Twelve Days of Krista

1. Do They Know it’s Christmas?-2

“My you are considerate! I’m sure the matchmaker is going to like that!”

“The…matchmaker?” he repeats, still not catching her meaning.

“Sorry, no spoilers,” Marian says with an impish shake of her head. “I don’t even tell my own daughters what the spirits tell me.”

Hugh tilts his head to the side. “I apologize, Ms. Thomson. But I don’t understand.”

“Of course, you don’t! Your story hasn’t even happened yet and I’m certainly not going to spill the beans. But I know we’ll have a good laugh about it afterward. Ooh, that reminds me—hold this for a moment.” The old woman shoves the popcorn bowl at Hugh and fishes a thin box out of her massive handbag. “I bought you a few things.”

“Oh? You didn’t have to do that.”

Marian holds the box out to him. “It’s the least I could do seeing as how you’ll be entertaining me this afternoon.”

Confused but too polite to turn down the gift Hugh takes the box. There is an old-fashioned cable car pictured on the lid next to the words: CABLE CAR CLOTHIERS HABERDASHERS. And beneath those words in a smaller font it reads: SAN FRANCISCO’S BRITISH GOODS STORE SINCE 1939.

Finally, something Hugh can understand. “How very thoughtful of you,” he says with sincerity as he opens the box.

Inside he finds two items: a bright red tie and a musty-smelling booklet with yellowed pages. A play, he realizes, upon closer inspection of its cover: “A Day Well Spent: A Play in One Act,” he says reading the title aloud.

“It’s an original edition. Very hard to find,” Marian informs him proudly. “The musical Hello Dolly was based on it. Even though I prefer to give folks novels, this seemed like the right choice for you.”

“Oh, I see…” Hugh says with a polite smile though he really does not see. At all. “Well, thank you…for the play and the tie. I shall endeavor to wear it soon.” And by soon he means only once when he pays Marian a cordial follow-up visit in London—a visit he hopes she’ll mention favorably to her son-in-law.

In any case, he’s beginning to understand why, according to his assistant’s research notes, the people in Marian’s hometown of Greenlee, Virginia still refer to her as “The Crazy Librarian” though she’s a retired nurse.

Hugh makes a great show of putting the lid back on the gift box. He places it carefully on top of his leather J.W. Hulme duffel before closing the boot.

“Right then!” he says once they’re both comfortably settled in the front seats of the Jag. “Our flight departs in three hours. The private jet your son-in-law arranged is leaving from Oakland International and from what I’ve heard, that airport lacks a certain level of, er, amenities. I took the liberty of making reservations for us at the Wood Tavern for lunch. It’s less than thirty minutes from the airport and we’ll have plenty of time to make it to the gate afterward…”

Hugh trails off when without so much as a “may I?” the older woman starts tapping an address into the rental car’s navigation system with her index finger. “I didn’t pop this popcorn for nothing,” she tells him. “This is where we’re having lunch today.”

He can’t say he’s pleased when a new destination pops up on the screen. But Marian might be the only thing standing between Edgeworth Metals and a billion-dollar deal, so…

Hugh grits his teeth and begins to follow the GPS instructions to what must be one of the piers off The Embarcadero. He can only assume this because based on the car’s navigation screen, the destination doesn’t show up as anything but a patch of green between The Embarcadero and the bay.

To Hugh’s relief, the large warehouse-like building he pulls up in front of is only a 15-minute drive from the Rustanov estate. By his calculations, it should take no more than 45 minutes to reach the Oakland Airport. Leaving them with plenty of time to have lunch at, well, wherever they are now.

A quick scan reveals no available parking in front of the building. And the building itself doesn’t look remotely like a restaurant. It’s massive at roughly five stories and closely resembles a concrete rectangle with a flat roof. But unlike the other warehouses on the surrounding piers, this one is painted red. And instead of industrial-looking rolling metal doors, these sliding doors are dark green and look like they belong on a barn. The words SANTA’S WORKSHOP are painted across the front of the building in whimsical white lettering outlined in gold.

“Go ahead and park here,” Marian tells him. “The spirits say tow trucks don’t come near this place.”

Right then… Hugh cuts the engine even though he doubts it’s wise to trust an old woman who claims to get her information from …. spirits.

Perhaps it’s some sort of theme restaurant? Hugh thinks as he steps out of the car. If so, it smells delicious. The scent of freshly baked biscuits—or cookies, as the Americans would say— float into his nostrils making him long for the sweets he rarely indulges in nowadays.

Hugh opens the door for Marian and crooks his arm towards her. She clasps it with one hand while hanging on to her bowl of popcorn with the other.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather leave your, er, snack in the car?” he asks hopefully as he closes the door behind her.

“I’m sure,” Marian answers. Then she stops and appears to listen to the air for a few seconds before saying, “The spirits tell me she’s on the left side of the building. Right over there!”

Before Hugh can ask what and who Marian is going on about, the old woman lets go of his arm, charging ahead with a speed he would not have expected from someone her age. She veers toward one side of the large building like a woman who knows exactly where she’s going. Which he hopes she does. He’s hungry and they’ve now missed the gourmet lunch he booked for them.

Hugh follows her cautiously, all the while wondering how much longer he should indulge the old lady. An hour, he decides, squaring his jaw. After that point, he’ll have to force the matter and take her to the airport whether she wants to go or not.

They round the building’s corner and he’s hit by the distinct scent of silicates, calcium carbonate, talc, and zinc oxide. In other words: fresh paint. Hugh notices a still wet, darker red coat of it covering the surface of the warehouse’s windowless left side.

Hugh finds it odd that someone would paint a building on Christmas Day. But even stranger is the large tree planted in the concrete about twenty feet from the wall. No, not a tree he realizes as he and Marian draw closer. At least, not a real one. The “tree” is made of metal and about ten-feet tall. It consists of a steel base welded to resemble a tree with light brown aluminum craft wire coiled around the trunk and branches, giving a decidedly bark-like effect.

The sculpture is impressive and, as it turns out, very solid. Perched in its sturdy branches is a young woman wearing paint-splattered coveralls, bright green Converse trainers, and a red welding mask. She’s pushed the mask off her face revealing pleasing features screwed tight into an expression of intense concentration as she hangs a series of sparkling, pear-shaped ornaments in crooked rows along the metal tree’s branches.

Hugh watches her as she works. Baggy coveralls aside, she’s attractive…pretty even with her creamy brown skin and long dark hair pulled into one of those deceptively simple-looking over-the-shoulder braids. From his vantage point on the ground, he can see she has massive dark eyes, a pert nose, and delicately pointed features that bring to mind the words “elfin” and “spritely.”

She reminds him of those female art students from his university days. They were often intelligent and attractive young women but he refused to date them. Mostly because he dreaded the idea of having to go to those experimental shows featuring live goats covered in eggshells or women in bikinis made of credit cards setting fire to a bin of nappies. Hugh never “got” performance art and found those who engaged in it to be pretentious and overly emotional. Yet another reason he settled on Rebecca: she appreciated art but had no interest in pursuing it as a career.

The young woman and her sculpture appear to be having the opposite effect on Marian. She is gazing up at the girl in the tree as if she’s stumbled upon the Queen herself.

“It’s her!” she breathes.

And for the first time since he picked Marian up at her son-in-law’s home, she places a hand in the popcorn bowl and brings a small fistful of it to her mouth.

“Oh, hey there!” the young woman calls down, perhaps alerted to their presence by the loud crunching sounds coming from Marion. “You must be here for lunch!” Her entire face has lit up as if their arrival is an unexpected Christmas present.

“Yes, that’s right,” Hugh answers carefully. Then, “Is this sculpture a recent installation?”

“Sure is!” she calls back down. “It’s to launch my annual Twelve Days of Christmas Panoply.”

Panoply. Well, that’s a word he’s never heard used to describe an art exhibit. Brava, he thinks sardonically.

“Krista’s been putting on this exhibit for the past twelve years,” Marian informs him between handfuls of popcorn. “It’s a respected waterfront tradition to those in the know. People and spirits from all over the city stop by to see what she’s created.” That explained, Marian looks back up at the girl in the tree and calls out, “The spirits think your work is brilliant, Krista!”

“Aw, thanks! How nice,” the young woman replies, showing no sign of concern or confusion at Marian’s strange compliment. “Tell them I’ve got tons of cool stuff planned but today may be the best day of the installation thanks to Grandpa.” Krista spreads her arms wide indicating the metal tree. “I literally screamed when I saw what he brought me this morning. Can you believe it???”

“Ah, yes. Very unique,” Hugh answers, mostly to extricate himself from further conversation. Then in a lower voice, he asks Marian, “Shall we get lunch? I think the main entrance is back around the front.”

The young woman laughs. “You can’t eat lunch here!”

Hugh should have guessed this would be the case. It’s Christmas Day, after all. Even with America’s relaxed attitude towards commerce during the holidays, Hugh knows he was lucky to find any open restaurants at all when he booked that place near Oakland.

“Then would you be so kind as to recommend somewhere we can eat?” Hugh asks, working hard not to let his growing irritation show. “Perhaps someplace nearby?”

“Sure! Hold on and I’ll take you,” Krista calls back down.

From out of the backpack strapped to her shoulders she produces a small sculpture. It’s about two feet high and appears to be lightweight aluminum because of how deftly Krista is able to move it around. It’s a figure of a man with a shag haircut wearing flared pants and a seventies-era button-up shirt with a disco collar.

Hugh has no clue who it’s supposed to be until Marian squeals, “David Cassidy!!!”

In spite of Marian’s helpful screech, Hugh still has no clue who the fellow is.

Krista places the small sculpture on the highest branch of the tree as reverently as if it were a statue of the Virgin Mary.

Marian claps her hands in delight. “A Partridge in a pear tree! The spirits were right, Krista. You are brilliant.”

The young woman beams down at them and then pulls a small soldering iron out of her backpack. A discreet whooshing sound starts up as she welds one of the statue’s feet to a wire branch.

“Excuse me!” Hugh yells up at her. “It was very nice to meet you but we really must be going. We've got a plane to catch.”

“Just a few more seconds,” the young woman calls back as she deftly moves the soldering iron to the statue’s other foot. “David is so seventies-Licious I am sure he’ll get stolen if I don’t make sure he stays foot.”

“Ha, stays foot!” Marian cackles like the young woman has said the funniest thing ever. “Yeah, we definitely need to have lunch with her,” she says to Hugh, giving him a sharp elbow to the ribs.

Oof! Feeling bruised and grimmer by the minute, Hugh checks his watch and wonders at what point he can escape without seeming rude. Should he pretend to go along with the plan then head to the airport as soon as both women are in his car? He could always arrange for an Uber to take Krista back to the warehouse or art studio or…whatever this place is.

“Hey, you down there! Catch me, okay?”

That’s all the warning Hugh gets before the young woman free-falls right into his arms. The breath is momentarily knocked out of him and he barely manages not to drop her. She might be small and pixie-like but a ten-foot fall is a ten-foot fall no matter how you look at it.

“Are you mad?!” he demands breathlessly, setting her back on her feet. “I could have dropped you!”

“Sure, I might be crazy,” she answers with a shrug. “You know there’s a real thin line between nuts and true-blue San Francisco.” She turns her spritely grin on Marian. “So, you finally came!” she says clapping her hands together. “I’m so happy! This is seriously the best Christmas ever!”

In an interesting turn of events, the young woman’s words bring Marian’s popcorn munching to a screeching halt. “Wait a minute,” the older woman responds looking from side to side. “Are you talking to me?”

Krista laughs. “Of course, I’m talking to you!”

“But…the spirits told me to come here and watch a great love story unfold!”

“How cool is it that you talk to spirits?!?! I’m so jelly! I only have premonitions and those only last for like, you know, twelve days a year. But year-round conversations with the spirits sound hella cool! Anyhoo, I’m so freaking excited you’re here in the flesh, Grandma!!! Is it okay if I call you grandma?”

Right, Hugh thinks. In the span of only a few hours, he’s managed to meet not one but two completely insane American women.

And apparently, Marian isn’t used to being out-nutted. She takes a wary step back from the young woman she was so excited to meet a minute ago. “Ah, well, sure…you can call me that if you want. But I really think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding. The spirits told me I would bear witness to a great love story. That’s why I made the popcorn!”

“Oh, no worries, Grandma. The spirits told you right,” Krista assures Marian with one of those quintessentially American gestures: two thumbs up. “It’ll probably be the best love story you’ve ever seen. You know why? Because it’s going to be yours. Yay!!!”

Marian shakes her head slowly. “No, that can’t be right!” she insists, sounding for the first time like a sane, reasonable woman.

Krista smiles and gently takes the bowl of popcorn from Marian, setting it aside at the base of the tree sculpture. “Okay, well, the street car’s coming so we need to leave.” She takes Marian by the hands. “C’mon, Grandma! Let’s go meet your man.”

Hugh feels as if he’s walked into the middle of an episode of Fawlty Towers where Basil is trying, and failing miserably, to have a conversation with the hotel’s Spanish waiter.

He raises his eyes to the very blue California sky searching desperately for some patience. “I apologize, Krista. But we are most certainly not going anywhere with you.”

There’s no reply. He quickly lowers his gaze to find both Krista and Marian heading away from him across The Embarcadero to what he assumes is the cable car station. They are walking arm and arm like…well, like a grandmother out for a stroll with her granddaughter.

“Wait! Wait!” he calls, running after them.