“Bacon in the middle, huh?” Patrick said. “Never thought of that.”
“Oh yeah. It’s an old Tolliver Tree Farm tradition in my family. Goes back generations.”
“Well, now we have to try it out, right, buddy?”
“I guess,” Austin said. “Hey, Kerry, maybe you could come over and show my dad how to make it.”
“Good idea,” Patrick agreed.
“I couldn’t,” Kerry said.
The boy’s face fell and his shoulders drooped.
“I mean, I’d love to,” she added. “But Murphy is out delivering trees, and I can’t just close down the stand. People will be getting off work, and heading home, and that’s when lots of people decide to buy a Christmas tree. On impulse.”
“Another time then,” Patrick said. He tapped his son’s arm. “Come on, then. We’ve got a whole new culinary tradition to explore.”
chapter 12
Early Saturday morning, Kerry surveyed her wardrobe options for the holiday party with mounting despair. Per Birdie’s suggestion, she’d packed light for the trip to the big city: three pairs of well-worn jeans, a couple of sweatshirts, a flannel shirt she’d swiped from her college boyfriend. There was a tattered blue sweater that the same boyfriend had given her for her twenty-first birthday. It was undeniably cozy and warm, but the cuffs had begun to unravel. Was that a metaphor for her life, she wondered?
The nicest items she’d brought were a black cashmere turtleneck and her worn black leather riding boots. Hardly the makings for a holiday-festive ensemble.
Murphy flung the trailer door open. “Kere? Got a customer wants one of your wreaths.” He looked down at the clothes scattered across Kerry’s made-up bunk. “What’s all this?”
“My fashion options for tonight’s party,” Kerry said, sighing.
“What party?”
“The neighborhood holiday open house. At John and Thomas’s place? It’s tonight. Remember?”
“That’s tonight? Already?”
“Yes, Murphy. I promised John we’d both be there. And they want you to bring your dobro.”
He collapsed onto his bunk. “We’ll see. But in the meantime, you need to get out there and start hustling Christmas trees.”
Kerry bit her lip. “I will, but can you take over for me for an hour or so after that?”
Murphy yawned widely. “I just worked a fourteen-hour shift. Delivered seven trees last night—including dragging an eight-footer up six flights of stairs. I’m toast.”
He closed his eyes.
“Please, Murph?” Kerry leaned over and pried his eyes open with her fingers. “I’ll work this morning, but I really need to find something decent to wear to this party tonight. You can sleep till noon, okay? And then spell me for an hour or so?”
Murphy batted her hand away and rolled onto his side, with his back to his little sister. “Just go sell some trees, will ya?”
* * *
The customer was a thirty-something woman with flaming red hair that spilled over the fur-trimmed collar of her white wool car coat. She was pacing around the stand, her stiletto-heeled boots clicking on the pavement, holding up trees, frowning, then letting them drop back onto the pile she’d picked them from.
The woman loudly cleared her throat. “Ahh-hemm.”
“Hi,” Kerry said. “I hear you’re looking for a wreath?”
“Among other things,” the woman said. “My neighbor bought one from you earlier in the week. I’d like something very similar, only with white berries instead of red, some of those dried flowers like hers had, but with purple ribbon.”
“Oh-kay…” Kerry glanced down at the card table she’d come to regard as her workshop. She’d sold at least two dozen wreaths this week and her supplies were dwindling. She had some dried rose hips, a couple sprigs of mistletoe, but she was totally out of ribbon. She needed to make a trip to the flower market again, but there wouldn’t be time today.
“I don’t really have the materials to make a wreath like you want,” she said. “But if you come back Monday afternoon, after I’ve had a chance to restock…”
The woman shook her head vigorously. “Monday’s too late. I’m hosting my book club Christmas brunch Sunday. And I need trees and wreaths and garlands…”
“But that’s tomorrow,” Kerry pointed out.
“That’s the point,” the redhead said. She marched over to the stack of ten-foot trees and held one out. “I need a pair of these. But they need to be identical, because they go on either side of the fireplace in the living room.” She picked up a roll of fir garland that Kerry had spent the previous day crafting. Her fingertips were still sore and full of minute pricks from the sticky needles.
“How long is this?” the woman asked.
“Um. Maybe thirty feet?”
“I need twice that much, but I’ll take what you have,” the woman said, turning to look around the tree stand. She pointed at a three-foot tree. “One of those, for the buffet table.”
Kerry grabbed a receipt book and began jotting down the woman’s purchases. The trees alone came to nearly seven hundred dollars. She hadn’t calculated the price for the garland, but quickly decided the labor-intense project was easily worth one hundred and fifty.
“Anything else?”
“That should do it.” The woman rummaged in her oversized Louis Vuitton handbag, drew out a credit card, and handed it to Kerry. “You take cards, right?”
“We do,” Kerry said. “Just a moment, please.”
She plugged the square into her cell phone and swiped the woman’s card.
“That’s one thousand, one hundred and sixty dollars,” she told the woman.
“Including the wreath?”
“Well, no, since I don’t have the materials to make one today.”
“But you could get the materials, right? And make the wreath before tomorrow morning?”
Kerry paused. It was nearly nine A.M. now. She didn’t dare wake Murphy to ask him to watch the stand while she made a trek to the wholesale flower market. And he’d pitch a fit if she closed up the stand on a Saturday morning, which should be their best day of business.
“I really wish I could,” she told the customer. “But I’m working alone this morning.”
The woman frowned and fidgeted with a lock of her hair. “I really, really need that wreath. The brunch starts at eleven.”
“I don’t know. The wholesale flower market closes at noon today…”
“Then forget it,” the redhead snapped. “Just cancel out the transaction. I’ll find someone else—”
“Wait,” Kerry said. She couldn’t just let a sale this big walk away. “I’ll figure it out. White berries, dried flowers. Purple ribbon, right? What size wreath?”
“The biggest one you have,” the woman said.
“That’s a twenty-eight-inch wreath,” Kerry said. She took a deep breath. “It’ll probably cost around one twenty-five.”
The woman waved her hand carelessly. “Whatever. In the meantime, you deliver, right? I’m in the neighborhood. Just a few blocks over.”