Bright Lights, Big Christmas(6)
Murphy was asleep on his back, mouth agape, snoring so loudly it surely would have drowned out the sound of any self-respecting chain saw.
According to her phone, it was two o’clock in the morning. She sank back down onto the bunk, pulling the sleeping bag over her head, but nothing could mute her brother’s snores. Finally, she tiptoed over to his bunk and with effort, managed to roll him over on his side.
Tomorrow, she promised herself, she’d find a drugstore and some earplugs.
* * *
On Sunday morning, armed with a cup of coffee and a still-warm cheese Danish from Anna’s, Kerry returned to the pickup, but not before plucking a parking ticket from the truck’s windshield.
She winced when she saw the amount of the fine. Then, as per Murphy’s instructions, she sat in the cab of the pickup truck, waiting, her eyes trained on the charcoal Mercedes parked in front of the Christmas tree stand.
“The owner’s sure to come move it this morning,” Murphy said. “As soon as he does, I’ll put out the traffic cones to block it off, but you need to be ready to move the trailer over here.”
Despite her grumbling, she knew his plan was sound. Every hour, she let the truck idle for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth blasting from the heater before cutting the engine again. Once, around ten o’clock, she saw a tall man dressed in a black puffer jacket approach the Mercedes.
She turned the key in the ignition. But instead of leaving, he opened the trunk, retrieved a small duffel bag, closed the trunk, and walked away, his cell phone pressed to his ear.
Her heart sank as she watched him walk down the street and disappear into a brownstone three doors away from the café.
At noon, she called Murphy and begged him to relieve her while she took a quick bathroom break.
At twelve thirty, the man was back, still on his phone, followed by a little boy who looked to be about six or seven. This time he loaded a laundry bag into the back seat of the car before walking away, trailed by the boy, who was looking longingly at Murphy, who was busily tacking up signs in the Christmas tree stand.
Kerry watched while her brother sold one of the smaller trees to a young couple who tied it on top of a baby stroller. He spent thirty minutes chatting with an older woman in a fur coat, and she was amazed by how animated he seemed, talking to this stranger.
At four, her phone buzzed. “Hey, can you come over and watch the stand for fifteen minutes? I gotta deliver a tree to a customer.”
“What if the guy moves the car while you’re gone?”
“Then you put out the traffic cones and wave away anybody who tries to park there,” Murphy said.
* * *
“Prices are color-coded by those ribbons tied on the trees,” Murphy instructed. “Red’s the most expensive, that’s eighteen hundred dollars for a fourteen-footer. Cheapest tree is sixty bucks for one of the tabletop trees. It’s all on the signs.” He untied the nail apron he was wearing and handed it to her. “You’ve got enough cash in here to make change. Anybody wants to buy with a credit or debit card, they’ll have to wait until I get back, cuz I need to take my phone with me.”
“Wait. We have trees that cost nearly two thousand dollars?” Kerry asked.
“Yeah. But there’s only four, well, three now, because I sold one earlier and her son’s coming back to pick it up this afternoon. Okay, I need to go.”
He hefted a six-foot tree onto his shoulder and looped a wreath around his wrist and left.
It felt good to be out of the truck. Kerry made her first sale, a four-foot tree to a thirty-something redheaded woman with a toddler in tow. “Just ask Murphy to bring it up to my place when he gets back. I’m Skylar. He knows where I live.”
Twenty minutes later, when her brother returned, the Mercedes still hadn’t moved.
“Better grab something to eat now,” Murphy said. “Whoever owns that car is gonna have to move it in the next hour, or risk getting a ticket, and that’s when you need to be ready.”
Kerry was hungrier than she’d realized. But Anna’s was closed, so she walked across the corner to a bodega called Happy Days, bought herself a large bag of Fire Doritos and an extra-large cup of burnt-tasting coffee.
She sat behind the steering wheel of the truck, inhaling the chips, staring at the Mercedes, willing it to move.
Minutes ticked by. People strolled by the Christmas tree stand, stopping to pet Queenie, or to examine the trees. The temperature dropped and she started the truck and ran the heater for ten luxurious minutes, anxiously watching the truck’s fuel gauge, which showed she only had a quarter of a tank of gas.
Her phone rang. “How’s it going?” Birdie asked.
“Swell,” Kerry said. “I’m freezing my ass off in the truck, waiting for some dude to move his Mercedes so we can park Spammy by the tree stand and hook up the electricity. In the meantime, I’ve been inhaling carbs like it’s my job, and Murphy’s snores kept me awake most of last night.”
Her mother laughed. “Just like his father. I’d forgotten how loudly Jock snores. Now I understand why Brenda jumped ship.”
“How’s Dad feeling?”
“Cranky. I threw away his cigarettes and I’ve been making him get up and walk around the house every couple of hours. And he’s bloated. The pain meds make you constipated—”