Bright Lights, Big Christmas(9)

“It’s already in his bookbag for tomorrow,” Patrick called back.

The woman was petite, with long, dark hair. “You’ll feed him dinner, right?”

“Have I ever not fed my son?” he said, sounding offended. “See you Thursday.”

“I told you, I’m not back till Friday. It’s on your calendar. Don’t you ever look at that?”

“Only every day. See you Friday, then.”

The woman nodded and walked off down the block, her high-heeled boots clicking on the pavement.

He watched her departure and sighed.

“Your ex?” Kerry guessed.

“Gretchen. The divorce was her idea, but she stays mad at me for reasons only she and her therapist understand.”

“But she comes to your place and does his laundry?” Kerry asked.

“Our place.” He sniffled. “Or Austin’s place, to be more accurate. He’s a sensitive kid. After we split up we both agreed it was better for him to stay in the house where he’d always lived. So instead of him shuttling from my place to Gretchen’s, he stays put and we rotate in and out. Gretchen travels for work, so this week I’ll be here till Friday.”

Kerry couldn’t help but be curious about such an unusual custody arrangement. “And then what?”

“I’ve got a little studio apartment in Soho,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “I better go up. Our neighbor babysits whenever we need her, but it’s getting late.” He looked around the Christmas tree stand.

“Austin is fascinated with this place. He thinks it’s a magical forest.”

“Tell him he’s welcome to hang out with us anytime,” Kerry said.

“Don’t worry. He’ll be down here tomorrow, as soon as he gets home from school,” Patrick said. “Your brother is his hero.”





chapter 6





“Kerry, wake up!”

She opened one eye. Her brother was leaning down, his face inches from hers in the half-dark trailer. He smelled like bacon. And unwashed socks.

“Hmpff?”

He shook her shoulder. “Come on, now. I let you sleep in, but it’s way past seven. I gotta get the electricity hooked up this morning, and I can’t do nothin’ with you in here.”

She pushed aside the sleeping bag and blankets, swung her legs over the edge of the bunk, and shivered. Murphy stomped away, his footsteps shaking the trailer. “Let’s go,” he called over his shoulder.

Quickly, she pulled on three layers of clothes and her boots.

Glancing in the tiny mirror near the bathroom alcove she shuddered at her own image. Somehow, some way, she had to get a shower and wash her hair today.

She knocked on the door at the bakery and a young woman in her twenties let her in. “Murph’s sister, right? I’m Lidia and I got coffee going,” the girl said. Kerry nodded and kept walking, heading to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face.

A few minutes later, she emerged, breathing in the heavenly coffee fumes.

Lidia handed her a coffee mug and Kerry dumped in a packet of sugar and a splash of cream. She cradled the mug in both hands, letting the warmth seep into her chilled bones.

“Something to eat?” the girl asked.

Kerry eyed the glass display case. “Is that banana bread?” she asked, pointing to the top tray.

“Yep.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Want me to warm it up under the toaster?” Lidia asked.

“I want you to warm me up under that toaster,” Kerry said.

She sat at a window facing the sidewalk and watched as Murphy and Danny the bartender snaked a thick extension cord from the basement window of Lombardi’s café, across the sidewalk, and hooked it up to the outlet on the side of their trailer. Next, Murphy covered the cord with thick reflective silver duct tape. Standing, he gave Danny the thumbs-up sign.



* * *



By nine o’clock, Kerry had sold her first tree, a six-footer, to a harried mom with two toddlers crammed into a side-by-side stroller. The woman was squatting down on the sidewalk, inspecting the base of the tree to make sure it was straight when, out of the corner of Kerry’s eye, she saw one of the kids, probably just barely two years old, tumble out of the stroller and make a break for the street.

“Hey!” She dropped the tree and went after the kid, yanking him by the hood of his quilted jacket just moments before a yellow cab went barreling past.

“Nooooo!” The kid’s face went scarlet with fury and he pounded Kerry’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.