The Christmas Grinch Read online

  “You couldn’t wait until after the holiday season to do all of this?” I huffed, taking the chair across from his as I snatched up the pen he offered over.

  His dark eyes met mine as I took it, and I knew what the look meant. It was full of accusations of selfishness, and the dark circles under his eyes only made it worse. There was no one big glaring illness that was putting my father into retirement earlier than he expected. It was more of a culmination of a hundred little things, all with exhaustion and being overworked as the main culprit.

  “Sorry,” I grumbled, staring down the line that waited for my name.

  I knew the day was coming, so I don’t know why it bothered me as to when it happened. It was inevitable. December was just as good a time as any, no matter how complicated it was. More than complicated. It was the worst possible time for that kind of transfer of power, but my father wanted to go into the new year as a retiree. He didn’t just want to. His doctor and my mother insisted on it.

  “I know I’m leaving everything in good and capable hands,” he assured me. “You’ve been preparing for this your whole life.”

  It’s true. It was the role I was born to fill. From the moment the doctors told my parents they were having a son, my father was intent on passing the family’s chain of department stores down to me just as they had been passed down to him from his father.

  But I wasn’t being handed the same golden egg my father had been given. We both knew things were floundering, and it was now my job to save them.

  I sighed and scribbled my name on one page, and then another, until the stack was complete. “That’s it then?”

  He sighed too, but with more relief. “That’s it.” He waved to his assistant waiting outside the door and handed the papers over. It felt like I had just signed my whole life away to a sinking ship.

  We both turned to face the view of the workers down below, using dollies to transport giant stuffed giraffes and elephants along with trees and arrangements of fake food and flowers towards the windows. An old french woman, that year’s head designer, barked orders and snapped her fingers as she meticulously arranged every last detail of the display, set to be unveiled tomorrow evening.

  My father patted my shoulder with a look of pity. “I don’t need to tell you that with internet shopping on the rise, certain aspects of the day to day functions of the job you’ve been prepared for are changing. It used to be all about the store. But now it’s all about our website.”

  All I could hear was that it was all about that office, that desk, and that computer. I envisioned a life of being trapped in a box, communicating with people through emails and ruining my eyes and my body from being stagnant in front of the computer screen for days, weeks, months on end.

  The daily morning walks through the store that I had accompanied my father on so often since I was a boy were now becoming the thing of the past. Making sure every last detail of the shops were perfected was now considered inconsequential in comparison to the online presence of our business.

  “This annual display is no exception,” he continued. “I think you should make the announcement tomorrow evening at the unveiling. Better to rip it off fast like a bandaid.”

  “Absolutely not,” I argued. “They’ll blame me for everything. I can see it now. Oh hi, everyone. Thank you for coming to this ridiculous event you all look forward to all year. Now that you’re here, I’d just like to let you know that I am the new face of the company and my first order of business is to inform you this will be the final year for your beloved Christmas display. Enjoy it while you can.” I shook my head and stood to pace the room. “Not exactly the best first impression.”

  “I’m not the boss anymore, so it’s your call. Wait until next year if you want. But sooner or later, we will have to announce it.”

  “Maybe if we had stopped doing it years ago, our financial state wouldn’t be in such shambles,” I suggested.

  I stared disapprovingly at the expensive decorations and custom designed decor being shuffled back and forth. The annual display was a huge monetary drain, but for decades it had been worth it. What it brought in terms of customers and sales more than made up for the extra expense. But that had stopped being true some time ago, and yet my father insisted on keeping up the tradition.

  “This display was one of my father’s favorite accomplishments,” he noted. “He wanted to give something back to his customers. A big show that captured the essence of Christmas. It was his masterpiece, and when he signed this company over to me...just like I’ve done with you today, he made me promise to keep it up. I guess I can say I kept that promise, I guess.”

  I wondered if our advisors’ insistence that we cut the expense of the annual display was part of what inspired my father’s early retirement. If it wasn’t entirely to blame, it certainly hadn’t helped. His already waning health couldn’t handle that kind of blow.

  For as resentful as I was for being handed a failing chain of stores, I felt sorry for my father. The business wasn’t what it once was, and neither was this monumental moment of placing it into my hands. I looked at the framed black and white photo of him and my grandfather smiling and shaking hands on the day everything was handed down to him. It was a happy occasion, a celebration. The fact that no one called in a photographer this time around said a lot about what I was inheriting. Something that was far from what it used to be.

  “I’ll find some way to turn things around,” I assured him, even though I knew that would take the kind of work I had no interest in. Forgoing tradition and staples of what my grandfather had built just to appeal to the masses. There wouldn’t be social events and big press conferences and daily walk-throughs. Those were all the things of the past. Now it was just me, the desk, and the computer.

  “I know you will,” he smiled tightly and returned to his desk to pack up his briefcase. “My father gave me the spiel about redecorating the office to my tastes, but of course...that’s just another thing we can’t afford right now.”

  “I like it the way it is anyway,” I offered, trailing my hand along the big mahogany desk that had belonged to my grandfather. The dark wood paneled walls were decorated with ornate antique gold frames, boasting pictures of all the biggest moments in the history of Palmer Department Stores. “You didn’t change much in here when you took over. Some things should stay the same. If everything about the store and our business is going to change, at least this office can remain unchanged.”

  “No time for being sentimental,” he argued. “The more you see this as a business...as a way for making money, the better off you’ll be.”

  I swallowed hard and could see how much the words pained him to say. I knew his inability to do that very thing was just another reason he had to get out now. He held it all too closely. It was all so dear to him and keeping him from making the hard decisions he needed to, to keep everything afloat. That’s where I came in.

  “You’ve always been a stern and serious man. Ever since you were a child,” he said with a nostalgic, affectionate laugh. “I know you’ll do what it takes to save this place, even when it’s hard. Which brings me to our next order of business. You’ll be taking over my spot in an interview with this NonPareil blog tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Non-what?”

  “It’s some website about holidays and decorating. Recipes and what not. I don’t know. I haven’t looked much into it, but it’s especially popular this time of year and we need the publicity. Your interview will be featured just in time for last minute Christmas shopping.”

  “Great,” I groaned, raking my hands down my face. “It’s not bad enough that we’re having to force everything online. We have to cater to online blogs too. What ever happened to good old fashioned magazines and newspapers?” I noted the agitated look on my father’s face, realizing this kind of attitude wasn’t helping. “What’s the interview about anyway?”

  “The big display,” he replied. “It’s our first ever behind the scenes look at what
we do with it. My father never would have allowed such a thing, but...I guess now that it’s all over and this is the last year we’re doing it anyway, we can bend the rules. It certainly can’t make things any worse.”

  “It might be the best time to announce the end of it,” I proposed. “It wouldn’t be as bad as doing it at the unveiling anyway.”

  “If that’s what you think is best, I trust your judgment. Now, if you’ll excuse me...I’m meeting your mother for dinner.” He grabbed his briefcase and walked towards the door, pausing for a moment. “My first evening in retirement.”

  I couldn’t tell if he saw it as a good or bad thing as he shook his head and walked off. Maybe it was bitter sweet. Either way, he left me alone to dread the upcoming interview. That kind of thing used to be essential to our job, and I used to love watching my granddad or dad give interviews. I loved the way their eyes lit up as they talked about the stores.

  But all of that meant nothing if we couldn’t stay open, which was now entirely up to me to make happen. It was hard to want to cater to a public that seemed to be betraying us with how they were choosing to spend their money now. There was no loyalty, no sense of devotion to the family owned business that had been serving them for generations. Now it was all about finding the cheapest thing with the click of a mouse from the comfort of their homes.

  If I was going to save our family’s business, I’d have to put my resentments aside and start making the hard choices. If they wanted a better website and cheaper merchandise, I’d have to focus on giving that to them. Which only made the stupid interview with the blog seem like an even bigger, pointless waste of my time.

  3

  Hazel

  It was surreal to walk up to the boarded windows of Palmers, knowing that I had special access to step behind that barrier and see the secret world behind it. I stopped to relish in the moment. To think of all the years when I would stand in that very spot as a little girl, wondering what kind of magic was being pieced together on the other side.

  I sucked in a deep breath and reached my red gloved hand out for the handle...only to find it was locked. Oh, okay. No big deal. I just need to call…

  I pulled out my cell phone and started scrolling aimlessly through my contacts, suddenly remembering I never got a number for anyone to contact when I arrived. Shoot.

  My worries were momentarily wiped away when the big doors swung open and a slew of burly workers came flooding out.

  “Um...excuse me...Excuse me! Sir!” I called out to each one, but they were in too much of a rushed huff to hear me.

  Finally, the last guy out of the building stopped long enough to lock the door behind him. I managed to corner him, sparking a slightly alarmed look on his face.

  “Excuse me. Sir. My name is Hazel Malone, and I’m here to meet with Jack Palmer for an interview. I’m with NonPareil. He should be expecting me.”

  “I don’t know nothin’ about that, lady. But I can tell you Jack ain’t here.”

  “Oh,” I frowned. “But...what do you mean he’s not here? I can call my assistant, but I’m certain I was told…”

  The door swung open again, this time nearly knocking both me and the sequestered worker over. A thin older woman in thick framed black glasses came buzzing out, nearly breezing right past us.

  “Eileen! Will you deal with this?” the worker barked, pointing his thumb at me.

  “Who are you?” she asked, eyeing me up and down with a disapproving glare.

  “Hazel Malone, from NonPareil,” I tried again. “I’m here to meet with Jack Palmer.”

  “Jack’s not here,” she shot back.

  “I know. That’s what I’ve been told,” I sighed. “The thing is...I was supposed to interview him. Do you know when he might be back? Did my assistant not confirm…”

  “Follow me,” she huffed, cutting me off as she quickly waved me through the doors.

  The moment I walked in behind her, I was sucked into the display tucked away on the other side. I couldn’t help but stop and spin in circles at the sight of the elaborate window dressings, but also the slew of giant stuffed animals and sculptures that had been suspended from the massive vaulted ceiling that spiraled all the way up to the top of the building.

  “Wow,” I murmured breathlessly.

  I came to my senses just long enough to realize the snippy woman with big glasses had taken off towards a side staircase. My heels clacked and echoed through the whole building as I went running after her. She met me with stone cold silence as we went up a small flight of stairs, through several locked “Employees Only” doors, then finally to an elevator that went shooting straight up and up.

  My head was spinning even more by the time she showed me into the old fashioned looking office where a man in a suit sat with his back turned to us.

  “Mr. Palmer? Ms. Malone here for you...for the interview,” the grumpy woman announced.

  “I thought you said Jack wasn’t…,” my words were cut off like a train running out of tracks when the man spun his chair around.

  This guy was disarmingly good looking...enough to make my mouth drop. His thick wavy dark hair was slicked back into a perfect, debonair swoop. From there I noticed the sharp cut of his jaw, leading straight to the most delicious pair of plump, pink kissable lips. But they were pursed into something less than friendly...and his eyes were no more welcoming as they burned into me.

  “Have a seat,” he sighed, already looking incredibly disinterested in my presence.

  The woman ushered me in, practically shoving me, and was quick to slam the door shut behind me. The moment it slammed, it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Every nerve in my body tingled with a heightened awareness of being alone with this impossibly hot mystery guy, who I knew from photos was definitely not Jack Palmer.

  I nervously made my way over to the seat across from his desk and tried to regain my composure. “There seems to have been some kind of misunderstanding. I was supposed to meet with Jack Palmer today. Everyone has told me he isn’t here.”

  “You’ll be one of the first ones to hear it. He’s retiring. I’m his son, Chris Palmer. The interview will be with me.” He flicked open a button on his suit jacket and cleared his throat. He definitely wasn’t as thrown as I was, but it was immediately clear he wasn’t thrilled about any of this.

  “Oh, okay. Well, Chris...Nice to meet you,” I mustered a smile, which he did not return.

  I sat my bag down on the floor to fish out a pen and paper. It afforded me a few seconds to try and wrap my head around the whirlwind of developments.

  “So, you’re taking over?” I started. “That’s an awfully big transition for such an important time of year. Have you been overseeing the annual Christmas display?”

  “I am now...it seems.”

  “Ah,” I nodded, thinking if he responded to everything so curtly, this interview was going to be like pulling teeth. “Well...I think I speak for many of NonPareil’s readers when I say that the Palmers window displays are a staple in any family’s holiday traditions in this city, and even beyond. Many families in surrounding areas make the trip in to see the grand reveal. How does it feel to be behind something so intrinsic to the holiday?”

  He simply shrugged and replied, “I think you give it too much credit. We put on a big show, people come to see it. There’s really nothing more to it than that.”

  “Nothing...more...to it,” I repeated slowly, trying to wrap my brain around his indifference. “I can’t say I agree.”

  “Should we do a quick walk through of the display?” he barked suddenly, staring down the watch on his wrist. “I have a busy afternoon ahead and need to wrap this up. Surely you can understand the crunch for time.”

  “Oh...absolutely,” I stammered, but he was already halfway out the door.

  I struggled to keep up with him as he led me back down into the lobby in the same rushed fashion the woman had led me up just moments ago. It didn’t get any better once we were in fro
nt of the display. I wanted to stop and take it in, but he kept sprinting along with his big long legs while I scurried behind, attempting to scribble down the details of everything he spouted off.

  He waved his hand and fired off bits of information about where different props had come from, how much they cost, and their origins.

  “What was the inspiration for this year’s theme?” I managed to ask the first second I could get a word in.

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you there,” he replied. “My father oversaw the plans with our team of designers.”

  “Uh-huh...And is there any way I might still be able to meet with your father?” I resisted the urge to blurt out what I really wanted to ask...Is there any way I can talk to someone who seems to actually care about this stuff?

  “Like I said, he’s retired.” He finally stopped, but the way he crossed his arms and stared me down...I thought I preferred it when he was power walking several feet in front of me.

  “And...Chris? What are your personal thoughts and feelings about the display?”

  His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean...I know what the display means to me, growing up and watching it evolve through the years…,” I blew out a nervous laugh. “Every Christmas season, it surprises us and is even better than the last one. It meant all of that to me, watching from the outside. I can only imagine what it must mean to you...having seen it from the other side...being built from the ground up…year after year.”

  He paused for a moment and looked up at the sculpted animals, wrapped in elegant lights, towering above us. “I can’t recall too many sentimental memories around the display...and even if I could, it’d be pointless to dwell on them. It’s a thing of the past. Or at least it will be. This is the final year of the display.”

  My mouth dropped. “What? Did you just say…”

  “If there’s nothing else, I really must be…”

  “Wait!” I shrieked. I had officially lost my cool. “Did you just say...this is the last year of the display!? As in what I am seeing right now...is the last ever big grand Christmas window dressing for Palmers!? The cornerstone of what you’re famous for!?”