Page 4 of Grinch Girl

Sure, I’d noticed that. The resort in Vienna was offering sleigh rides and Santa every weekend in December. I’d seen signs for a Winter Festival taking place mid-December but hadn’t bothered looking into it. Wontana had built a huge outdoor ice rink, three times the size of ours.

“So,” Jim went on, “when the tourists from Chicago and Milwaukee want to do a small-town Christmas celebration, they get on Google and they find pretty pictures of holiday celebrations in the other towns.” He shrugged philosophically. “Why would they choose us? We can’t compete anymore.”

No winter tourists? I thought of the inventory in Greta’s shop and the pitiful bank balance in the shop’s account. I inhaled sharply and spoke without thinking. “But if I don’t get the holiday bump, the shop won’t make it through the winter.”

The room went silent, and my cheeks flamed.

Then, Diane said: “Neither will the bakery. Or the thrift store.”

And after a brief pause, Jim admitted: “Or the pub. Or the bowling alley.”

Michael looked at everyone wide-eyed, the hero complex in him wanting to help. But how? He was in better shape than the rest of us, but he wasn’t exactly doing great.

Carol’s troubled expression suggested the same. Her diner might make it because it didn’t depend wholly on tourists, but they had to account for a huge chunk of her business. Her eyes filled with tears. “If most of the businesses on the town square go under, it’s not even our town anymore.”

I had to ignore her whispered drama because my thoughts were running wild, trying to find practical solutions. “Couldn’t some of the bigger businesses in the area chip in for the Christmas Village?”

Falworth did have some industry, although not right on the town square. Just a mile away was a plant that made thermoplastic components. On the outskirts of town, another made pumps and pumping equipment. A food company a bit farther out made frozen vegetables. These bigger businesses kept hundreds of locals employed. Surely, they could help out the town.

A ghost of a smile crossed Carol’s face. “Greta said the exact same thing at our spring meeting. She contacted every place we could think of.”

The group sighed in unison. “Half of them ignored her entirely. The other half murmured something encouraging and contributed amounts so tiny, it was laughable.”

I didn’t understand. “Why?”

Jim crossed his arms over his chest. “Because Vienna and Wontana got to them first. The resorts and businesses over there are the main buyers of those companies’ products. If they asked for donations for their holiday celebrations, of course the big companies would donate their cash there instead of here.”

I almost stamped my booted feet like a little kid. “That’s infuriating.” I looked at their faces. Most of them looked really sad, but also…accepting? I suppose they’d had more time to come to terms with it than me.

Why was I so upset anyway?

When I was a teenager, all I’d wanted was to get out of this town. When that dream died, I’d never really come to like it better. Why did I care if the town center faded away, like so many others in small-town America?

Because of Greta.She’d loved this town, and since she was special, it was a little special. She’d been gone two months, and now the whole place was going to go too? And how was I supposed to fulfill my promise to her, to make my life better, if I couldn’t keep her shop going?

“If there’s nothing else for us to cover, I’m gonna go.” Jim got heavily to his feet. Rumor around town was that he and his wife Nicole weren’t doing so well. Their money issues were likely a contributing factor.

The rest of the group started to stand and pull on their coats. Appalled, I jumped to my feet. “That’s—that’s it?” I exclaimed. “We’re just conceding? No Christmas Village, no tourists, and our businesses all die? This is the end?”

Diane raised an eyebrow at me. “If you’ve got a better idea, we’d love to hear it.”

Chapter Two

Of course Ididn’t have a better idea.

I wasn’t even officially a small-business owner. Not yet. When I’d asked the lawyer responsible for Greta’s estate who the business would go to, he’d ignored my direct question and said he was still processing her last requests. I’d been calling him once a week since October, and he hadn’t returned my messages. Maybe Greta had known what was coming, though, and decided not to leave anything related to the business to anyone. She wasn’t in debt, but the business simply could not continue to function on current revenue.

“Let’s meet again on Friday,” Carol had suggested as everyone was leaving. “Let’s take the pitiful donations from the bigger businesses and at least decorate our own spaces in the square. It doesn’t have to be for the damn tourists. We can make things look better just for us.”

I don’t think anyone exactly felt like decorating, but we all agreed anyway. What the hell else were we going to do on Black Friday? Wallow in our impending poverty?

On Thanksgiving, there was a knock on my door at the very crack of two. I launched myself off the couch, dying to put my face in Bruce’s fur.

Bruce ran laps around my calves, and I waved Sean into the tiny kitchen nook, surprised that he was holding a plastic-wrapped bowl. Maybe he’d decided to bring something else instead of a carton of microwaved spuds. “What’s that?”

“Mashed potatoes.” He shrugged. “Homemade ones are better than the store ones, so I made some.”

I snatched the bowl from him, peeled back the wrap and took a spoonful. “Oh!” I exclaimed over the delicious warm goodness that must have been half butter and sour cream. “You cancook.”

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