Page 3 of Grinch Girl

I bet this is his first Thanksgiving alone.

“Sure,” I relented. “Keep him overnight.” I jingled my keys and added in an offhand tone, “Bring him over around two tomorrow and we can eat together. I’ve got a turkey breast,” I lied, mentally adding a stop at the Pig to my evening plans. “It’s way too much meal for me. If I have leftovers, Bruce will try to eat it, and turkey is bad for dogs.”

Sean cocked his head slowly, but I’d seen the light flicker in his eyes. “OK. Should I, ah, bring anything?”

I frowned thoughtfully, my mind racing through the list of traditional Thanksgiving items, trying to find the easiest and least expensive. “Maybe some kind of mashed potato?” I said. “The Bob Evans microwavable ones are pretty good.” They were stocked at all the nearby groceries, and they weren’t too costly.

He nodded. “OK.” A quick, rare smile. “Thanks.”

“Yep.” I backed away and headed for my own door. “I’ll see you and Bruce tomorrow afternoon.”

*

How long didit take to start a meeting?!

For God’s sake.I’d been sitting here for a good twenty minutes, fighting off stilted chitchat from the other members of the Falworth Small Business Association.

No, Diane, owner of the Square Bakery, I am not interested in your new talent of reading tarot cards. I certainly do not want mine read. Also, please stop telling me I should come shop at your thrift store. That’s lovely that some “beautiful dresses” havecome in. You’ve known me my whole life. Have I ever worn a dress? Not since senior prom.

To Jim, owner of the corner pub and the town bowling alley, I get it: the liquor distributors are gouging us all, but you need to manage your idiot-kid bartenders better. They’re bleeding you dry with the amount of booze they pour into each drink for their friends.

The one person I wanted to talk to, Michael Perry, had been entrapped in conversation with Carol since the meeting started. Just because I couldn’t talk to him didn’t mean I couldn’t idly stare. Even in high school, he’d never gone through an awkward phase. He’d been a cute little boy who grew straight into cute man, handsome in an outdoorsy and wholesome way.

I was glad he was here, but why did he come to these meetings? The way Greta had described the group to me, I had thought it was only struggling small businesses trying to find strategies—like the Christmas Village—that would mutually benefit them all.

Michael’s businesses definitely weren’t struggling. He owned two car washes in the nicer area towns as well as a few fast-food franchises in Vienna. For fun, he taught sailing lessons to kids during the summer. He was the kind of guy you called when you got a flat tire on a country road and you didn’t have your spare because you used it when you had a flat tire a few months before, and how likely was it to get two flat tires in one summer, anyway?

After he’d rescued me with smiling roadside assistance last summer, I’d started to wonder: why didn’t I date Michael? Wouldn’t being with someone kind and cute and steady be much better than my occasional flirtations with tourists? But then everything with Greta accelerated, and all summer efforts of pursuing Michael in a new way had died on the vine.

In the last month, though, I’d invited Michael out for coffee a couple of times. When the temp dipped below ten degrees one freakish morning last week, he’d called me to check that my truck had started. Now, he raised his eyes over Carol’s perm and offered me a warm smile.

The third suggestion on Greta’s list of items for my life improvement plan had been a relationship with a nice man. Michael certainly fit that description. I smiled back at him.

“Are you going to lead the meeting, Carol?” Michael asked politely.

Chatty Carol paused and flushed. Very uncharacteristic. Everyone, in fact, went silent, and several of the group shifted their weight on the cheap folding chairs.

Oh.In an instant, I knew what was wrong. Greta had led this group for the last twenty-five years. They probably couldn’t even remember a meeting without her leadership.

“I’ll kick us off,” Diane offered, and the group’s attention shifted to her. Especially when she threw her hands up and said, with all the finesse of a charging bull, “We’re in trouble, kids.”

A collective “we know” kind of moan rose into the air all around me, and I sat up straighter. What the hell was going on here?

Diane noticed my bewilderment and sent me a sad shrug. “Things are in bad shape, Jane. You probably noticed the Christmas Village isn’t up. In the past, the association would start to chip in money for the Christmas Village in the late summer. By the beginning of November, we’d have enough of an egg to build it, hire staff to run it, organize the entertainment, blah blah blah. But that didn’t happen this year—most of us couldn’t afford to donate anything to the pot. Because most of us are barely keeping our doors open.”

Michael opened his mouth, but little more than a peep escaped before Carol cut him off. “You already donate more than anyone, Michael. Greta was right to limit your contributions.”

He furrowed his brow and tried again, but Diane got right to the point yet again. “We also know your car wash in Wontana is in trouble. Financially, you’re not exactly at your highest peak either.”

He shut his mouth with a snap, looked at the floor.

Like an idiot, I sputtered. “But there’salwaysthe Christmas Village.” Every year since I’d been born. One of Falworth’s very few traditions. It was the thing that differentiated us from the other towns around here in the winter. Although, in recent years, ithadbeen scaled back. Far fewer booths and decorations. The ice-skating rink only operated on weekends. No live music.

Jim sighed and folded his arms. “Things used to be different. Falworth was never like Vienna or Wontana. They’re right on the lake, so they get the summer tourists with all the money.” Well, duh. He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t know there. Falworth was a twenty-minute drive from the nearest shore. We still got tourists in the summer, but we got the ones with less money. The ones willing to stay in motels or shitty Airbnbs and drive to the water. There were still enough people to buy gas in our town, eat donuts at Diane’s bakery or eggs at Carol’s diner. Enough to fill their coolers with beer from Greta. Enough to wander into Jim’s pub for their evening entertainment.

Enough to keep everyone afloat until the Christmas season, which brought in just enough to keep everyone afloat until April or May when it got warm enough for the lake season to start again.

Jim took another deep breath, possibly enjoying his role as explainer of the town’s doom. “The big problem started about five years ago. Vienna and Wontana decided not to be contentwith their huge piles of summer gold. They decided to build up their winter tourism.”

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