Bright

“Mary seemed to think you had them this afternoon,” Bright said, rummaging through Klaus’s wardrobe checking his dad’s pockets for keys.

“She’s imagining it,” Klaus said firmly.

“Well, then where were you when I knocked? It sounded like you came from the garage.”

“What garage?” “Yours, Dad.”

“Can’t have. It’s locked.”

“Why on earth have you got so many pairs of red pyja-

mas?” Bright asked. “You don’t even like red.” “They were on sale. Now get out of my drawers.”

Bright sighed and headed back down the hallway to check the garage door again. It was still locked but there was a defi- nite trail of something along the carpet. He bent down and picked some of it up between his fingers. It was grainy and smelt like fresh wood chips.

“Dad, what’s going on? You’ve clearly been in the garage, so you must know where the key is. What’s in there you don’t want me to see?”

Klaus gave him a funny look. “Your mother loves Christ- mas,” he said. “Mad about it.”

“Yes, Dad, she did.” Bright was unsure if he should men- tion to his dad how long she had been gone.

“You boys always wanted a toy garage,” Klaus added. “What day is it? Is it Friday?”

Bright sighed. “How about I make us some dinner,” he said. “Steak maybe? And some salad?”

“Chips and eggs would be better,” Klaus said, giving Bright a beaming smile. “You’re a good boy.”

The next morning Bright arrived at the Palms feeling a bit awkward. He’d been into Dainty Dwellings earlier and Gary had been shocked to see him out of ‘uniform’ and it had made him self-conscious. He normally wore suit pants and a shirt to work, but he’d thought it might be a bit silly to

wear them to cut down a tree so he’d put on a pair of jeans and a pale-pink collared polo instead. Now, he was stupidly worried about what Mary might think of his clothes. Was it too casual?

When she arrived, she had on a pair of yellow shorts and a T-shirt with Snoopy in a Santa hat on the front. Today’s ear- rings were candy canes. She should have looked like a twelve year old. Should have, but didn’t.

“That pink is lovely on you,” she said, and he stopped wor- rying about what he was wearing.

“I have the van ready.” He gestured to where it was parked around the side of the offices. “I took it to get gassed up. I wasn’t sure how far we were going.”

“Have you never been to Tony’s Tree Farm? I thought ev- eryone went there for trees,” Mary said, climbing into the passenger seat. Bright resisted the urge to help, trying not to think of the feeling of her bottom in his hand. He adjusted himself and got in behind the wheel.

“Tell me you’re not a fake-tree person?” She held her hand theatrically over her heart.

“Dad and I don’t get a tree,” he said, pulling away from the kerb. “Haven’t done for years. Not since Mum was here. She died right before Christmas.”

“That’s so sad. I’m so sorry. No wonder you’re not that keen on Christmas.” Mary put on her belt.

“Dad never wanted to celebrate after she died. She was a big fan of Christmas, went all out celebrating it, and I think

it reminded him too much of what he’d lost.” He felt a bit embarrassed, telling her that. He wasn’t sure why he had.

“What you all lost,” she said quietly. “Left at the lights

“I should have let you drive.” He looked quickly over at her and away. There was a lull in conversation for a bit, ex- cept for her giving him the occasional direction towards the tree farm.

“What about your parents?” he asked, to break the silence.

“Well, I never knew my dad,” she said. “And my mother wasn’t really able to raise a child. She was an addict and she had mental health issues, so when I was little, I didn’t even know what Christmas was. It wasn’t until I went to live with my Gran when I was nine that I celebrated my first Christ- mas Day. Next right.”

“I’m really sorry,” Bright said. He felt terrible for asking. “Oh, don’t be sorry.” Mary gave him a pat on his shoulder

as if to comfort him. “Gran made Christmas wonderful. She went all out every year until she died, all the decorations, carols, crafts — the works. She made me love Christmas.” She gave him a wink. “You might have realised I’m a bit of a fan. Like your mum.”

Tony, a beefy bloke with a buzz cut and a wonky left eye, had turned out to be a pretty good bloke and had insisted on helping Bright load the tree into the van. They’d underesti- mated the tree’s size and the trunk stuck out the back door half a metre, so they’d used some twine and tied the doors as best as possible and hung Bright’s white hanky to a lower branch as a warning to any following car. Tony had thrown in a small tree for Mary, free of charge, and a couple of packets of fringe-style tinsel too.

Mary’s house was very her. A small cottage set close to the road, pale yellow with a garden bed bursting with colour along the path to her candy-pink door. Inside it was warm and inviting, with a large stuffed couch draped in a crochet rug and a standing lamp that was zebra striped. There was art everywhere, and framed photos of her as a young girl, then a teen and up, her grandmother ageing alongside her.

“Gran left me the house when she died,” Mary told him. “This was her bedroom before. I couldn’t bring myself to sleep in it, so I turned it into the lounge. The plan is to ren- ovate the old lounge and make the kitchen and dining area bigger, once I get some more money saved.”

“Hmm, maybe.” Mary looked away, and he wondered if that had come out a bit like a criticism. Was she offended?

“I didn’t mean ...”

“I think this corner could work?” Mary said, moving a round coffee table out of the way to sit in front of the couch. “I’ll just get the tree stand.”

They set up the tree and admired their work.

“Thanks, Bright,” Mary said. “Did you want a cup of tea, or shall we head back and get the tree sorted at the Palms?” Bright wanted to suggest they sit on her couch and talk a bit more, or something, but it was almost one o’clock and he needed to take his father for a doctor’s appointment at two.

“We’d better head back,” he said reluctantly. “Sorry.” “Well, if you’re not doing anything later, perhaps you’d

like to come over for a meal? Or a drink? You could even help me decorate the tree?” Mary gestured to the top. “It’s not big, but I still may need help getting anything up on the tip of it.”

Bright rather desperately wanted to say yes. So he did.