now, just a few tiny red dots that she applied some sort of medicinal cover-up to. “You can’t just cram the tree into place. You have to fluff up the branches.”
“I’m not sure those branches will fluff, honey. That tree is older than you are,” I conceded, watching her do just as her mother and my mother had done many times. “Your grandfather used this very same tree here in the shop for as long as I can remember.”
“I can tell. It’s kind of falling apart and smells like mouse pee and cigars.” She wrinkled her button nose as she unbent crooked boughs.
“Back in the day, the men of Grouse Falls would congregate here for coffee and cigars or pipes or cigarettes to bullshit.” I dug into a small tote to lift out a candy cane, still in the wrapper, from possibly twenty years ago. There were a few mouse nibbles, but if I hung it with the chew marks facing the back of the tree, no one would notice.
“No wonder they all died before they hit fifty. Cigars and cigarettes are disgusting.” She kept arranging, moving this bough and then that one, but when she was done, it looked much the same. She made a face. “Next year we’re buying a new tree and some better decorations for the shop.” With a sigh, she hunga few more candy canes on various branches. “I think it looks nice under the clothesline filled with mittens and scarves. The garland is uneven.”
“Me too.” I draped an arm around her shoulder, and we took a moment to admire our handiwork. “The garland isn’t uneven. It’s artistically arranged to express my inner Van Gogh.”
She snorted softly. “Your inner Van Gogh must have been drunk when he hung that.”
“Rumor was he enjoyed his absinthe.”
“That sounds nasty.” She looked up at me, and I glanced down at her. “Can we head out to Kimmie’s now?”
“Sure, let me tidy up.”
“Don’t forget to give the new mittens that I made for Della to Anders. I read online to spray them with some vinegar and lemon juice so Della won’t chew them up. Kimmie said it works really well with her new pug puppy, Igor. I think we should think about getting a dog, Dad. If we get one now, it will be just the right age to keep you company when I go to college. It will have outgrown the destructive puppy stage.”
I gently touched the end of her nose. “Nice try. We don’t have the time to devote to a dog, Gilda. It would be alone all day long. That’s not a great life for a dog, is it?”
She shook her head sadly. “No, I guess not.” She exhaled like the little dramatic actress that she was. “Maybe a kitten?” She peeked up at me through long lashes.
I mulled for a moment. “Maybe.” Her eyes went as round as dinner plates, and the squeal that burst out of her was probably heard by her crush Hoon all the way over in South Korea. She hugged me tightly, skipped around in circles, and then fell into a heap to send texts to all of her friends. Chuckling at my child, I gathered up the empty totes, carried them into the work area, and stoked the stove. I’d stop on the way back from the campgrounds to add more wood to carry the fire overnight, thenallow it to burn out. The gas backup will run tomorrow. I disliked the bill but also disliked running to the shop to maintain a fire.
“Can we go now?” Gilda called from the front room.
“Yes, yes, let me grab my coat.” I lifted it from the back of my stool, turned off the lights, and checked the lock on the back door. It had been slow today, allowing me lots of time to hang crooked garland and mull over Anders Becken. I’d rolled around in bed half the night like a hot dog on a roller. Shit, that was a terrible comparison but pretty on point. I concluded that I would speak with Anders privately today, which was why the sleepover invite was so perfect. Being with her friends would distract Gilda from her overwhelming desire to spend time with Della and Anders.
I hated feeling so distrustful. I mean, Ihadsucked the man’s dick, and he mine, so now seemed a little late to be realizing I’d been a dismal parental unit. Instead of thinking with my cock, I should have been scrutinizing him more closely on a safety level. Today would be different. I would get the answers I needed, or I would have to put an end to this crazy affair. It pained me to think of breaking things off, but if he was involved in criminal shit, I would do it in a heartbeat to protect my daughter.
We left the shop through the front, pausing to wave at Franny, who was standing at her window with her binoculars glued to her face. She waved back but never lowered the field glasses. Gilda had her drama club duffel over her shoulder, which she threw into the back seat.
The drive was peppered with Gilda’s excitement over the play, Timmy’s jacket, and seeing this new movie about demonic possession. She was thrilled to be heading to her friend Kimmie’s house for a group movie night. I’d been assured by my child that no boys would be at her house. I also texted Kimmie’s mother and with confirmation that both parents would be home and no boys would be permitted, I agreed to the overnight stay.Two birds, one stone, as the old saying goes. We arrived at a nice ranch home on one of the side streets in Grouse Falls proper, and Gilda nearly hung herself in her rush to get unbuckled, grab her overnight bag, and exit the car. The passenger door slammed shut on her shout of “Later, Dad!” and off she ran.
Kimmie, a cute little redhead, met Gilda at the door. They hugged and bounced about and went inside. And there I sat, feeling a little forgotten, and wondered if a dog was possibly not as bad an idea as I claimed it was. When my kid tossed me aside like a dirty sock, I could spend time with Bosco, the chocolate lab. Dogs never abandoned you for giddy girls, popcorn, and scary movies. I could take the dog to work with me. Give him a bed by the fire. Let customers fuss and pet him as he welcomed them to the shop. Hmmm. Maybe…
My phone buzzed. I lifted it from the cup holder.
Love U Dad! See U tomorrow. XXX—G
Gilda’s text had about four hundred hearts and kissy faces. Okay, that made me feel a little less glum. Still, the idea of Bosco lingered as I made my way to the camper under the snowy pines. Perhaps the shelter would have an older brown dog that needed a home. I pulled into the campsite, the snow crisp under my tires, and I drew in a deep breath. Right now would be a great time to have a pooch to whisper my worries to and get a reassuring lick on the hand.
When I was outside my car, the sliding door opened and a min pin in a pink sweater wearing one mitten on her left back foot raced to me, joyously happy, and leaped into my arms. Then she washed my face. Okay, yes, this was nice. Maybe Gilda was right after all. Much like her mother, she tended to be right a lot.
“Afternoon,” Anders called, stepping out of the camper looking far too good. Dark curls blowing in a chilled wind, a thick russet sweater, faded jeans, and a pair of low-cut, sheepskin-lined chestnut boots. “She nearly wet the floor when she heard your car pull up.”
