Christmas Cove, page 2
“Did you send my edits on the Croatia package?” America asked as she walked towards the elevator. “And did we get the approval for that restaurant reviewer? What was her name?”
“Yes, to Croatia. And yes, to Miska, the reviewer.” The phone at Poppy’s desk rang, interrupting her answer. Poppy threw a finger up and rushed over to her workspace, while America waited to see if her meeting with Janowitz was canceled.
Poppy picked up the phone and answered in her usual professional manner. After a short exchange, Poppy covered the receiver with her palm. “It’s your landlady. She says it’s urgent.”
“Take a message,” America instructed.
Poppy nodded and put the landlady on hold. “Everything is under control. Go!”
America steeled herself for whatever was coming from the boss, Janowitz, who waited in his office on the eleventh floor. She combed her brain for any reason he would want to see her. There was nothing she had done to warrant such a meeting. Nothing bad, anyway. It was possible that he wished to see her in person to give her a holiday bonus. Though he had never given bonuses in person any other year, it was a nice thought.
In the mirror reflection inside the lift, she plastered a smooth and confident grin on her face. Then the doors opened to a sparsely decorated vestibule, and she felt her smile deflate. Two black couches flanked a marble coffee table, where a vase held olive branches and pine sprigs. It was as festive as Mr. Janowitz was with his holiday decorations but was better than none at all.
Through the paned glass wall, America waved at her boss, who was speaking on the phone. A stressed red flushed his face. He slammed the phone down as he stood from his seat and paced around the long side of his desk before making his way to the door.
“Come on in, America,” he said and motioned for her to enter.
America trotted over, her high heels tapping against the white terrazzo floor and echoing in her ears. It was difficult to discern whether the noise was from her stilettos or from her own heartbeat pounding in her head. She turned and closed the door, even though there was no one else around to hear them. The lines on her boss’s forehead indicated a serious conversation was coming her way.
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” he said and plonked down into his cognac leather desk chair. “I trust you are having a pleasant holiday season?”
America nodded. “I am,” she said and noticed her boss swivel back and forth in his seat. “But I don’t think you asked me here to discuss Christmas.”
“On the contrary. Christmas is the exact reason I asked you here today.”
“Curious,” America said and relaxed into her own chair across from him. “If there’s one thing that I love to talk about more than anything else at this time of year, it’s the holidays. What’s on your mind?”
“You love Christmas,” he said, “and I have a problem.”
He was beating around the holly bush for an unknown reason. “Whatever your Christmas dilemma, I’m sure I can help. What is it? Gift ideas? Decorating? Because I see your pine arrangement out there, and I think we can do a bit better than that, don’t you?”
Mr. Janowitz leaned over and peered over America’s shoulder into the vestibule. “What’s wrong with my pine twigs?”
“Oh. Nothing. They’re great. Very festive. All I meant was—”
“Relax, America. I didn’t call you up here for any decorating advice.”
“You didn’t?” Tension returned to her neck just as quickly as it had gone a moment earlier.
“I have an assignment for you, and I need it done before the Christmas Eve issue goes live online,” he said and typed something into his keyboard.
“Of course. I can move other projects off by a week or two that aren’t due until after the new year.”
“Great. I need you to pack your bags.”
“Bags? Sir, I don’t understand.”
“The thing is, Meghan is sick, and she was supposed to be on her way to cover this story as we speak. I’ve gone over all my options. All my other writers are either on assignment already this week, or aren’t as good a fit for this type of story as you are.”
“But . . . I’m not a writer. I edit things. I sit at my desk and study data and trends, and curate the reader’s experience. I don’t . . . travel,” America said. “Isn’t there someone else?”
He turned his computer around and pointed to the screen splashed with wintery images. America imagined herself walking the picturesque town lane lined with snow-flocked trees and twinkling lights. On the corner, a Santa rings a bell. Large snowflakes fall around her. She looks up to the sky, sticks out her tongue, and tastes winter’s lace. Magic sparks in her mind and pulls at her heart.
“Listen,” Mr. Janowitz said, and shook her from her daydream. “I know this would be your first article, but I believe you are up to the challenge. I’ve read your reports and edited articles for how many years now?”
“Five.”
“For five years,” he said, as though he had known the correct answer all along. “You’re fantastic—”
“And you have no one else,” she finished. “I’m sorry. But I don’t think I can do it.”
“You’re right. I’m out of options, okay? But the truth is, I need you. I’m begging you. Please take this article,” he said.
“But it’s Christmas,” America’s voice sounded whinier than she meant. “I have plans to enjoy the city here. The Santa Hunt, ice skating, the Christmas market . . .”
“Christmas. Exactly. The assignment is simple. I need you to go and report on a town known for its Christmas traditions. Look at this.” Mr. Janowitz clicked through images on the screen of tree lighting festivals, Christmas markets, children skating on a lake, and a bonfire. “You’ll have all the Christmas you can contend with on this assignment.”
Intrigued, she scanned the computer images. As much as she yearned for an exciting holiday season, there was one small fact that she couldn’t wrap her mind around. “But sir, I’m not a writer.”
He turned his computer back around. “Just think about it like writing up one of your reports. If you write the basic story, I can have one of the other writers review it. It’ll be fun, and you have nothing to lose.”
“I just don’t know whether I’m the right person.”
“I’ll double your pay and cover all your expenses. I’ll even take care of your cat,” he said.
“I don’t have a cat, but I appreciate the sentiment.” America stood and crossed her arms. “I can’t take the assignment. I’m not a writer, and . . .” She would need to think up a better excuse, because the more she said it, the sillier it sounded to her.
“I realize this is last minute. Will you at least consider going? Just let me know by . . . noon? That way, I can get back to the mayor and let him know that I’m not sending anyone out.”
“The mayor requested the feature?” she asked.
“That’s right. He made it sound so good and, correct me if I’m wrong, the magazine hasn’t featured a Christmas town in a long time.”
“No, it’s been years.” America walked four steps to the door and opened the heavy glass panel. The fragrant pine branches in the vase seemed to smile at her, and she said, “I’ll think about it.”
CHAPTER 3
The lift doors opened to the sight of Poppy’s bright smile. “Well? What was all that about?” she asked.
“Let’s walk,” America said and made for her office. She trained her eyes on the polished floor and avoided any unnecessary conversations on her way. “Do I look as stunned as I feel?”
Poppy skipped ahead and halted America. “Let’s see here,” she said. With her hands, she manually straightened America’s shoulders and brushed non-existent dust from her sleeves. “You look completely normal. Should I be worried?”
Satisfied with Poppy’s inspection, America pushed past her. The shock of Mr. Janowitz’s request had by no means worn off, but she was able to walk the remaining steps to her small corner office, where she fell into a plush pink chair and rested her feet on the edge of the desk.
Poppy closed the glass door and sat across from America in a matching seat. “Spill,” she said.
“Janowitz wants me to draft an article. For the current issue. That’s only a few days away.”
Poppy clapped her hands together. “That’s fantastic. You’re a good writer?”
“I mean . . .” America threw her head back. “I’m an editor, yes, but I don’t draft original content. Even if I did, there’s no way I can give him what he wants in such a short timeframe.”
“Well, what’s the assignment, his expectations?”
“He’s in a pickle. Meghan called out at the last minute, and no other writers were available to go to some little Christmas town. He said I can turn in a very rough draft, and he’ll get one of the other staff writers to help shape it.”
“That sounds easy enough for a first assignment. Why are you flustered about it?” Poppy handed her a candy cane across the desk. “Here, the peppermint will help calm you.”
Taking the candy in hand, America unwrapped the cane’s stick end and tapped it on her lower lip. “You know these things don’t have real peppermint in them.”
“Just eat it,” Poppy said and unwrapped a candy cane of her own. “Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you are?”
“Once or twice,” she said. Of course, America had heard the accusation before, but she disagreed with the sentiment. She preferred to see herself as determined rather than stubborn. Stubborn implied an unmoving state of being. Determination—er—persistence was the hallmark characteristic of a successful editor.
“So, why the sad face?” Poppy asked.
“I suppose I wasn’t expecting anything like this when I woke up today. Decorating his office or helping with his gift list would have been a fruitcake-walk compared to what he wants me to do.” She sucked the candy for a moment as she considered the opportunity. “On the other hand, I know I would have never asked for this assignment, and it might be nice to go do some festive activities. Apparently, their traditions are a big deal.”
“What’s it called?” Poppy asked.
Janowitz never did say, but America recalled the name from the images on her boss’s computer screen. “Christmas Cove.”
“No wonder he asked you to do it. You love the holidays.”
“I don’t think I’m going to do it,” America said, though a legitimate reason escaped her as she prepared her inevitable rebuttal to whatever Poppy would say next.
“Why not?” Poppy said and slapped her hand on the desktop. “You love Christmas, and the place is called Christmas Cove, for goodness’ sake!”
“I don’t think I can do it. I don’t create original content for the mag. I edit. I pore over trends and data and tell the writers what we need.”
“This is no different. You craft emails and proposals and do research already. This is just a next step up, an extension of your natural world, if you will.”
“I appreciate the confidence . . . but it’s last minute, and—”
“And you have nothing else to do,” Poppy interrupted. “I can’t make you do it, but the assignment seems like a perfect fit. Not to mention, it won’t be hard to exceed Mr. Janowitz’s low expectations. It’s a fantastic opportunity.”
“He needs to know if I’ll take the job by noon today.”
Poppy looked at the clock, and America realized she hadn’t checked her watch in a while. Looking down, she noted the time.
“Sixty-seven minutes,” they said in unison, and each laughed.
“I suppose I’d better get to thinking,” America said.
“About that,” Poppy said. “I spoke with your landlady.”
“What does she want?”
“This might make your decision easier. Apparently, there was some sort of water main break at your building, and the city won’t have it fixed for at least a week. She said all the residents must evacuate while the problem is being fixed.”
“Seriously?” America’s forehead fell into her palm, and she massaged the spot beside her eye. That’s it. There really was nothing keeping her from going. Her parents were happily in the air on their way to Italy, and now she was going to be out on the street while the city fixed the water problem at her apartment.
Poppy walked towards the door. “I’ll just give you a minute. Let me know how I can help.”
America tapped a finger on the side of her computer. “Some Christmas this is shaping up to be!” she said and typed Christmas Cove into the search bar.
A photo grid appeared on the display. America easily imagined herself amongst the idyllic, snow-covered pines and dancing below twinkling lights. If she had to spend the next week somewhere other than her home, it looked as good a place as any other.
America poked her head out of the door and knocked on the frame. Poppy looked up from her work with a raised brow. “I’m going home to pack,” America said.
“Yes!” Poppy stood and clapped. “I knew you’d be excited to do it.”
“Not exactly,” America said, “but since I have to find somewhere to stay for a week, it might as well be Christmas Cove.”
“Looks like Santa has plans for you this year, after all,” Poppy said.
“Oh, stop!” America turned and reached for her bag. “Can you let the boss know?”
“Already done.”
“What?”
Poppy shrugged. “I figured you would come around, although not in such a dramatic fashion. So, I made the call.” Poppy handed over a paper. “This is your itinerary. The driver will be at your apartment in an hour.”
“You took care of everything. Thank you.” America stopped in her apprehensive quicksand. “You really think I can do this?”
Poppy turned America down the walkway. “I know you can. And if you need anything at all—”
“I know.” America hugged Poppy and kissed both of her cheeks. “I will call you. Thank you for being my biggest cheerleader.”
“Always. Now go.”
The elevator doors opened, and America took the first step from her comfortable life as an editor into the unknowns of becoming a writer. “Merry Christmas,” she said through the narrow gap as the door shut.
CHAPTER 4
America took one last look around the apartment. She gripped the suitcase handle with an uncommon tightness and all but strangled it in her sweaty palm. A list of all the things she didn’t want to forget ran through her head, and she checked each one off.
“Coat? Check. Charger? Check. Computer and notebooks? Yes.” As though the completed checklist wasn’t enough, she gave herself a pep talk. “You got this, America. It’s just a trip in which you get to write notes. No biggie.”
With a nod, she walked from her bedroom through the living area and stopped in front of the Christmas tree. She palmed the hammered metal cross from one of the branches and slipped it into the front pocket of the suitcase for good luck. Taking each of her favorites in hand, she felt the glittery texture of the little farmhouse, and the smooth red velvet of the cardinal wearing a sweater. The gold sheen of the starburst ornament glinted in her eye. Her mother had given it to her last year to remind her to always shine brightly.
That was easier said than done on a day like the one she was having. While operating inside her routine, there was little to fear. But the known was now an unknown. As she turned the lights off and closed the door, she shut out the predictable and invited the unfamiliar to join her adventure.
There was no sign of Ms. Meadows, though America would have liked to say goodbye on her way out. She was no doubt busy putting out metaphorical fires with the city workers and other tenants. Unwelcome news always seems worse during the holidays, and America could sympathize with the landlady. The other tenants weren’t likely to be as kind as America was about the whole thing. So, she taped a Christmas card on Ms. Meadows’s mailbox on her way through the lobby.
Outside, a black SUV waited at the bottom of the stone steps. The driver, recognizing her, opened the door. “Ms. Greene?” he said.
“Yes. Sorry to keep you waiting. I’ll be just a moment.” America rolled her large gold suitcase to him and handed him a tote bag.
While the driver loaded her luggage, America hurried down the street to the corner, where she spotted her little friend. Jessica, the squirrel, with her curled tail and chubby cheeks, sat atop a lower branch. America took out a handful of nuts and a couple of biscuits and placed them on the bench. Jessica looked on and hesitated before spiraling down the tree towards the loot.
“Merry Christmas,” America said and returned to the SUV.
“All ready?” the driver said with a friendly grin.
“As I’ll ever be,” she said and took his hand as she climbed inside the vehicle. “Thank you.”
The driver closed the door and walked around to the driver’s seat. “It’ll be a couple of hours, but we should arrive by five. There’s no weather to account for at this time. If you need anything, you can press the green button on the console in front of you. Otherwise, I’ll see you when we get to your destination. Sit back and relax.”
The man didn’t even take a breath, as though he were a recording. “What’s your name? I’m told not to take rides from strangers,” she joked.
“Brampson, ma’am.”
“Thank you Brampson. Will you let me know when we are getting close? I’d like to take notes on my first impressions.”
“Of course,” he said, and the privacy partition rose between them.
America sat back and dropped her head to the headrest. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said aloud, and the car lurched forward. Her trusty watch buzzed the hour on her wrist, and she wondered how her parents’ flight was going, and how surprised they were going to be when she told them what she was up to. In her estimation, they were somewhere near the Azores on the way to their layover in Paris.
