Eric Shaw Quinn

The tree lot was sparse.

There had been no new shipments of trees for days.  Ray, the lot’s proprietor, was letting inventory dwindle as the market for Christmas trees tailed out with the season.

“Everything’s half-price,” Ray called to Rose as she began to move through the trees.  He stayed near the warmth of the trashcan fire he’d started with wood scraps and lost branches.

She was the only customer he’d had that night and he didn’t want to have to mulch anymore inventory than necessary.

“Thanks,” Rose said, as she reached out to test the freshness of a brownish little fir.  “Ouch.”

She instinctively put her finger in her mouth.  A dried needle had pierced her fingertip.  She sucked as though there was venom to be removed.  Was there?

“Those under the tent are fresher,” Ray called helpfully.  The trees under the tent had been on the lot every bit as long as all the rest of the trees.  Ray was a good tree salesman, but not necessarily a good man.

“O-thay,” Rose said, finger still in her mouth.

Rose had never picked out a tree before.  She didn’t even know where she’d put it once she got it home.  What makes for a good Christmas Tree?

“Well, it depends on your decorations and the space you have for the tree,” Ray said, suddenly behind her.

She cried out and bit her finger.

“Sorry,” Ray said putting a reassuring hand on her arm.  “Didn’t mean to scare you.  I thought you knew I was here, since you spoke.”

“I just didn’t realize you were so close,” Rose said, horrified.  It was like Tourette’s.  She could not trust herself not to speak her thoughts out loud.

“Not to worry,” Ray said, taking his hand back.  “Where do you think you’ll put the tree?”

“In the living room?” Rose said, more of a question than a statement.

“Good choice,” Ray said, taking a step back.

“What kind of decorations do you have?”

“I don’t actually have any Christmas decorations,” Rose shrugged.

“Lights?”

Rose shook her head.

“What were you planning to use the tree for?”

“Christmas?”

She settled on a greenish brown fir tree.  It was shedding pretty badly, but Rose was too embarrassed not to buy one.  Ray tied the tree onto the top of her car.  Both pretended not the hear the dry branches snap as he tightened the yellow plastic rope.

“Here,” Rose said.  She pressed one of the invitations into his hand.  “I’m having a Christmas drop-in tomorrow night.”

“Really?”

“If you’ve nothing better to do . . .” She finished her sentence with a shrug.  “Tis’ the season.”

“Sure is,” he said with a smile.  “I’ll sure think about it.  Drive safe now.”

Rose’s smile warmed her up despite the cold night.   She felt a bit of the season seep in.  The invitation to a stranger to share the holiday doubled her determination to make the party the best she could afford and accomplish.

“Merry Christmas,” she called out the window as she drove off the lot.

Ray smiled and waved.  An invitation to a Christmas Eve drop-in? He’d hoped for a tip.

“And a happy new year,” he said, tossing the invitation, unopened, into the trashcan fire.

To be continued…