Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Betty
Narrator: Max doesn’t know just how deep his words cut.
But Betty does.
Instead of going to her cottage, she drives into town to Dwight’s real estate office, where she parks her car, wipes her tears, and gathers herself.
She thought she could handle this. With Joyful Ring Farm could be the new direction she needs, but it is also a stark reminder of the darkest moments in her life.
Max was right—she has no idea how to sell an experience. He hit the nail on the head. And Betty, despite her prior excellent Christmassy ideas, might be looking for her white flag of surrender sooner than she wanted.
Composed, I open the door to Uncle Dwight’s real estate office and wave hi to his receptionist, Harry.
“Is Uncle Dwight in his office?”
“He is,” Harry says. “I think you can go back there.”
“Thanks.” I nod.
Uncle Dwight’s office is festive on the outside.
The windows are lined with artificial pine garland and lights, and the paper advertising the different properties for sale in town is printed out and taped, but it’s cleverly lined with miniature garland to keep it Christmassy as well.
Did Uncle Dwight think to do that, or is it a requirement?
Either way, it is a nice touch.
And inside the building, there’s a Christmas tree in the corner, some green and gold fabric bunting hung around the perimeter of the room, and Christmas knickknacks displayed on every surface.
And it’s like this year-round.
I head down the hallway to Uncle Dwight’s office, and when I see he’s on the phone, I hold my hand up in apology, but he waves me into his office and tells me to take a seat.
So I sit as he finishes up his call.
“Yes, 671 Lincoln Avenue just went under contract. Mr. Kevin, that’s right. He wants a thorough inspection done. Yup. Okay, thank you.” Uncle Dwight hangs up the phone and then leans back in his chair. “Wasn’t expecting to see you today. Everything okay?”
Here goes nothing.
“Um, I, uh, I wanted to talk to you.”
He leans forward, placing his forearms on the desk, looking determined. “You can’t quit on me.”
How did he know?
I let out a breath as tears start to well in my eyes. “I don’t think I can do it. He was right. I’m going to fail.”
He straightens up. “Who was right?”
“Maxheimer,” I say. “And he didn’t directly or intentionally try to hurt me, but he said something that really hit me hard and—”
“Hold on. First of all, why is he even talking to you?”
“I went to the farm to check out one more thing. I wanted to make sure they weren’t using multiple suppliers for trees, because I had one that I really liked and then second-guessed myself.
Well, I ran into him there. He’s clearly on edge now with me being around.
And we got into it a little. He was telling me that the difference between a successful business and one that crashes and burns in the first year is selling the experience, something I didn’t know.
And he’s right. I have no idea what I’m doing.
I’m the girl who crashes and burns in the first year. ”
He slowly bobs his head and then leans back in his chair. “You are not that girl. You are smart, Betty. You know how to put together a successful business plan, and yes, maybe you weren’t able to see it through, but we talked about the reasoning behind it.”
“I wasn’t able to sell the experience, Dwight,” I say, skipping the Uncle part this time, because at this point, it just feels silly.
“Which is something to be aware of, something to know now rather than later on down the road. But I don’t think it’s about the experience. I think you just need to immerse yourself more.”
I shake my head. “I’m not going back to that farm. I don’t want to see him again.”
“You don’t have to go back there. You have plenty of resources outside the farm.”
“Like where?” I ask.
He spreads his arms wide. “This entire town. Each business has found a unique way to sell the Christmas season to each customer. I think you take the next week, and study each business and see how they do it. Take in every moment, every decoration, every interaction. Study the proprietors; watch and see what might work for you and what might not work, then apply that to the plans you’ve already drawn up. ”
“I don’t know. I feel like I’ll fail you.”
“With that attitude, you could. And you have to stop thinking about this being a me thing. This is a you thing. I’m not investing in a farm; I’m investing in you.
So have some pride in the fact that I trust you with this project.
And honestly, you’re the only one that I trust. I’ve built a small empire here, Betty.
I’ve invested in real estate around town, I’m a landlord of several apartments and houses throughout this area, and I want to expand now.
I want to invest in something that really is for the betterment of the town.
I want to endorse Kringle’s Christmas spirit, and I know you’re the one to help do that. ”
I let out a large sigh and stare down at my hands, not sure I believe him.
“At least just take a week,” he says. “Give me seven days of research, and see if watching the other proprietors around town sell the experience invigorates you to do the same. Can you at least give me that?”
Ugh, I hate to admit it, but it’s the least I could do for him after everything he’s done for me. And even though I’m feeling at my lowest right now, he’s right. I should at least observe and see how everyone else is doing it.
Because if there’s something I learned from my first business venture, it’s that I didn’t do comprehensive research on why other Christmas stores thrived in certain areas.
I was just so determined for my store to succeed.
And here, in this town, I will be able to analyze so many different ways to “sell” Christmas.
I owe it to myself and Uncle Dwight to do that.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll take a week to research.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
He smiles. “Good, and take the time to really immerse yourself, okay?”
I nod. “Okay.”
Looking genuinely relieved, he says, “Thank you.”
I lightly smile. “No, thank you for believing in me.”
“You know I always will.” He nods toward the door. “Now get out of here. I have work I have to do.”
I chuckle and stand from my chair.
“Also, if you ever call me just Dwight again, I might very well have a heart attack.”
I let out a heftier laugh. “Sorry. That mistake won’t be made again.”
“Good.”
Max
“Could you help us with our tree?” a woman in a snowsuit asks. Only her eyes are showing.
“Sure can,” I say as I push up the sleeves to my flannel. It’s a solid thirty-five degrees today, but I’ve been chopping down and lugging trees all over the farm, so I’m warm.
Can’t imagine wearing a full snowsuit right now. I’d be drenched in sweat.
“Where is it?”
“Over there,” she says, pointing to a tree that is right next to a green Buick Electra station wagon with wood paneling. Man, can’t tell you the last time I saw one of those.
“Not a problem. Would you like it on top?”
“Inside actually. We have a tarp in the back, and the seats are down. The car’s open. We’re grabbing some cookies for the road if you don’t mind just putting it in there.”
“Not at all. Hope you had fun at the farm today.”
“Uh-huh,” she says and then takes off.
“Okay,” I mutter and then head over to the station wagon. I pick up the tree and carry it to the back only to be startled right out of my fucking boots by Dwight, squatting down behind the car.
“Jesus fuck, what are you doing?” I ask as I attempt to catch my breath.
He pops up to his feet and gets close enough so he can whisper, “You listen to me, and you listen to me good. You are to leave my niece alone—”
“Dude, she’s like a few years younger than you, so stop calling her your niece.”
“I’m serious,” he says, now poking me with his finger.
The nerve on this guy. I have about five inches on him and probably thirty pounds of muscle, and he’s poking me. I can snap that finger in half by just using my index finger and thumb.
“She’s not to be toyed with.”
“I don’t have fucking time for this.” I reach for the back door to the trunk of the car, but he blocks me.
“I’m not fucking around, Maxheimer. Leave her alone.”
“Uh, I’d love to, but she’s the one who keeps popping up on my farm.”
“Weren’t you the one who visited her last night?”
I roll my eyes. “To make amends. To tell her that I wasn’t some pervert trying to break into her cottage like you have made me out to be.”
“You were creeping around. Is that false?”
I tug on my hair. “What’s the point of this? You think I’ll make a move or something?”
“Absolutely not. She’d never go for a guy like you. So don’t talk to her. You hurt her today, and she’s very fragile.”
I hurt her? When? I can’t recall a thing I said that would have been a direct insult.
“I don’t need you saying things that bring down her spirit. With Joyful Ring is happening, whether you like it or not. So stay out of it.”
This fuck . . .
“It will never do well. We have built the loyalty in this town.”
“Something I’m not concerned about,” Dwight says. “The town is small, numbskull, and I’m looking to snag all the out-of-towners who’ll drive by my farm first. It will be an easy stop. Your farm will be a dying entity soon.”
My anger surges, because how fucking dare he.
“What is your goddamn problem?” I ask, shoving his shoulder, and because he’s a wafer of a man, he falls back into the car behind him. Great. With my luck, he’ll start screaming assault.
He grips his shoulder and looks up at me. “You. You’re the problem.”
“Is this because I beat you at the Christmas Kringle competition last year? Dude, you’re pathetic if it is.”
“That is not the reason. It’s because you are a fake.
A phony. You parade around town like the lovable goof, preying on all the townspeople, getting them to fall for your sweet-talking, when in reality, you’re a terrible person.
You have been since high school, and it’s about time someone does something about it. ” He straightens up.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I am truly confused.
“Naturally, you would forget.” He rolls his eyes and adjusts the lapels of his jacket. “Just stay away from her. This farm is happening whether you like it or not. Enjoy this Christmas season, because next year, you’re going out of business.”
Then he bumps into my shoulder, barely moving me as he walks away.
I glance behind me and catch him getting into his BMW SUV, and music blasts out of the speakers before he takes off.
I scrub my hand over my face, so fucking confused. But then I think about his earlier words. His warning.
With Joyful Ring is happening, whether you like it or not. So stay out of it . . . The town is small, numbskull, and I’m looking to snag all the out-of-towners who’ll drive by my farm first. It will be an easy stop. Your farm will be a dying entity soon.
Fuck, I want to punch the guy. Yes, we’ve been enemies for a long time, but would that mean I’d threaten his business and work hard to make it go under? Not a chance. We’ve worked for years to make this place successful. And he wants to fucking close our business? Why?
I’m fuming.
We rarely get complaints, so why are Dwight’s words so foreboding?
“You haven’t put the tree in the back of the car yet?” the woman says, stunned that I’m still standing there with her tree. She then turns to the woman next to her and whispers, “Told you this place isn’t what it used to be. Last year we come here.”
Fuck.
And that’s the nail in the coffin of all rational thoughts and behavior.
Yup.
The world around me spins, dread fills my lungs, and I know there’s only one thing I can do now.
Call the parents.
I shut the door to my office in the reindeer barn and pull my phone out of my pocket. This was not what I wanted to do, but it seems like I don’t have any other choice. I need help.
I dial my mom’s number and squeeze my eyes shut as I take a seat in my office chair.
This is what some might call rock bottom.
I thought I could handle this on my own.
I thought I’d be able to actually make improvements on the farm and impress my parents, but instead, I feel like I’m drowning, like I’m fighting a losing battle and there’s nothing I can do about it.
The phone rings three times before it’s picked up.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Mom, it’s Atlas.”
“What?”
“It’s Atlas,” I say, trying to fight the obvious background noise coming from her side.
“Who is it?” I hear Dad say.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, look at the screen.”
“Oh, it’s Atlas,” Mom says. “Atlas, you there?”
“Yes,” I shout, hoping that helps.
“What did you say?”
Sitting up, I press my fingers into my brow. “I said yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes,” I shout.
“What does he want?” Dad asks.
“He’s just saying yes.”
Jesus.
Christ.
“Is he drunk?”
“I’m not drunk,” I shout.
“Oh, he just said he’s drunk,” Mom says.
“No, I’m not drunk.”
“It’s okay. Sleep it off. Phone battery low. Don’t call unless an emergency.”
And just like that, she hangs up.
Mother . . . fucker.
Well, that was a completely useless idea. Glad it worked out.
I stand, pocket my phone, and then head out into the reindeer barn, where Cole is cleaning a brush.
When he spots me, he pauses and turns off the water. “Why do you look like that?”
“I need help.”
I don’t know if it’s the seriousness in my voice or the dejection I’m portraying, but for the first time since the whole invaders conversation started, he takes me seriously.
“Dinner at my place?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’ll be there at six.”