Tree Hunt

Mom pulled the knitted hat down tightly over her bare head. It was cold tonight, the coldest it had been so far this year. I expected I would look up any moment to discover a sprinkle of flakes falling like confetti over the small lot.

Sarah reached over to catch the end of Mom’s scarf as it slipped from her shoulders. She tucked it carefully around her neck without a word, then wrapped an arm around her waist. I shuddered, knowing too well the feel of her bony frame beneath the woolen coat.

“Isn’t it beautiful, Mom?” I asked, clearing my throat.

“Just lovely,” she said softly.

It was like a Christmas card, this place. Trees filled the pavement of the empty parking lot, each one propped in its wooden stand. Strings of dangling lights crisscrossed the black night and filled the air with brilliant studs of light. Across the street, an ancient church blazed luminous and steadfast. Colorful light spilled through the beveled edges of its stained-glass windows, painting all the world in its softness. I memorized the scene, holding it in my mind as though I could somehow linger and never leave this moment.

Things had been different this year. Since Mom’s diagnosis, everything about our lives had changed. The cycles of hospitalizations and treatments and bedrest were relentless. She had grown steadily weaker and more wasted with each passing month. Dad divided his time between his construction job, Mom’s bedside, and the four of us. I knew he owed the gray creeping into his beard to the strain of these months. But it was for Sarah that I hurt most. The weight of the family had landed squarely, though unintentionally, on her shoulders. It was Sarah who packed our lunches and prepared our dinners. She kept up with our laundry, purchased our groceries, and picked us up from school. When Dad was at work, Sarah spent the hours by mom’s side, coaxing fluids into her, holding her hand, and rubbing her back as she was sick. She had missed so many days of school already, I was sure she would never graduate.

In a matter of months, Sarah had learned to be mother, cook, launderer, nurse, and accountant for our family. She pored over stacks of invoices with Dad, both of them struggling to juggle the mounting medical bills and the daily costs of feeding a family of six. Dad picked up extra work where he could, and Sarah scoured Mom’s recipe books for simple meals that would stretch each dollar and fill our growing bellies.

My brothers and I knew Christmas would be small this year. We had talked about it late at night, whispering to one another in our room. We had no illusions of large gifts or elaborate meals, though we still dreamed of both.

I had overheard Dad and Sarah talking in the kitchen the night before.

“What about a tree?” Sarah had asked, speaking softly.

“I wish we could, Sarah, but I don’t see a way.”

“But the boys—what kind of Christmas will it be without a tree? And what about Mom? It would lift her spirits to see it decorated and lit up.” I heard Dad sit heavily in a kitchen chair.

“I know it would.” I could tell he was rubbing his hand over his beard. It was what he always did when he was worried.

“I don’t need gifts this year, Dad. And I can keep meals simple. If we cut back on other things, do you think we could afford to get a tree?”

Dad sighed.

“We can try,” he said finally. Sarah squealed, and I slipped from the hallway before I could be seen.

I had raided my bank then. I dumped the change out on my bed, counting it quickly. It had amounted to less than I hoped– $12.36, to be exact. Still, it was tucked safely in a plastic bag in my pocket as I stood on the edge of the tree lot.

Ryan ran ahead of us all, weaving in and out of the trees and exclaiming over each one, “This one would be perfect!” Josh and I hung back, too keenly aware of the undercurrents to throw ourselves into the tree hunt.

“Boys,” Mom smiled at us, “it’s Christmas! Go, explore. Find us the best tree.” She waved her empty arm, motioning us forward, then leaned on her cane as she took a few steps.

Tentatively, we made our way around the lot. Mom beamed as we admired the tall trees, pointing out to one another the fullest and greenest options we found. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dad lifting the tags, frowning as he read the prices. My heart was in my throat, and my stomach felt queasy. I patted my pocket, praying my modest sum would be enough to help.

Josh was standing just ahead, grinning triumphantly.

“I’ve found it!” he called, holding out his arms to frame the tree behind him. “This is the one—I can feel it.”

We made our way to him slowly. Mom leaned heavily on her cane and Dad’s arm. Sarah trailed behind, her forehead creased as she looked at the ground.

The tree was beautiful. It was everything a Christmas tree ought to be: tall and full and such a deep shade of green, it looked black under the swinging bulbs. Dad lifted the tag, swallowing hard.

“It’s—” he began. I rushed to his side and tugged on his sleeve.

“Wait, Dad,” I said, fishing in my pocket. “Maybe this will help. Look, I brought some money!”

I handed over the small amount. He took it reluctantly, turning it over in his large hands. He shook his head.

“Jake—”

Mom stopped him. She reached out an arm and pulled me close, pressing me against the sharp angles of her body.

“This is wonderful, Jake. So very generous. How thoughtful of you.”

I looked at the ground, then back to my father. He was rubbing his beard. It wasn’t enough. I knew it in my gut: we couldn’t afford this tree. My heart sank.

We stood there suspended, locked in the complexity of desire and need and altruism.

“I see you’ve found a tree!” a voice from behind startled us.

“Yes, well, it’s beautiful,” my father began.

“Personally, I think it’s the best tree on the lot,” the man beamed. “I bet you picked it out, young man. You’ve got an eye, I can tell.” He patted Josh on the head, and my brother’s face lit up.

“It is perfect, sir, but I’m not sure we can get this one,” Dad said slowly.

“A shame,” the man said. “A real shame. This one was just marked down, too. It’s half off.”

“Half off?” Sarah squeaked.

“It is, miss. It leans to one side, see?” he pointed at some of the branches. It didn’t look like it leaned to me. “I can’t bring myself to sell it for full price looking like this. That’s the way it goes in this business. Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

He turned and walked back to the trailer at the far end of the lot. We stood looking at one another, lost for words. Finally, Sarah spoke.

“Half off, Dad.”

“I know, I know.”

“We could—” she did not need to finish. Dad stuffed my money in his pocket and bent to pick up the tree, hoisting it over his shoulder. He carried it to the trailer as we ran along behind him. Ryan jumped up and down excitedly; Sarah beamed.

“This is a good one,” the man said as he lifted it onto the table. “I’m glad you decided to take it.”

“It will be perfect for us,” Dad said and reached for his wallet.

“Wait!” I said, “Mine too, Dad.” I pointed to his pocket. He hesitated. “I want to help.”

He met my eyes and nodded slowly. He handed my money to the man.

Josh and Dad tied the tree to the roof of our car. Mom smiled as they climbed into their seats.

“This will be the most beautiful Christmas yet,” she beamed.

And we all knew in our hearts that she was right.