The twinkling bright lights of the Christmas tree lot beckoned Savannah on her way home from the Siddons. The huge handmade sign declaring 75% off all trees helped, too, and Savannah found herself wandering through the tiny lot. Pickings were slim, but there were still some very pretty trees left for latecomers.
Savannah’s family never bought a real tree—she and Bradley didn’t want to break their own family traditions when they had Patrick and always had an artificial tree. They bought a spectacular eight-foot-tall tree, in Howardson’s, at a pre-Christmas sale. Two weeks before Christmas when Patrick was four, she and Bradley spent the entire night assembling and decorating it. When Patrick awoke the next morning, he couldn’t believe his eyes at this spectacular tree now standing in his living room. ”Santa must think I’m real good this year!” he exclaimed as he gently touched the ornaments on the tree—a combination of those Savannah had saved from her childhood, as did Bradley whose mother had sent a box of old ornaments the year they were married, to the ones made by Patrick’s tiny hands—paper chains and styrofoam snowmen with photos of Patrick in place of two coal eyes and a carrot nose. Savannah and Bradley carried on this tradition until Patrick was eight and announced that he wanted to help decorate the tree, and a new Christmas tradition was born: the annual day-after Thanksgiving event of foraging in the basement and hauling out the tree and ornaments, not to mention the lights, which no matter how careful Savannah was the year before, always ended up in a tangled mess. It became Patrick’s job to untangle all the lights, which he proved very good at, and help place them on the tree. He became so adept at his light placement, that the following year it was solely left to him, and the effect was nothing short of spectacular.
As Savannah walked through the lot of trees, she found herself smiling at her Christmas memories. Not long ago, these memories brought tears of sadness to her eyes, but now, she could feel a smile stretch across her lips. She was a woman with a family who created beautiful moments in her life, moments that she got to live and to feel. She knew many had not experienced the look of joy on a child’s face on Christmas morning or the comfort of the loving arms of a spouse. Savannah’s memories were no longer sorrowful losses—they were the fabric of a person well-loved in life, and in death. She felt Bradley’s love every day and it would always be with her, and she knew that love truly did not die when a person did, for it lived on. Savannah also realized, as she gravitated toward a small table-top tree perched on a wooden bench in a green planter, that love could be reborn as well, and that this could possibly be happening with Matthew. It was too early to know if it was true love, but her gut feeling told Savannah she might be able to open herself up to another man. Might.
“I’ll take this one, please,” Savannah said to the older gentleman standing near the back of the lot. She looked at him and smiled.
“You’ve probably heard this a million times, but has anyone ever told you look like Santa?” Savannah smiled.
“I know, I know,” the man laughed as he took Savannah’s twenty-dollar bill.
“I wish I had a castle, even if it was at the North Pole. But I do have a red pickup truck.” He nodded toward the parking lot where a beat up old truck was parked. It was decorated to the hilt, with a wreath on the front bumper, fuzzy antlers on each side of the front windows, and large decals of Christmas trees, Santa heads, and snowmen adorned the truck. In bold white cursive on the driver’s door was written Sandy Claws. I’ll do the work while you Christmas pause.
“Sandy Claws?” Savannah laughed, picking up her little tree.
“Named the business after my old faithful companion, Sandy, a little yellow mutt I found wandering the streets one Christmas. I took her home and we were inseparable until she passed on last year. She was my faithful companion for nineteen years. Anyway, when I retired, I started my little Christmas decorating business, and she sat right in the driver’s seat of the truck while I climbed ladders, stringing lights and hanging wreaths. That little girl is still with me every day, right on my lap when I get in the truck. Still looking after her old man.”
“I have no doubt she is,” Savannah said, gripping her tree.
“You have a Merry Christmas, sir,” she said, smiling at the old gentleman, turning to make her way home.
“And you as well, Mrs. Claus.”
Savannah turned, but the man was no longer there. The lot suddenly became very crowded, and he must have gone off to help a customer. She then heard the rattle and sputter of an old engine as lights as bright as a full winter moon shone in her eyes. She spied him in his truck, waving, Savannah could have sworn she also saw a little yellow dog sitting in the man’s lap.
“Oh, don’t be silly, Savannah,” she said, as she and her little tree walked onto the street and toward their home.
“There you go, my little Charlie Brown tree,” Savannah said lovingly, looking at bright red, green, yellow and blue lights she had strung. It looked pretty and festive perched on the kitchen counter, and it certainly gave the apartment the dash of Christmas cheer it sorely needed. She shut off all the lights and basked in the cheerful glow of her pretty little tree.
Savannah was exhausted and knew she should climb straight into bed since tomorrow would be busy, but the lights of the tree were so comforting. She reclined on her couch and pulled one of Patrick’s Christmas fleece blankets around her—his favorite, decorated with Santa Claus and Rudolph. She marveled at the comfort and happiness the little tree brought into her life—how something so small, but so meaningful, could change the entire atmosphere in her apartment. A few hours ago it was just an average, run-of-the-mill apartment, but this little tree, simply bedecked with a few strings of colorful lights, instantly transformed her lonely apartment into one of comfort and joy. As the Christmas tree lights hypnotized Savannah, and her eyelids grew heavy, visions from Christmases past—of Patrick running down the stairs at two o’clock am, with delighted screams of ”He came! He came!” upon seeing the mounds of presents under the tree, and of Bradley making that first pot of holiday coffee and whipping up his legendary Christmas French toast with homemade whipped cream sprinkled with cinnamon.
And again, as in the tree lot, there was no sadness in these memories, as Savannah closed her eyes feeling nothing but contentment and gratefulness for the wonderful life she had with her two men and would cherish for all the days of her life.
“Merry Christmas, little tree,” she murmured. ”Thank you for helping to bring Christmas back to me.”
Wanting to spend more time with her tree, Savannah settled in with a cup of peppermint tea in front of the roaring electric fireplace. Fern had sent what seemed like a whole case of tea to Savannah’s apartment with a hand-drawn card of a figure that resembled Savannah in her Mrs. Claus dress, and inside had written An Early Merry Christmas present to our own Mrs. Claus. Lots of Love this Christmas. Fern.
And now the end was here. One more day to spend in that captivating dress. This had been such a special time for Savannah, and she didn’t think it could ever be replicated. But did she want it to be?
“Things are rarely better the second time around,” she murmured into her tea cup, looking at her tree. She knew that she wasn’t just thinking about The Enchanted Land of Claus either. She was thinking about Matthew and how different he was from Bradley. Where Bradley was shorter in stature, Matthew was that much taller and thinner, with Bradley more muscular, working out every day with his beloved weights. Where Matthew was professionally driven, Bradley was content with his contracting positions, leaving him time for his family, and was especially happy when his last contract job ended and he returned to bartending.
“I told you this would be lucrative,” Bradley said one night. It was actually almost four o’clock in the morning. Savannah always had been an early riser, but she was up earlier than usual when she realized Bradley wasn’t home.
She was nursing a cup of coffee when he walked in, and he reached into his backpack and threw what seemed like hundreds of dollars on the kitchen table.
“The bachelor party didn’t close down until three. At this rate, I get a few more parties under my belt, Patrick will never have to take a loan out for college. That’s my goal for him. I want him to have a good start in life, and if this is what it takes, I have no problem working these crazy hours.”
So bartending it was, while Savannah worked at the insurance company and their little family life continued on until Bradley’s untimely death.
Although the house was quiet, Bradley’s absence spoke volumes. His presence permeated the house, and his ghost haunted every room. She swore she could smell the lingering scent of his aftershave, the traditional perfume of Old Spice. A small bottle remained in the bathroom cabinet, and every now and then, Savannah found herself pulling the stopper from the top and holding it under her nose, inhaling what was left of her husband. No matter how many times she washed the sheets, she could still smell it when she went to bed at night. When she opened the door of their bedroom closet, it escaped from there as well, the cologne still lingering on Bradley’s clothes. But Bradley’s ghost was not the only one haunting her; so was the ghost of the little boy that used to live in the house. From the height markings on the wall of the half bath outside of the kitchen to the dinged-up living room window blinds, victims of Sunday football games, to Patrick’s bedroom and the myriad boy stuff he accumulated throughout his life.
Her home, once filled with bliss and contentment now only harbored loneliness and grief. There was no son, no husband, no dog to greet her now at the end of a long day, only the assailant of sadness. She knew the memories would eventually bring comfort, but now they brought only grief, and Savannah made the heartbreaking decision to sell her family home.
It was hard to believe just a year ago this past fall her former life was neatly wrapped into moving boxes and she was starting a new life in her own apartment, the first time she had ever been on her own. She lived frugally and started a vacation fund for a Christmas vacation at The Blue Spruce Inn. Like the currents of the sea, Savannah knew all too well how life changes swiftly and quickly. It would be Sylvene and Jolene, not Savannah, spending Christmas in the White Mountains with the Blue Spruce golden retrievers and enjoying the holiday at the country inn.
The happiness of a single mother and her young daughter would be enough of a Christmas present for Savannah this year, knowing that she was able to help with a little girl’s unselfish wish of giving her mother a Merry Christmas.