“So tell me.” Janine turned the heater up and the car radio down as the Jeep merged onto the main highway. “How does one become a Christmas concierge?”
“Kind of by accident.” Holiday unwound the merino wool scarf from around her neck as the warm air gusted in. “I was never really sure what I wanted to do when I grew up. You know how some kids know coming out of the womb that they want to be a doctor? A ballerina? A detective?”
“A librarian?” Janine patted her chest.
“Exactly. I never had that. I kind of be-bopped along, did fine in school, played lots of different sports, whatever. And then one day, in eighth grade—I still remember like it was yesterday—Mrs. Adelman announced we were going to do a scavenger hunt.”
“God bless eighth-grade teachers.”
“Totally.” Holiday smiled at the memory. “I was a shrimp, one of the youngest and smallest kids in my class, but I decided that just as soon as Mrs. Adelman told us what the heck a scavenger hunt was, I was going to win it all.”
“And did you?”
“Yep. I was racing around, snatching the slips of paper out of logs and tree stumps, figuring out the clues like that guy staring at the blackboard in Good Will Hunting. I was unstoppable.”
“Did you get a prize?” Janine asked.
“No! I got yelled at by Mrs. Adelson for ‘not showing good teamwork.’” Holiday still smarted at the memory. “And when I went home, I got yelled at by my mom for ripping my new pants while I was crawling on gravel trying to find a clue.”
“The road to glory can be rocky.”
“It was such a thrill, being able to find what no one else could find. Being able to put the pieces together and solve a puzzle.” Holiday relaxed into the Jeep’s heated passenger seat. “Also, most of my clients are filthy rich and spending other people’s money is fun.”
“I can only imagine.”
“The Christmas gift stuff started with my grandmother,” Holiday continued. “She used to give the most thoughtful presents. When she got older, she had trouble leaving her home, and the internet wasn’t her wheelhouse. So, the day after Thanksgiving, I’d go to her house, drink peppermint cocoa with a metric ton of mini-marshmallows, and we’d brainstorm together. She’d walk me through the process of figuring out what different people would like, and then I’d scour the world wide web ’til I found it.” Holiday smiled at the memory. “She was so thoughtful. And then word started to get around her canasta group, and pretty soon, half the population of the Elmsbrook senior center was asking me to help them track down the ‘it’ item of the year.” She ticked off the various victories on her fingers. “Magic Mixies, American Girl dolls, PlayStations. I was basically doing hand-to-hand combat at the loading docks of Toys“R”Us. At first it was fun, playing Santa’s helper. I love traveling, seeing the world. Every day is a new adventure.”
“The sights you must have seen,” Janine mused.
“I’ve been everywhere from Miami to Mongolia. And I really get to make a difference in people’s lives.” Holiday surprised herself by tearing up a bit. “One woman wanted to find a rare baseball card for her husband, who was slowly losing his memory. Apparently, he’d had been looking for this particular card since he was a little kid. They had a big chunk of money set aside for traveling, but he couldn’t travel anymore. She said she’d spend it all on that card if she needed to.”
“Did you find it?”
“I sure did. Signed rookie card. I had it authenticated and mounted in a special case and everything. The woman and her husband were both so happy when he opened it on Christmas morning.” Holiday had to clear her throat. “Dora, that was her name. Dora Kistler. She said he kept it on his nightstand and was always so thrilled to see it and talk about it, even after the dementia got really bad.”
“Don’t make me cry. I’m driving.”
“And that was it. I was hooked. I had a lawyer draw up some documents, established an LLC and a commission structure, and hoped for the best.” She shrugged. “It’s been bananas ever since.”
“Do you do any advertising?”
“None. No social media, either. Most of my referrals are through word of mouth, and my customers don’t want their personal business splashed all over Instagram.”
“So how far in advance do customers need to book you?”
“I’m already taking reservations for next Christmas,” Holiday said. “I get a ton of repeat customers.”
“And how—” Janine cut herself off. “Sorry, I was trained as a research librarian. I have a lot of questions.”
“We have nothing but time and the open road.” Holiday gestured toward the vast expanse of snow and sky outside the Jeep. “Ask away.”
“How long have you been doing this full-time?”
“Five years, at least.” Holiday paused. “Ever since I decided not to get married.”
“What? Talk about burying the lede! Tell me every—” Janine’s question gave way to a panicked scream as a moose galloped out from the tree line and in front of the car. She slammed on the brakes and Holiday joined in on the second round of screaming as the car screeched to a stop inches away from the animal’s retreating flanks.
Just as the women breathed a sigh of relief, a second moose darted in front of the car, moving so quickly that one of its rear hooves clipped the Jeep’s bumper as it passed. Holiday instinctively threw one hand against the dashboard and the other over her face. After a few thundering heartbeats, she resumed breathing and lowered her arms.
Janine was braced with both hands on the wheel, her face ashen and her eyes wide. After a moment, she drew a shuddering breath. “Whew. That was a close one.”
“Was that . . .” Holiday had to stop and swallow. “A moose?”
“Two,” Janine confirmed. “Which is odd, because they usually travel alone.” She released her death grip on the steering wheel. “But it’s okay. We’re okay.” She turned to Holiday. “You’re okay, right?”
Holiday found herself unable to speak. But she was definitely not okay. Her hands reached for the door handle and the seat belt release, and her body heaved itself out of the car and onto the windswept highway.
Janine leaned across the passenger seat. “Holiday? What are you doing?”
Holiday turned away from the car to face the snow and the pine trees. “I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t.”
“You can’t do what?” Janine called.
Holiday took a few steps so that she was off the asphalt and in the shallow snow drifts. “I can’t do any of this. I can’t drive in this weather, I can’t almost hit a moose, I can’t hunt down the random ancestors of an artist for DNA, and I can’t make Alex fall in love with Mrs. Penewate’s granddaughter. I can’t do any of it.”
The car’s engine rumbled to a halt and the driver’s-side door slammed as Janine got out of the car.
“I can’t.” Holiday crossed her arms to ward off the frigid wind. “I can’t give everyone what they want and still be home for Christmas. I should never have agreed to this job.”
Janine joined her at the side of the road. “So, quit.”
Holiday shook her head and took another step into the snowdrift. “I can’t quit, either.”
“Sure, you can. It’s easy. Just call the lady who hired you, explain the situation, and refund her money. No big deal.”
“Very big deal.” Holiday bowed her head. “I already failed her once.” Standing in the snow like this released a barrage of memories, both personal and professional. She tried to keep her focus on the professional. “Alice Penewate’s husband hired me two years ago. I let him down, and I’ll never make up for it.”
“Tell me what happened.” Janine’s voice was soothing, and her hand tugged Holiday’s elbow. “When you’re not knee-deep in snow.”
Holiday looked down and realized that ice crystals were indeed melting into her jeans. “Alice and her husband, James, got married on Christmas Eve on the spur of the moment in Atlantic City. This was like sixty years ago.”
“Come on, your pants are getting soaked,” Janine coaxed.
“And they went to some bar to celebrate, and at the end of the night, the bar owner gave them the record the bartender had been playing over and over on the jukebox.” She could remember every detail of the target item. “The Five Keys’ ‘It’s Christmas Time’ from Aladdin Records, with a blue label.”
“Okay, sounds good. Let’s get back in the car.”
But Holiday remained where she stood, welcoming the tiny bursts of cold as snowflakes fell onto her face. “I went online, found some vinyl collecting chat boards, and tracked down a copy of the record with a private collector near Reno. He was a crotchety old coot, stuck in the previous century, and he absolutely refused to sell me the record over the phone.” She bristled at the memory. “Said he had other interested buyers and whoever showed up in person first would get it. He was the worst.”
Janine gave up on getting back to the car and settled into the snowbank with her. The forest around them was completely silent.
“Someone beat you to it?” Janine asked.
“Heck, no,” Holiday scoffed. “I was on the first flight to Nevada. I played his game, showed up at the store, and paid his overinflated asking price in cash.” She paused. “The problem was, it was snowing. Just like today.”
“Please don’t tell me you hit a moose in Nevada.”
“I didn’t hit anything. But I also didn’t have four-wheel drive in my rental car and I didn’t have much experience driving in the snow.”
“So I gathered,” Janine said.
Holiday ignored this. “The snow got worse and worse, and pretty soon, I was sliding all over the road and I couldn’t see anything. I had to turn on my hazard lights and pull over. And I was only planning to be in Reno for a few hours, so all I had was my purse, a little carry-on, and that record. I kept thinking, it could be hours before someone digs me out of here. I figured I was going to have to walk to the nearest gas station or whatever, so I gathered up my stuff, got out of the car, and started walking.”
“This story is a downer,” Janine said.
“Oh, it gets worse. Almost as soon as I get out of the car, I see headlights, and it’s a snowplow. So I figure I can start up the car and follow the plow back into town and still make my flight. I got all excited and turned around really fast—and fell right on my face.” She closed her eyes at the memory. “And everything I was holding went flying.”
“But the record was in the sleeve inside your little bag?” Janine clarified.
“It was.” Holiday nodded. “But that still couldn’t protect it from cracking when the snowplow ran it over.”
Janine winced. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes.” Holiday tightened her crossed arms. “It was awful. I had assured Mr. Penewate that I could get this record, no sweat, and I had it in my hands. I had it.”
“But it was an accident. You tripped.”
“And somebody’s fondest wish shattered into a dozen pieces. And that was it. I was out of time and that record is almost impossible to get. I had to call James and tell him I failed. I had to quit.”
“There were a lot of extenuating circumstances,” Janine said. “And the good thing about Christmas is that it comes around every twelve months. Couldn’t you just have a do-over the next year?”
“No. James Penewate died two weeks after I was supposed to deliver the record to him.”
“Oh boy.”
“And now I have a phobia of failure, a phobia of snow, and a phobia of driving in the snow. Plus a brand-new phobia of moose.”
Janine smiled wryly and opened her arms. “Welcome to Maine.”
“I can’t do this.” She sighed in resignation.
“You can and you will. You have a seasoned chauffeur, a Jeep, and a mission. Don’t let a few rogue moose rattle you.”
“Too late.”
“Move along.” Janine prodded her back toward the car and, this time, Holiday went. “You’re going to redeem yourself with Mrs. Penewate. And in the meantime, you’re going to tell me why you decided not to get married five years ago and what that has to do with being a Christmas concierge.”
“I can’t.” Holiday shook her head. “I’m already having a nervous breakdown.”
“Fine. Have it in the car.” Janine herded her into the passenger seat. “Watch your head.”
“You Mainers are mean,” Holiday told her.
“Yeah, but we get stuff done.” Janine jogged around to the driver’s side, buckled her seat belt, and started the engine. “Now. Did you remember to bring the vial and the Q-tip?”
Holiday opened her bag and pulled out the DIY genetics kit. “Check and check. Now all I have to do is figure out the best way to convince a total stranger to cough up their DNA.”