Home Is Where the Christmas Trees Are (2 page)

Dex sat back in front of his laptop and put his fingers to the keyboard, then paused. What
was
he going to do for Christmas?

A
FEW
days later, Dex was stepping out of the shower when he heard Rowan calling his name. The note of anguish in her voice caused him to throw a towel around his waist and speed out of the bathroom.

Rowan stood in the hallway, coat on, book bag on her shoulders, and tears running down her cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” He rushed over to her. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“I…. Th-The car got broken into. I forgot and left my clarinet in there last night when you picked me up from rehearsal. It’s gone! Mom gave it to me last Christmas. And now I can’t play my solo at the holiday concert tonight.” She broke down sobbing but wrenched away from his consoling arm. “I hate my life!” She dropped her book bag on the hallway floor and fled into the living room.

“Fuck.” That car was Dex’s baby. And he was pretty sure clarinets didn’t come cheap. He didn’t want to think about Jan saving up to give her daughter one last gift before….
Those motherfuckers.
“Hold on,” he called. “Let me get dressed and then we’ll deal with it.”

Dex ran to his room and dressed, then called work to tell them to reschedule his visits to tomorrow. He needed to fix this—his car, Rowan’s clarinet, her upset over the concert, whatever. For a fleeting moment, he wished himself back in Portland, where his biggest problem was whether to go on Grindr or work out at the gym.

He found Rowan huddled on the couch, her face buried in a throw pillow. Dex sat next to her and patted her arm. “Okay, Noodle. Let me go look at the car, then we’ll walk you to school.”

The car’s passenger side window was smashed. Dex stepped gingerly over the broken glass on the parking lot and did a quick inspection. He’d left a few CDs in there, along with a bunch of spare change for the meters—all gone. They couldn’t get the car stereo out, so they’d grabbed Rowan’s clarinet and some quarters and run.
Assholes.
He needed to call someone about replacing the window and the police to make a report, but he wanted to take care of Rowan first. The wind picked up, and Dex shivered as he went back inside.

Rowan hadn’t stirred.

Dex grabbed his coat and gloves. “C’mon, Miss R., let’s get you to school. We can talk to your music teacher about the clarinet and what to do about the concert.”

The school was less than a mile from where they lived. Rowan usually walked there and back, except for the days Dex timed it so he could drive her. Today she had her jazz band rehearsal, which happened before regular classes. She willingly got herself up at the crack of dawn those days and made sure she was at school for jazz band. She loved Mr. A., as she called her music teacher, and it sounded like he’d been encouraging her, giving her the solo, which Dex had heard incessantly over the last month. Dex tried to meet all Rowan’s teachers but somehow he and Mr. A. had never met. The time slot for band on Back to School Night had conflicted with Dex meeting Rowan’s counselor who was providing ongoing grief therapy and Dex had figured therapy trumped music.

They walked in silence, and as they approached the side of the school, the sounds of the band emerged from a cracked-open door. Rowan pulled on Dex’s arm as he made to go to the main entrance. “We go in here.” She opened the side door, and a welcome wave of warmth, light, and music spilled out as they walked in out of the frigid darkness.

“And one, and two, horns go!” A handsome man with dark hair and glasses Dex thought of as “hipster cool” stood in the front of the room, exhorting the group of middle schoolers tootling their way through “St. Louis Blues.” Dex recognized it from his own sojourn in high school jazz band.

The guy himself—Mr. A.—looked familiar for some reason. He smiled over at them, then did a double take at whatever he saw on Rowan’s face. He held up his hand to halt the musicians. “Good. Take it all the way through from the top.” As they began the song again, he came over. “Everything okay, Rowan?”

She shook her head and bit her lip.

Dex supplied the words. “We had an unfortunate incident. Someone broke into my car and stole Rowan’s clarinet.”

“Oh no. That’s terrible!” As Mr. A. frowned in concern, it struck Dex why he looked so familiar.

“Is your last name Alcott, by any chance?”

Mr. A.—or Eddie, as his mother called him—looked at him funny. “Yes.” Then he turned his attention back to Rowan. “Rowan, I’m so sorry. We’ll give you a loaner for tonight. It’s all going to be okay. Here, let’s go back to the instrument room right now and get you set up.” He put his arm around her shoulders and smiled at Dex. “Thanks for bringing her in. I believe you must be the uncle I’ve heard Rowan talk about.”

Mr. A.’s eyes were mesmerizing, so warm and brown and friendly. Dex had the weirdest urge to snuggle on his broad shoulder and be taken care of. He shook himself out of his daze. “Um, yes. I’m Dex. Dex Crawford.”

“I’m Ed Alcott.”

Dex hoped he wasn’t imagining the glint of interest in Eddie’s… Ed’s eyes. “Well, nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from… uh, from Rowan.” He’d caught himself just in time. It was against healthcare regulations to disclose that Ed’s mother had been Dex’s patient. “Thank you for encouraging her in her music.”

Ed’s cheeks got pink. “Oh, she hardly needs encouragement, do you, Rowan? You’re a natural.”

It was Rowan’s turn to blush. “Thanks, Mr. A.”

The band squeaked to a halt. Ed turned to Dex. “Will we be seeing you tonight at the concert?”

Yes, definitely more than a glimmer of interest. Hallelujah! “I wouldn’t miss it. Have a good day, honey. We’ll figure out about getting you a new clarinet, so don’t worry.”

Rowan surprised him by giving him a quick hug. “Bye.”

Dex walked to the door, reluctant to leave this place of light, warmth, and Mr. A.’s brown eyes and cute butt, and go back into the winter gray with a broken car to attend to.

D
EX
CLAPPED
along with the other parents as the concert band labored its way to the end of the last piece. The holiday concert hadn’t been very holidayish. Most of the music had nothing to do with Christmas or Kwanzaa or Hanukkah, which Dex presumed was because public schools had to be politically correct. Normally, Dex wouldn’t have even noticed, but he had Christmas music on the brain.

He remembered his dad taking the neighborhood kids out Christmas caroling each year. They would cut out squares of cardboard and stick candles in a hole in the middle so the wax wouldn’t drip on their hands. A neighbor would answer the knock, and their motley group of kids and a few adults would launch into one of the standard carols like “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” After a circuit of the neighborhood, they’d all go back to Dex’s house, where his mom would make them hot chocolate and he and Jan would fight over who got the most marshmallows. He hadn’t thought about that for years, but somehow this year it was all coming back to him.

At least the jazz band had been quite good for a middle school, and Rowan had played her solo with nary a squeak on the borrowed clarinet. And Mr. A. had looked cute from the rear as he encouraged the kids.

Clarinet. That reminded him: he needed to buy Rowan a new one, but when he’d looked on the Internet, the array of choices daunted him.
Ah-ha!
He had a topic of conversation for speaking to Ed.

He followed the crowd up the aisle and out to the school lobby. With his goal of “speaking to Ed” as motivation, he crossed the hall and entered the band room. Kids stood everywhere, packing up instruments and shouting about whatever it was middle schoolers shouted about. He didn’t see Rowan, but Mr. A. stood right there, arms full of sheet music, listening patiently as a couple of his students talked to him. The kids seemed so alive, not even trying to be cool.

Ah, there Rowan stood, in a corner by herself, unscrewing her clarinet with a solemn expression on her face. His heart ached. Did she have friends? It seemed like she used to, back in her elementary school days. This past year she’d talked on her phone plenty and had gone to a few birthday parties, but her usual gaggle of girlfriends—what were their names? Gina? Rachel?—seemed to have evaporated.

“Hello there.”

Ed’s voice brought him out of his head. Dex returned his smile. “Hi. Good job with the bands.”

“Thanks. The kids did great tonight. Hard to believe they’ve only been playing together for a few months.”

“Yeah. Amazing.” What was truly amazing was the effect Ed’s kind eyes and lush lips were having on Dex’s body.

“And Rowan was wonderful with her solo. Where is she?” Ed turned to survey the room.

“Um, before she gets over here, I wanted to ask you. I need help picking out a clarinet to replace her other one. I was thinking of getting it for a Christmas present.”

The crinkles around Ed’s eyes when his grin widened gave him an impish air. “That’s nice. I can certainly help you with that.” Two other parents approached him. He added hastily, “E-mail me. Rowan’s got the e-mail address,” before turning to greet them.

Rowan walked up, and Dex held out his arm to her. “Great job on your solo!”

She gave a small smile but evaded Dex’s hug. “I have to put this back in the instrument room.”

“Oh, okay. Meet you in the lobby, then.”

Dex stood for a moment, silent in the middle of the cacophony generated by twenty kids and their parents in a band room. Empty, while so much life was going on around him. Alone, with nothing to do for Christmas.

Then Ed Alcott glanced over at him.

Okay. Maybe not so alone after all.

T
HE
USUALLY
sleepy Eugene Airport bustled with activity as Dex helped Rowan check in and get her boarding pass. But the Sunday before Christmas would tend to do that, he thought.

“Here.” Dex handed Rowan a small wrapped gift. “Merry Christmas.” He’d picked up the charm bracelet on their Christmas shopping expedition to the Holiday Market yesterday while Rowan was at another stall selecting Gaga’s gift. Her new clarinet would have to wait until he could consult with Ed Alcott. He’d also made Rowan buy a few things for her father and his family, even though she’d protested, telling her it was the polite thing to do.

“Oh. I… I didn’t get you anything yet. Sorry.” She stashed the gift in her backpack.

“That’s okay. Have a good time with Gaga.”

“Thanks, Uncle Dex.”

This time she allowed him to hug her before going through security. He waited until she was safely on the other side and had been joined by the airline representative who was to escort her onto the plane. She seemed so young all of a sudden, and Dex’s jaw clenched with the need to protect her. All he could do was wave. She waved back briefly, then was gone.

He walked out the front doors of the little airport and headed to his car with the newly installed passenger window. It was gray and misty, a typical winter day in Oregon, and he was at loose ends. He hadn’t heard from Ed, despite adding his phone number to the e-mail message he’d sent him.

Driving home from the airport, Dex veered onto Beltline and took the Coburg Road exit. Man, the traffic was heavy, even for Eugene. Finally he got to a grocery store parking lot, and, yes, there was the Christmas tree stand run by the Boy Scouts that his family had gone to every year to pick out a tree. Not knowing exactly why he was doing it, he parked and ventured over to inspect the trees.

Why would he get a tree now, when Rowan was gone for two weeks? Those two weeks stretched out in front of him as he considered a Douglas fir. Maybe he should have taken Gwen up on her offer and gone with Rowan to DC. He had enough PTO saved up. Work was slow right now anyway. Even people who needed them didn’t want to spend time on physical therapy sessions during the busy holiday season.

“Need any help, sir?” The bright-eyed Boy Scout made him feel 100 years old. When had Dex gotten to the age where “sir” was appropriate?

“No, thanks. Just looking around.”

“Okay. Let me know when you have one picked out.”

Was he doing this? Picking out a tree? He thought of Mrs. Alcott and her cheerful talk about always getting a tree, even the year her husband died. And about the year she got one but didn’t trim it because she was depressed. Funny, she didn’t seem like the type to get depressed. He walked along the Christmas tree-lined path, breathing in the scent of fresh pine. Was
he
depressed? As if in answer, the rain, which had only been hinting with a soft mist, increased to a more robust downpour.

What the heck, a small tree might be a good thing. He hailed the Boy Scout and pointed to a shorter noble fir with a nice round shape. He helped the kid carry it to the front, where one of the Scout dads cut the lower branches and sawed a slice off the bottom of the trunk. After paying the Scout mom at the till, Dex signed up for them to come haul the tree away after New Year’s Day. The dad and the Boy Scout insisted on carrying the tree to Dex’s car and tying it to the top without Dex’s help, waving away his extra cash.

He stood in the lot, a tree now gracing the top of his car, and realized he had no idea if Jan had a stand or where her ornaments were.
Curse you, Mrs. Alcott
, he thought and laughed. And like magic, his phone buzzed. When he saw the unfamiliar number, he just knew it was Eddie, her wonderful son.

D
EX
PILOTED
his tree-laden car through the Whiteaker, which had become quite the hipster brewpub neighborhood since he was a kid, searching for Ed’s house number. Once Ed had heard about the tree on the phone, he’d insisted on helping Dex, telling him to come over because he had loads of extra ornaments, a stand, everything.

Of course he did. Ed had Mrs. Alcott for a mother.

He pulled up in front of a cozy Craftsman-style house, somehow not surprised to see a Christmas tree twinkling in the front window, a wreath on the door, and the porch railing adorned with colorful lights. He was more surprised to find a lump in his throat as he walked up Ed’s sidewalk.