Snow Angels (21 page)

As the holiday season moved into full swing things got crazy.

The jangling phone and flow of customers kept us in a constant state of flux. We’d take orders for finished trees that customers selected from our Web site. They would call in, order the tree and give us their address so we could deliver and install the evergreen. It never occurred to me that people would pay a thousand dollars or more for a tree. Randy always cut our tree from the woods behind our house. He’d lop off a few limbs to make it balance and we’d spend the day unwrapping our ornaments from wads of newspaper. We used the same decorations each year and there was comfort in that. In my life, a Christmas tree had never been anything but free.

But people with money apparently don’t like to do things that take up their valuable time. We frequently worked with property management companies to get inside second homes and vacation rentals to install trees and decorate these houses and condos before the wealthy arrived with their families. It was a treat to see how different places could be. There were those that screamed decorator. These houses were devoid of personal touches and seemed simply to be a showplace, like a display from the floor of any furniture shop. Other places were filled with original art, family photographs, and unusual items collected from travels. These were the houses I liked the best.

I thought working at Season’s Greetings was just going to be selling ornaments and garland. How wrong I was.

“Michelle,” CeCe said. “We have a truck delivering to Biltmore. I need you to meet that delivery on the grounds, reconcile the inventory manifest, and oversee the installation.”

“For Christmas at Biltmore?” I was stunned.

“Right. There’s a loading dock on the lower level around back where they bring in all the supplies. Ask at the gate and they’ll direct you to the service road. Once you check the inventory you’ll need to find Miriam from the curatorial department. She’s in charge of the trees at Biltmore this year.”

“How many trees are we doing for them?”

“They have more than a hundred trees in all, but we’re just responsible for three. Here’s the instructions and photos. The theme this year has something to do with all the countries the Vanderbilts visited. No fake trees, only live trees that they should already have up. You just have to follow the directions and get them decorated.” She removed color images from one of her files and handed them to me. “It’s pretty straightforward. Just jump through any hoop they give you. They’re our best customer. Anything Biltmore wants, Biltmore gets.”

The papers shook in my hand. My feelings must have been apparent because CeCe said, “Go on. You’ll do great. They have a crew of people to help with the installation. They’re all professionals and they take instruction well. Don’t worry, honey. You’ll do fine. Here’s Miriam’s cell number.”

I programmed the mobile number into my phone with trembling fingers.

A few hours later I got a call that the delivery truck was on its way, so I drove across the road to the main gate at Biltmore House.

“I’m with Season’s Greetings. Here to decorate,” I told the fellow in the gatehouse.

He checked his chart and smiled. “You know where the loading dock is?”

Sunlight filtered through the woodlands, making lacy patterns on the country lane that led to the main house. The drive up to the estate is three miles through forests of azaleas, oaks, and evergreen. Glimpses of rills and ponds came in and out of view along the way. Natives all knew that original Biltmore property formed the nucleus of the Pisgah National Forest.

Thoughts of the national forest made me think about Randy and where he was hiding out in the woods and I was instantly unhappy.

Damn you, Randy
, I thought as I drove. How could he stay away so long? Something in me had thought he would have come back by now. But it was slowly becoming apparent that he might not return. I’d been telling myself each morning that sometimes you just have to let go.

Like leaving the mulch factory for my new job. Letting go of that security had been hard, but instead of dealing with lumberjacks and loads of crunched-up bark, I was heading to Biltmore to decorate for Christmas. Quite a change. Quite an improvement.

Around a curve, Biltmore came into view poised at the end of a manicured nineteenth-century lawn with reflecting pools and drippy angels. I followed a service entrance road through colorful landscaping around to the back of the house. At the loading dock I was met by Miriam, a petite, blond cheerleader sort of gal. She struck me as one of those overachiever sorority girls who lived for the next party or event. I was greeted while she scrolled her handheld for the proper information.

“Your first tree is Books of the World. Library. Know where that is?”

“Are you serious? I get to put a tree in the library?”

“Somebody’s gotta do it.”

It was apparent that some of the Biltmore glitter had fluttered under her feet in the past few days.

“Sure. I love the library. It’s my favorite room in the house.”

“Well.” She smiled. “Today’s your lucky day. I’m too busy to hover. Just do your thing and don’t pull out any books or the curator’ll have a fit. He uses white curatorial gloves for every volume. Call me if you need me.” She was off.

I called the delivery truck and found that it was still an hour out, so I decided to take a look around. I went up and through the building, my instinctual memory of the house’s floor plan still useful. It was early and guests were just arriving. No holiday crowds to fight yet, only a few hundred people scattered around and most of those appeared to be decorating or cleaning.

I made my way from downstairs up to the grand entranceway. On my left the marble staircase spiraled out of sight. To my right, the Winter Garden was bathed in strips of light that fell through the vaulted glass ceiling. Where usually the incoming sun bathed palms and ficus, this day giant Christmas trees rose in spectacular sparkling gold.

Past the Winter Garden and left was the Tapestry Gallery, a long hall filled with masculine furniture, walls covered in tapestries, and a large fireplace that was repeated in some form in every room in the house. I thought of the wonderful parties that had happened here. The cocktails and designer dresses and games out on the lawn. To my right I looked through arched doorways to the loggia and past to distant hills where bright patches of orange and red still hung on against a backdrop of skeletal gray. Verdant evergreen still punctuated spots.

At the end of the Tapestry Gallery opened double doors to George Vanderbilt’s library where thousands of volumes filled two floors of mahogany bookcases scaled by the use of sliding library ladders on both levels. At the far end of the library, in an area roped off by stanchions, was a massive bare blue spruce. It was going to be an enormous job. Just getting the lights around the thing would be a chore, then there was the garland and the ornaments. I hesitated, then stepped over the rope.

“Wow,” I whispered to myself.

I was startled to hear the rustle of branches. A man backed out from behind the tree. “Yeah, it’s a big one all right.” I knew before I raised my eyes. My heart expanded.

“Oh,” Baxter said. His hazel eyes snapped when he recognized me.

I stood there, my words also lost.

“Hello again,” he said. “Are you here to decorate?”

I forced myself to find my voice. “This is apparently one of my trees.”

“Well, yes.” He leaned back in order to illustrate how high the tree reached. “I hope you have help.”

I laughed. “I’m supposed to have a crew.”

“Well, then…”

“Still, I’ve never done an enormous tree like this before. I imagine the ornaments will be super-sized to have any impact on it. I have no idea where to start. I mean I guess I start at the top and work my way down. The decorations are books. I mean the chart says the theme of this tree is books about traveling. That sounds interesting, don’t you think?” I suddenly realized I was rambling and stopped. “So, what are you doing here?”

“I made some new tree stands. A few years back they asked if I could develop a stand for these extra large trees. I just delivered a few more this morning.”

“So you’re a welder too. That would make sense.”

“If it’s metal I can shape it.”

We both stood there nodding our heads in agreement.

“So, um, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to keep you from your job,” he said.

“No. I’m actually waiting for the delivery truck with my ornaments.”

He scratched the back of his neck in a way that indicated he was thinking. “Okay, then, I’ve got to go. Got another job.”

I panicked. The last time I had walked away. This time he was doing the walking. In my head I had a dozen witty things to say to make him stay, but I couldn’t force one of them from my mouth. “Okay, sure. I’ll see you later,” I mumbled. I turned to study the enormous tree. Baxter’s steps were so soft on the marble that there was no indication of when he left the room.

Suddenly I heard him draw breath and I twisted around to see that he was standing in the doorway. He blurted out, “Are you married?”

I bit my lip.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to be so blunt, but well…anyway, are you? Married? I mean, I saw the ring the first day, but now you don’t have it on and well…?”

It was my turn to stammer. “Well, um, technically yes, I am married.”

“Technically in what way?”

“Technically I haven’t seen him since August when he told me he wanted a divorce.”

“Oh, man. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“Oh, no really. I’m practically over it.” That didn’t sound right. “I mean I’ve accepted it and I don’t really dwell on it. I’m moving on.”

“I see.”

“So I would be…you know…open to invitations…”

“Well, good.” He ran fingers through his thick hair and his curls popped back into place like memory wire. “Okay. So I installed a wall sculpture for a new seafood restaurant in town and they’re having a soft opening on Friday night. Any chance you would go with me?”

“A soft opening?”

“Yeah, like a party for family and friends to make sure everything runs right before they open it up to the public.”

“So a private party at a new restaurant?”

“Yeah, that’s right. It’s called Ridgeview.”

“That sounds like fun. I’d love to.”

“Awesome. It’s business casual. Nothing extreme.”

“Okay.”

“Where can I pick you up?”

“I have to work on Friday. Why don’t you just meet me at Season’s Greetings?”

“Seven?”

“Seven.”

He smiled and my heart fluttered. His slight steps blended into the echoes that came from the Tapestry Gallery. People were approaching and a tour guide led an awestruck group into the library. Their eyes widened at all the books, the massive carved desk with reading lights, the masculine furniture, and gaping fireplace.

My mobile rang and the guide gave me the evil eye. I noted the number as my delivery truck and mouthed, “Sorry,” to her on my way out. I had to force myself to walk calmly downstairs in case I should happen to run into Baxter Brown again.

The Biltmore installation took the entire week and I never worked so hard. There was hefting and decorating and decision-making and disaster management. My adrenaline never left me and by the time Friday rolled around, I was ready for a little fun.

I took my mother to spend the night with her old neighbor, Mrs. Smith, who welcomed her with open arms and a warm pot of tea. I’d spent the day agonizing over what exactly business casual meant and finally just decided to wear a black jersey dress I had left over from a wedding. It was your basic little black tea-length wraparound. I added the new scarf I’d bought my mother and my dangling pearl earrings.

My hair had lost its lemon juice streaks. I’d picked up a package of hair color six months ago and never used it. This day I washed away my few stray grays. All my hair came out a soft, wavy brown that I twisted up in a smooth way I envisioned as classy. As I watched myself put on makeup I thought about what I was getting ready to do. I was, in essence, cheating on my husband. And I was doing it in a public way. Not that anybody Randy hung around with would be at this fancy restaurant party, but still, it was possible that this wasn’t the smartest thing I’d ever chosen to do. I certainly hadn’t told my mother I was going on a date.

One reason I hadn’t shared that little bit of information is that I truly didn’t know a thing about Baxter Brown. He seemed like the most normal person in the world, but something told me that he was very special in some way. The air just seemed more clear when he was around.

CeCe had agreed to move my work schedule around so I could take Friday off. I arrived there an hour before he was to pick me up, so he would think that I had been working all day. Baxter made the jingle bells dance at exactly seven. He wore a jacket with elbow patches that would have looked silly on anyone but a professor, and him. His lanky frame made the tweedy jacket work. We drove downtown in his green Prius. That changed my perception of him some.

The night was cool and as we walked up a hill to the front door of Ridgeview restaurant, he put his arm around me and pulled me into him. It was an odd sensation, another man’s strong touch, his warmth against me. Inside we shed ourselves at the coat check. Baxter bumped knuckles with a number of men at the restaurant’s door, introducing me to everyone, all of whom I immediately forgot.

“Our table’s in the back.” He pulled me through the crowd behind him. There was a relaxed, loose quality to his body language as he maneuvered the throng. He nodded a lot. People spoke to him, raised their glasses. He introduced me to everyone. It suddenly all started making sense. He was a local artist and many of the people were interested in his work. He’d told me he had three pieces in the restaurant.

We arrived at a round red booth in the corner. On the white tablecloth sat a small table tent sign that read RESERVED. Behind the bank seats hung a massive sculpture of a large fish with scales so defined and individually hammered that they glistened. The detail was intense.

“You did that?”

“You like it?” His smile contained assurance. He was pleased with his work.

“My God. That’s fabulous.”

“Thank you.”

“Really. It’s so pretty. I mean, I don’t know the right words to describe art, but really it is just so pretty. I love it.”

He motioned for me to slide onto the banquette.

“This is our table?”

“Yeah. What do you like to drink?”

Beer seemed inappropriate so I ordered a cosmo. I’d had a couple of those before and they were like drinking candy. The waiter had no more than left our table when Gray arrived. He slid into the booth beside Baxter.

“People are loving your work. I think I’ve made two sales already. You’re going to have to get that blowtorch and hammer going this weekend,” Gray said. To me he said, “Glad you could join us, Michelle.”

I looked up to see the young curator from Biltmore walking toward our table. “Hey, Gray. Hey, Baxter,” she said. “Scoot over.”

The guys went to move in my direction and she said, “No. I mean Michelle. You scoot. Can I sit by you?”

I slid farther into the booth next to Baxter.

“So,” Miriam said. “You two know each other?”

Baxter nodded. “Michelle, I take it you met my little sister today.” He motioned toward her.

I smiled. Sister. How unlike him she appeared.

“She was all excited about getting to work in the library today,” Miriam said to her compact mirror as she checked her lipstick. “What are you, a bibliophile?” She smiled, sparkly and white, lips scarlet.

“English major.”

“Art history,” she said. “Another hopeless romantic.”

Baxter laughed at that. “Anybody who thinks they can make a living from any kind of art is a hopeless romantic if you ask me.”

“Oh pooh,” she said. “Michelle, your trees are perfect. You did a terrific job.”

“That’s a compliment coming from Miss Perfection herself,” Baxter said with a little edge. Their eyes met and I could see they were friends.

The party grew in intensity. I’d never been to such a loud event that didn’t involve a keg and a field. Just when the party was beginning to wear thin for me, Baxter leaned over and said, “I’ve had enough. How about you? Ready to go?”

“You read my mind.”

He wasted no time in making his exit.

“Oh, no. Where are you going so early?” Miriam asked as she sloshed a green drink out of a martini glass.

He shrugged. “Love you. See you later.”

They pecked each others’ cheeks. We left, Baxter shaking hands and patting backs along the way. It had turned cold and once again he encircled me with one arm as we walked. Inside the car he cranked up the heat.

“You know a lot of people,” I said.

“You think? It’s a small town. Everybody knows everybody.”

“I was surprised that Miriam’s your sister.”

“There’s a bunch of us Browns. Hang around Asheville long enough and you’ll meet everybody eventually. Our parents moved us here in high school. What about you?”

“Born and raised in Black Knob.”

Back at the store’s parking lot he walked me to my car.

“It was amazing,” I said. “I haven’t had that much fun in a long time.”

“You’re a cheap date.”

“I try.”

His expression turned thoughtful.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry you wouldn’t let me drive you home.”

“Next time.”

“Okay. Next time.”

I let him hang for a moment. “It was a strange first date. Finding out that you’re some local artist rock star.”

“Look. You don’t know me well yet.”

Yet
.

“That thing tonight. That’s not me. I’m a very private person. I live in my studio out in the woods and I work all the time and I listen to classic rock really loud and do guy things.”

“Have you ever been married?” Cosmos ruin decorum.

“Uh. Yeah. Almost.” He grimaced. “Almost, but no. I still regret missing out on that, but things happen. You know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He put his hand on my car door as though to open it and then he stood there, close. A moment for me to consider him. I held my breath as he slowly spread his fingers up the back of my neck, into my hair. He pulled me into him and my mind went somewhere else as he pressed his lips to mine.

Heat spread from my heart down my arms to my fingertips. I could think of nothing but his warm, soft lips. I realized my dream state only when he pulled away.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he whispered.

“Okay,” I said weakly.

My wet lips tingled with cold.

He opened my door. “Better get in before you freeze.”

I did as I was told, but I wasn’t in danger of freezing.

I was burning with desire.