“Won’t do any good.”
We’d see about that. With cutback and changes, we’d had a hard year, and this staff needed that boost in morale. Plus, I needed everyone here to be on their best and make the museum look good while I was under such intense scrutiny.
Five minutes and one more cup of coffee later, I sat in the chair in front of Mr. Strickland’s imposing desk, watching my reflection in the shiny lacquer. My reflection looked half petrified. “But we always have a holiday party, sir. It’s a time for group bonding and an opportunity for the staff to bring their families. And…it’s the perfect chance to hand them their bonus checks before Christmas.”
Mr. Strickland peered over his black bifocals, his eyes bored and impatient. “Annie, I appreciate your speaking to me on the staff’s behalf, but this museum is in financial trouble. Your previous director should probably be in prison for her frivolous expenses. But even if she were, that would still not solve our monetary crisis.” He ran a hand over his cleanly shaven face. “I’m not paying a few thousand dollars for an event center and catering. I realize it’s late notice to cancel and seems quite boorish, but would you rather have your party…or see a co-worker’s job eliminated?”
There was nothing that could be done. I definitely did not want to have a party at the expense of someone’s job. “I’ll support your decision.”
“That would be quite helpful. The employees here love you and follow your lead.”
“Thank you.” He’d noticed? “Since we won’t have a chance at the party to discuss my exhibit proposal, I wondered if I could get on your calendar to—”
“My calendar is still completely booked. And meetings with the auditor and potential new donors just filled January.”
All I needed was ten minutes. Was that really asking so much? My previous boss might’ve lit the museum money on fire, but at least she listened to my ideas and made time for her staff. I couldn’t wait until February to prove to Strickland that I was leadership material. “If I can find an alternative location for the event, will you consider allowing the party to continue?”
“This location would be free?”
I didn’t know. I planned exhibits, not social events. “At least let me try and see if I can come up with another idea. It would mean a lot to the staff.” And to me.
“Very well. I’ll give you the rest of the week to present another plan.” He proceeded to kick in a budget that would barely buy everyone a hot dog and generic soda. “Is this a satisfactory compromise?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Please shut my door on your way out.”
“I’m a terrible party planner,” I said at dinner that night.
Holden sat at the head of the table, while I perched on a chair to his right, one leg pulled to my chest. After work, he’d thrown on his grubby clothes and cut trim boards for the hallway and spare bathroom for an hour until I’d called him in for dinner. We’d cobbled together a strange evening pattern where we’d take turns cooking or picking up dinner, share the meal, then clean the kitchen together. Afterward, I’d help with the house reno in some small way like painting or sanding.
No matter how busy he was, Holden would sit for at least half an hour as we ate, and we’d talk about our day as sawdust or paint dotted his brow. Tonight a small spot of spackle freckled his cheek, and I was a little discomforted by the fact that it made him look even more boyishly adorable.
“So he just up and canceled your Christmas party a week before the event?”
“Yes. I appreciate your indignation.”
Holden’s lips seized a bite of grilled cheese. “Want to go toilet paper the guy’s house tonight? I can squeeze you in between installing a ceiling fan and patching drywall”
“No. I think Strickland’s shutting me out and purposely not giving me any time to present my ideas. I was going to grab a cup of spiked eggnog and back that man into a corner until he heard me out.”
“The holidays bring out your more subtle side.”
“It was important.” No longer hungry for canned tomato soup and a sandwich, my chin clunked onto my fist. “I spent two hours calling around trying to find another location, and not only are there not any cheap ones available, there aren’t any available at all. Unless we want to build a big bonfire and party in our backyard.”
Holden’s spoon rested against his bowl with a clink. “How open minded are you?”
“I still do not accept your idea to recreate our honeymoon to nudge my memory.”
“No, I mean about this party.”
“I would consider any idea.”
He tossed his napkin on the table and rose. “I might have a solution.”
Chapter Sixteen
Holden’s truck smelled like leather and the cinnamon gum he kept in his cup holder. The moon seemed to follow us as he navigated over the jostling dirt road, leaving the boundary of our cattle guard for the uneven lope of neighboring pastures.
“I was kidding when I suggested a bonfire.” Country music streamed from the speakers, and heat pushed through a vent, but couldn’t seem to penetrate my coat. “Holden, where are we going?”
“Almost there.” He tapped a wild beat on the steering wheel before slowly rolling down another road. Trees swayed along the edges, bending and dancing against winter’s frigid breath.
There was a restless energy to Holden tonight, and it reminded me of something said at dinner at his aunt and uncle’s. “You didn’t mention we were living in your childhood home.”
“I mentioned I’d inherited it.”
He knew he’d left out that detail. “Are the memories in that house mostly good?”
“Depends on the day. I lived there until my dad died, then would visit the place in between my grandpa’s renters during college. I always knew I’d come back and fix it up. Did you see that fox cross the road?”
I ignored that terrible attempt at a topic change. “When the house is done, will you sell it?”
“Most likely not.” Even in the dark of the truck, I could see that brief look that said, Do you really not know this? “I want it to be home again, keeping the things that were good about it, ridding it of the aspects that were not. But I already have buyers calling, so the sale would be excellent for business and for getting the word out.”
“And your mom lived there as well?”
“Until my parents divorced when I was seven. ”
“I’m sorry she missed out on your life. Her loss for sure.”
“She was a mess. Couldn’t do anything without drama. She came and went like seasons. Just when I thought my mom was back in my life, she’d take off again. It wrecked me as a kid, but now I understand she needed serious professional help. She was one of those who was just too fragile for life.”
“Then your dad died.”
“This is not festive talk.”
“Next time I’ll shake a jingle bell while I pry into your life.”
“The house means a great deal to me. Leave it at that.”