Page 5

…except that, as I automatically flipped on the switch, the light went on, too. So bright it dazzled me for a moment, made me look down at the floor and blink a few times to regain my bearings.

When I looked back up, I noticed the packaging from the new lightbulb, which I kept in the bathroom closet, sitting proudly on the back of the toilet. Someone had scrawled something on it in green Sharpie. I exhaled slowly as I read.

Hope this helps even just a little bit! —Seth

Of course he’d sign with a smiley. He was probably disappointed he didn’t have any i’s in his name that he could dot with hearts or o’s he could fill with little faces. I stood in front of the sink and washed the crumbs out of my hair with the assistance of the light overhead, leaving a big wet splotch on my apron.

And yet still, as I dried my hands on my apron—what was another splotch?—and went back out behind the counter, I had to admit it: the headache had receded. And the day felt just a little bit more manageable.

I sighed. Maybe I shouldn’t have been quite so harsh earlier. Even if he had been extremely annoying. Changing the bulb for me hardly made up for that, I told myself. And almost believed it.

Fine. He could have real free whipped cream tomorrow.

4

Of course, that slightly lighter feeling only lasted until the end of the day. As I closed up shop, my lips thinned as I counted the day’s receipts. The numbers were even worse than yesterday’s. If things didn’t look up soon, I’d have to…I didn’t even know what I’d have to do. I couldn’t just close down, considering my home and my business were one and the same. I’d have to move. And where? I liked it here. I liked the cold fresh air in the morning, the idea that everybody knew and could depend on one another so that nothing felt too overwhelming, the feeling of isolation from the larger world and all the things it could do to you.

It reminded me of what I’d felt like growing up. Sure, the suburbs of New York City were nothing like small-town Vermont: I didn’t know anywhere close to all my neighbors, and I certainly didn’t stop and chat with them at the store.

I was thinking more of my community. Of the Jewish youth group I’d grown up in, of the people at my family’s synagogue, of the way people showed up with food whenever a relative died or sang to me at my bat mitzvah even though I barely knew them or swooped in with offers of help anytime someone lost a job or hit hard times. It had been like sitting by a warm fire all my life, protecting me from the cold.

And then, well. When I got turned out into the cold, I didn’t even have a coat.

It was the Hanukkah festival bringing up all these memories, I decided as I brushed a dusting of snow from the windshield of my car and got behind the wheel. It wasn’t even five yet, but the sun was already setting, giving the tree-covered mountains in the distance a fiery glow. I just had to get this over with, and then I could go back to not thinking about the past.

Surely, it wouldn’t be too long—I was, after all, on my way to meet with one of Lorna’s vendors. I’d already spoken with the logistics guy, who was in charge of making sure the area where the festival would be held—the town’s central green square—wouldn’t be lit on fire by electrical cords snaking everywhere and that we’d have proper restroom and EMT access as required by law. He’d been fine. Hopefully, the other vendors would be, too.

First up was the scenery guy, who was responsible for decorating and sourcing all the physical booths we’d need along with the little extra things to make the ambiance extra festive. I was meeting him at an early Christmas festival he was setting up in a nearby town. Gravel crunched under my tires as I pulled into the parking area, noting the abundance of trucks and trailers surrounding me.

Funnily enough, the guy actually looked a little like Santa Claus, big and burly with a cropped white beard and round red nose. “Evening,” he said. The sun had set fully now, but it almost didn’t feel that way with the blazing lights surrounding us. “You must be Abby?”

“I am. And you must be Fred?” We shook hands. I tried to match him, but it was hard when it felt like he was trying to crush my finger bones to dust. Not very Santa-like. “Lorna spoke very highly of your work. And of course I’ve seen it at the Willingboro Christmas Festival.”

He smiled, revealing a gap between his two front teeth. “Thank you kindly. I have to say, I was immediately intrigued when Lorna told me she was planning a Hanukkah festival. That’s something new around here. Should be fun, though.”

I hadn’t realized I was tense until my body relaxed. There was always something about meeting a new person in an area where there weren’t a lot of Jews, or even where there were a lot of Jews, actually. People could get weird about Jews in the direction of really hating us or professing to love us so much it got creepy. And I don’t even want to mention the frequency with which somebody would casually bring up Jesus and wouldn’t I be happier if I found him.

“Awesome,” I said. “So, looking at what the Christmas festivals all seem to have and what seem to be successful at drawing people in, I think it would be fun to have some kind of ‘here’s the story of Hanukkah’ display, and—”

“What is the story of Hanukkah?” Fred interrupted. He paused before a massive Christmas tree sparkling with multicolored lights. I blinked at it, dazzled for a moment, before turning back to him.

You’d think he would have googled the basics before meeting with me. But whatever. It was fine. “Basically, Hanukkah is about a Jewish revolt against non-Jewish oppressors. In the land of ancient Israel, Jewish territory was conquered by this asshole of a king Antiochus who decided to outlaw Judaism. He made all sorts of jerk moves like putting up an altar to false gods in the sacred Temple and ordering pigs, which are not kosher, to be sacrificed on it. Anyway, this group of guys called the Maccabees revolted against the king and fought against his army and the Jews who’d gone along with their edicts.”

“Sounds bloody,” Fred said.

I chose not to respond to that. “The Maccabees won and defeated the king and the army, but the problem was that the Temple was still defiled. They cleaned up and everything, but the oil that was supposed to keep the eternal light lit, well, eternally, was defiled, too. They only had enough suitable oil left to keep the lamp lit for one more day, even though it would take them eight days to make more. But, miracle!” I did jazz hands, which immediately made me feel like an idiot. But letting them fall would only make me feel like more of an idiot, so I kept those things shimmering and shimmying for the whole next sentence. “That one day of oil lasted eight days instead, so by the time it would have gone out, the new batch was ready! So Hanukkah doesn’t just commemorate the successful revolt, but the miracle of the oil. That’s why we eat foods fried in oil and light the menorah for eight days.”

Fred did not seem super impressed, not even by my jazz hands. “That’s not what I expected,” he said.

“Well, what did you expect?”

He shrugged. The lights blinked on and off behind him. “Something less bloody, without as much war or as many dead pigs? Something more heartwarming, I guess? Like Christmas.”

I supposed it was hard to get more heartwarming than the birth of a magical miracle baby with stars twinkling in the sky and cuddly (live) farm animals all around. “Well, Hanukkah is technically a minor holiday. It only gets so much attention in Western culture because it’s right around Christmas.” He squinted at me. I continued, “Besides, most of our holidays aren’t really the heartwarming sort. Mostly, they commemorate times different groups have tried to kill us and failed. Or trees; we as a people really like trees. Great food, though.” He squinted at me even harder. I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to go on. “Except for the holidays that involve fasting. But even they have good food at the end of them, usually.”

“All righty, then,” Fred said, with the tone of a doctor telling a patient that the ache in their ankle didn’t mean they had cancer. “Well, we work with what we have. This festival demonstrates our inventory pretty well, I think.” He gestured at the tree behind me. “We have all sorts of lights. Hanukkah colors are blue and white, right? We can deck your tree out in blue and white lights.”

Now it was my turn to squint. “What tree?”