Page 11 of Bright Lights, Big Christmas
“Nooooo!” The kid’s face went scarlet with fury and he poundedKerry’s knees with his mittened fists as she herded him back toward the stroller.
The mother scooped the child into her arms. “Oh my God, Oscar,” she exclaimed, hugging him tightly to her chest. She looked over at Kerry. “Thank you.”
Little Oscar was still crying, tears and snot streaming down his face, as his mother handed Kerry three fifty-dollar bills. “I’ll send my husband to pick up the tree after he gets home from work tonight.”
“Uh-oh.” Kerry pointed at the stroller, where the other little boy had one foot out of the stroller, poised for his escape.
“Elmo!” The woman hurried over and gently pushed the child back inside. “Let’s go home now.” She plopped Oscar into the top tier, looked over at Kerry, and rolled her eyes.
“Twins, everyone said. It’ll be such fun! At forty! Whee!” She turned the stroller around and wheeled it briskly away.
Two hours passed without another sale. Murphy busied himself sweeping up fallen pine needles and sorting the Christmas trees by price. Finally, at eleven, he yawned widely. “I’m hitting the hay,” he told Kerry. “You can handle things, right?”
She looked around, feeling panicky. “Now? What if someone has questions, or wants a tree delivered, or…”
“Mondays are always slow. Business won’t pick up again till late afternoon. Handle it,” he said firmly. “I’ve been up since five, and I need some shut-eye. If you need something to do, you could string Granddad’s lights on the outside of Spammy. They’re in a bin in the bed of my truck.” He gestured at Queenie, who was sitting quietly on the folded-up utility blanket that served as her bed. “And she’ll need a walk in an hour or so.”
“Who’ll watch the stand?”
But Murphy had already retreated into the trailer.
Time dragged. Bored, Kerry fetched a plastic bin from the bed of her brother’s pickup truck. She sighed at the sight of the contents—ahopelessly snarled bundle of old-fashioned multicolored C9 Christmas tree lights.
With the aid of a roll of duct tape and a stepladder, she spent the next hour unsnarling and outlining the rounded contours of the travel trailer with the big-bulb lights, not stopping until she’d used all eleven strands. Finally, she stepped back, held her breath, and plugged the last strand into the extension cord’s power strip.
“It’s the miracle of the lights,” she told Queenie, who’d walked over to investigate Kerry’s handiwork. “Not a single burnt-out bulb!
“Okay, girl,” she agreed, when the dog gently prodded her hand with her snout. “I need to stretch my legs too.” She stretched bungee cords across both entrances to the stand, hung up theCLOSEDsign, and clipped Queenie’s leash to her collar, tying a plastic bag to the leash.
They walked down the street, crossed at the light, and kept walking until she spotted a small enclosed dog park. Queenie efficiently took care of her business. The sun was out and Kerry was glad to have an excuse to explore the neighborhood.
On the way back, she stopped at the bodega across the street from the stand and got a cup of mediocre chicken noodle soup, then returned to the stand to eat her lunch.
People rushed past, barely glancing at the trees. Bored, Kerry went to the truck and fetched a steno pad and pencil she’d noticed tucked up under the passenger-side sun visor.
She began doodling on a blank page, doing a quick pencil study of Queenie, who, true to her name, always managed to look regal, even while resting on a dirty moving blanket on a grubby city street, with her head tucked daintily over her paws.
Kerry studied Queenie, noticing for the first time the heart-shaped patch of brown fur on her nose, and the long tufts of hair protruding from her eyebrows.
“Excuse me?”
She looked up.
The mom with the twins was back. “I think maybe Oskie dropped his binkie when we were here earlier.”
“Binkie?”
“His pacifier,” the woman said. “He won’t go to sleep without it…”
Kerry put down her sketch and walked twice around the booth. Finally, she saw a glint of silver protruding from beneath the base of one of the trees, reached down, and retrieved it.
Both twins had clambered out of the stroller while she searched, and they were both squatted down, lavishing head pats and neck scratches on Queenie, who seemed to be enjoying all the attention.
“Is this it?” Kerry asked, holding the pacifier by the silver ring attached to the rubber nipple.
“Oh, thank God,” the woman said.
“Mine!” Oscar reached for the binkie.
