Page 23 of The Forever Christmas Tree

Ethan and his grandmother both stared at the little girl who sipped at her cup of hot chocolate, knowing full well she had their attention by dropping that bombshell. The little imp!

Harvey’s big tongue flicked out and he scarfed the last of her muffin. The big imp!

“What did Mom say, sweetheart?” his grandmother prompted before he could cut short this line of conversation. Apparently, she hadn’t noticed Harvey’s slick move.

“Mom said that Dad loved her, but not like he loved a girl named Wendy. She told me to never settle for any kind of love, except the Wendy kind. It’s in that journal that she gave me to read when I was twelve years old. I’m almost twelve, you know. So peeking is all right.”

Ethan inhaled sharply. That damn journal Beth Anne had always been writing in! He should have read it before handing it over to Cassie. “Oh, princess!” he said. “I’m sorry she burdened you with that.”

“No, no!” Cassie shook her head. “Mom wasn’t being sad or anything. It was when she was telling me all the life lessons she would miss giving me when I’m older. Like, study hard and find a job that makes you get up every morning with a smile.”

That isn’t too bad. In fact, it’s excellent advice. Wish I felt that way about tree farming, the actual growing, not the business. But poor Beth Anne! Even though she had never mentioned it, he knew that she had followed news of Wendy’s career, and for some reason thought that if she did something more interesting than being a wife and mother he would suddenly love her more.

“I thought you were going to wait for a guy just like PopPop,” Ethan said.

Everyone in town knew the story of Samuel Rutledge and Eliza Metz, and no one romanticized it more than his grandmother Eliza who had pictures of the two of them all over the place. And no one relished the stories of their legendary love more than Ethan’s daughter. Instead of bedtime stories, she was always begging Nana to tell her about the first time she met “that mountain boy,” or how he proposed, or what their wedding had been like out on the beach.

“Can’t I have both?” Cassie asked, as if he’d asked a dumb question. “Anyhow, Mom had lots of lessons to give me. They’re in the journal. Be kind to everyone, even people you don’t like. That was another one.”

Even better, though I have trouble following that rule when it comes to that annoying Baxter. And, Nana, truth to tell, when she’s on a nagging streak.

“Don’t have sex until I’m sixteen, or until I’m ready.”

“Whaaat?”

His grandmother barely stifled a smile, probably at his discomfort, not at Cassie’s precocious words.

“And don’t settle for a lukewarm love, aim for a Wendy kind of love.”

Harvey spread-eagled himself on the floor, under the table, and let loose with a low dog moan, as if he knew all about love.

A Wendy kind of love? Ethan put his face in his hands for a moment. Then he looked directly at his daughter. “I loved your mother, don’t ever think that I didn’t.” Loved, never in love, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“I know,” Cassie said.

“After all, without her, I wouldn’t have you, and I love you bunches. That’s the best kind of love.”

“I know.” Then, unaware of the shock she’d created, Cassie asked, “Can I be excused? I want to go into the Christmas shop with Nana today. Is that okay?”

Just like that, the subject was no longer of any interest to the little girl.

Suddenly, he noticed her attire for the day. A pink sweatshirt with silver sparkly snowflakes in the form of a tree, over darker pink sweatpants, and her pink boots. In her hair, which she insisted on caring for herself, there was pinned a sprig of holly attached to a headband, which was . . . what else? Pink. She looked like a pink elf, perfect attire for the Holiday Shoppe. Or. . . . Oh, no! He would bet his last dollar that Zach Stanton was on the schedule today. He was about to object, not liking the idea of his young daughter having a crush on an older man . . . sixteen years old! Girls her age should be interested in Barbies, not Kens. Not that Zach was any kind of Ken with his tattoos and one earring. But his grandmother kicked him under the table, a silent caution to not overreact. He knew she was right, forbid a kid something and they wanted it even more. So, all he said to Cassie was, “As long as you don’t overdo.”

Cassie got up and walked out of the kitchen. No need for crutches today. She only limped slightly. Please God, let her improvement continue, he prayed. The cats followed after her, but Harvey stuck around, still hoping for some scraps.

Once they were alone, his grandmother pointed a spatula at him. “Like I said, closure. I’m not getting any younger. I won’t always be around, you know.”

“If you’re planning on kicking the bucket, please don’t do it today. I have too much to do without having to make funeral arrangements.”

“Very funny. Maybe I want to get a life for myself. Maybe I want to sign up for mambo lessons. Maybe I want to get myself a Latin lover.”

His mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding. I hope. Or maybe mambo lessons would do you good. Better yet, get yourself a boyfriend. Get two. It might improve your mood and stop your nagging.”

Under her breath, his grandmother said, “I’m not the only one that needs to get laid.”

Sometimes his grandmother went too far. Ethan said the bad words he’d been holding back, under his breath, followed by, A Wendy kind of love. Those words would stick in his craw for a long time now.

As if she hadn’t shocked the pants off him, his grandmother was off on another tangent. “By the way, I heard on the radio this morning that Frank Baxter is leading the contest for best grinch. You’ve dropped to third place. Moving into second is Gabriel Conti, the architect who inherited his family’s factory here in Bell Cove. Apparently, he made a remark to a Durham newspaper, something to the effect of, ‘Who needs bells today, anyhow? You can buy them at Walmart for a dime a dozen.’”