The Last Christmas Tree

By Laura Monti

The Last Christmas Tree is a story about sudden change in a woman's autumn years. After her husband Roger's death in late September, Andrea Morgan is left in a blur of confusion. A family conflict arises on the day following his funeral when the Morgan adult children argue over their mother's future. Andrea leaves her pristine Pleasantville, New York home and takes a walk, oblivious to the sounds and motions of her surroundings.

Within minutes, an adolescent-aged boy is forced to jump the curb with his bicycle just a few feet away from Andrea in an effort to avoid collision. While apologizing and helping him with the bike's severed front wheel, she discovers he is her old friend Carmela Dempsey's grandson, Jessie Michaels. During a short visit at the Dempsey home which follows, Andrea becomes amused with Jessie's charismatic personality and the endearing interaction he has with Gramps George and Grams Carmela.

Upon returning home though, she discovers the discussion among her children has escalated, so much so that their voices are ricocheting against the walls and through the hallway. In a moment of haste coupled with raw emotions, Andrea tells them to leave. During the following days and weeks, her children, all of whom live hours out-of-town, attempt to phone, but their calls go unanswered. Andrea only stares at the answering machine waiting to hear their voices, and then becomes flabbergasted when son Larry refers to her as, a foolish old woman.

Jessie Michaels is intrigued with the newly widowed woman who lives down the street from his grandparents. Hoping to perhaps help her with yard work and possibly earn some Christmas money, he appears at Mrs. Morgan's doorstep with a bouquet of mums. Soon a warm-hearted friendship blossoms between the two. Jessie feels a connection with Mrs. Morgan, whom he soon refers to as Miss Andrea, secretly comparing her to a grandmother he never knew, while she compares him to the grandsons she hardly knows. Both are aware of each other's family tensions. He must deal with a snippy teenaged sister, edgy father, who is also his basketball coach, and a busy working mother. And although Miss Andrea doesn't say much about her children, Jessie senses something is obviously wrong.

The old friendship Andrea once had with Carmela and George Dempsey is soon rekindled, and slowly laughter and hope re-enters Andrea's solitude. As time passes, she can't help missing her children and grandchildren all the while dreading the approaching holiday season. She can't bear looking at Christmas decorations, hearing Christmas carols or watching any kind of holiday special. Her wish is for Christmas to simply go away.

After Andrea spends Thanksgiving with the Dempseys, Marissa invites Larry and family, Liz and her mother for a holiday gathering in Vermont. Andrea is initially apprehensive; fearing the tension with her son might worsen. She slowly comes around with the influence of Jessie and his grandparents and begins to look forward to it. She would not have to stay in her dark, undecorated home. She would not have to envision the brightly decorated mantel, the white lights that trimmed her front porch, and the beautiful, perfectly shaped balsam fir Roger used to get every year from the tree vendor at St. Bart's. When a serious mishap occurs, plans are changed and the Morgan family must spend the holidays in Pleasantville. Larry Morgan solicits Jessie's help in searching for a Christmas tree on Christmas Eve. What remain in the garden centers and shopping center lots do not even come close to the Morgan's traditional, elegant tree, until…

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781624880537

Book preview

Chapter 1

Andrea Morgan leaned over her husband’s casket, gave him one last embrace, and gently kissed his forehead. His skin was cold against her dry, chapped lips, as was the rest of his lifeless body. She felt the chill, and it went through her slowly, from the core of her insides, upwards to her throat and neck in a tightening grasp. With tears streaming down her cheeks, Andrea stared at the striking image before her memorizing her husband’s final image, locking it deep within her soul.

Roger Morgan was handsome, even in death. His fine nose and high cheekbones revealed traces of childhood freckles. Andrea had tried to comb his auburn hair with her trembling fingers, and when she did, only hints of silver became evident. Several strands streaked through his temples and sideburns, stiff and frozen, just like the shell of the man before her. The man she had loved for most of her life.

Her son Larry approached and embraced his mother, tenderly leading her away from the coffin. Two black limousines were waiting outside, and Andrea followed robotically in the surrounding deafening silence that filled the undertaker’s parlor.

***

The next afternoon, the Morgan family gathered at the dining room table, their lunch barely touched. Andrea looked about the room and observed her family, a son and two daughters. She and Roger had wanted more. They wanted to fill their house with children, especially since neither had siblings. Unfortunately the three children they had lived miles away.

Larry, the oldest, sat in his father’s chair at the farther end of the table. Andrea knew how proud Roger had been of their son, especially when he made junior partner in a prestigious Philadelphia law firm by his thirtieth birthday.

He was married to Jennifer, a petite brunette, who was once his assistant. They had two boys, Justin 13 and Robert 14. Justin sometimes looked and acted older. He was tall, lithe with straight blond hair like his grandmother Andrea, the fine features of his mother and striking blue eye likes his grandfather Roger. Justin was the friendlier of the two boys, outgoing and athletic, being able to play just about any sport, basketball being his favorite.

Robert, Rob to most, was built like his father with broad shoulders and stocky torso. He had his mother’s coloring and same chestnut eyes with his father’s features. He liked sports, but preferred football, and played full back for Westmore High School’s Junior Varsity League. Roger would have loved to watch, Andrea thought. When the team had their first game, her husband had slipped into a coma.

The family resided in Camden, New Jersey, a two-and-a-half hour drive from Andrea and Roger’s home in Pleasantville, New York. The two enjoyed the ride down the Garden State Parkway when they visited, usually making an overnight stop at Atlantic City on their way home.

Jen Morgan stood up and pushed her chair from the table. If you don’t mind Andrea, I’d like to take the boys to the mall. They still need a few things for school.

Her mother-in-law nodded in approval and smiled at her two grandsons giving a wink. Andrea was sure the surroundings over the past few days must have been suffocating.

Her daughter Liz, the Morgans’ middle child was sitting on Larry’s right. Andrea always thought of her as the free spirit. Divorced and childless, Liz was the owner of Élan, a well-known antique shop located near Boston’s Quincy Market. When she wasn’t furnishing one of Boston’s mansions, she was at a black-tie event or on a buying expedition somewhere exotic. Andrea loved watching her daughter’s amber eyes sparkle and dance with excitement whenever she described her most recent adventures. And while she admired her daughter’s spunk and independence, knew that Roger just wanted his Lizzie to settle down.

He expressed to Andrea often how he never quite understood why Liz and Todd Reynolds, a Wall Street investor, ever divorced. It was obvious how much Todd had adored Liz, but Andrea understood because her daughter loved and enjoyed life too much and could not be tied down. Liz often complained about the way Todd called her every moment they were not together, insisting on knowing where she was and who she was with. When the divorce was settled, Andrea and Roger helped Liz move out of one city to another. With a few thousand dollars and some meager possessions, Liz traded the Hudson for the Charles. Her current and only male companion was Joey, her Springer Spaniel, who was enjoying a nap, curled in a ball on top of Grandma Andrea’s living room sofa.

Andrea smiled as she looked at her youngest. Marissa was playing peek-a-boo with her baby daughter Kelly who was sitting on husband Scott Jensen's lap. Marissa, thirty-eight, was five years younger than Larry and two years younger than Liz. She lived in Bennington, Vermont where she and Scott owned and operated the Ski Trail Inn. Andrea thought Marissa was the happiest of the Morgan children, and at that moment, was probably right.

It was Marissa whom Andrea spoke to the most, usually nightly before retiring to bed. They would chat on the telephone about their day and other goings on, then hang up with a short, simultaneous love you.

Marissa and Scott seemed to have found their niche as innkeepers, and Andrea and Roger were pleased with their choice. Marissa was most like her mother; a homebody at heart, a cook, and now a new mommy. They had both majored in restaurant management. With loans from both families and the bank, they purchased a quaint bed and breakfast close to Vermont’s southern ski areas.

There was always room there for Roger and Andrea’s long weekend visits. Andrea closed her eyes recalling the cozy horse-drawn sleigh rides where she snuggled against Roger’s muscular arms. He was so strong, she thought, a Vietnam veteran who carried injured soldiers from the jungles to awaiting helicopters; a steadfast athlete on the Squash courts and golf course, yet not tough enough to fight the virus that had settled in his heart. It came upon him too fast, and took over too quickly. She opened her eyes and looked up at her new granddaughter, Kelly.

Holding the three-month old in his arms, Scott pushed his chair from the table. I think our little angel needs a nap. He lowered the baby close enough for grandma to kiss. Once again Andrea smiled, this time it was from Kelly’s sweet baby scent. She looked across the table again, and focused on her son.

The large bay window behind Larry filtered in the day’s light. The sun was shining in brilliant orange and yellow glows reflecting through delicate lace curtains, and onto the chandelier’s crystals that hung in the center of the dining room ceiling. The oval table of rich cherry wood was still covered with protective pads and opened to its longest length.

Once Scott’s footsteps were heard climbing the stairs, Larry began to speak after clearing his throat. His tone was decisive.

Mom will need to sell this house and move in with me.

Andrea sat upright, stiffened her shoulders and looked at her son with a blank expression. He averted her stare and glared with cold steel eyes at his sisters awaiting a response.

Liz and Marissa looked at each other conversing with their eyes, and then simultaneously turned towards their brother giving him silent obtrusive stares. An uncomfortable hush followed. Andrea couldn't think, and began to move around uneaten remnants of food on her plate with a fork. Larry spoke again, softer and directly to his mother, enticingly repeating his directive, while smiling almost timidly, as if talking to a child.

You must come and live with us. You’ll have a large bedroom, you’ll be pampered, and you’ll never have to be alone. I’ll take care of selling this house and packing up all your things.

Never be alone? His mother thought, biting the inside of her lips. No one is ever home in that house, even when they are. That’s absurd. He has no right to make decisions for me. Andrea’s sober eyes welled up with tears, fearful, astonished, and confused. I have to think. I need to think, but I can’t. What is wrong with him? Without saying a word, she pushed her chair from the table, shook her head in disbelief, and left the dining room.

Ma, Larry called out. Come back, we need to talk.

Andrea ignored him and stood motionless in the foyer.

Oh let her go, we’ll talk later I guess. Andrea heard her son continue.

She shrugged her shoulders in annoyance and sat at the bottom of the stairs with head upon her hands and supporting arms. She heard Liz respond first with a harsh yet murmured tone.

You’re such a jerk, Lar. Who the hell do you think you are? Then continued to mumble under her breath, live with you.

This isn’t the place and it certainly isn’t the time, for God’s sake, Larry. What’s wrong with you? Mom needs time to get her life back. Dad was in perfect health a month ago. No one, especially Mom, expected something like this to happen to him, and so suddenly. She’s in shock. We’re all in shock, argued Marissa.

What life does she need to get back? Larry growled in response, then lowered his voice. She has no life without Dad. Look at her. She’s like a pathetic puppy that just lost her master.

Andrea’s back stiffened, and at that same moment Joey jumped from the sofa and came over to her.

That buffoon thinks I can’t hear him? She whispered to the dog. Joey’s ears perked. They are so damn self-absorbed they don’t even realize I’m right over here. Do I look like a puppy to you? Andrea asked, scratching Joey’s neck. As her children’s voices echoed, Andrea stood and took Joey’s leash from the coat closet’s handle.

You’re in luck little guy. Your scatter brained mommy once again didn’t put this away. Joey hopped and danced knowing he was in for a treat. After hooking the dog’s collar, Andrea and Joey walked back to the dining room doorway. There she addressed her children in a soft yet agitated tone, all the while looking directly at her son. Well I guess this pathetic puppy dog and Joey over here are going to leave this house and go for a walk. We need to get away from the madness, and I don’t think this little guy’s been out since sunrise, she glared at Liz.

I was going to take him in a few, her daughter defended. Larry rubbed his temples in anguish, fingertips touching a naked surface where once a mess of thick golden brown locks existed.

Before Larry or Liz could continue, their mother, following Joey’s lead, headed for the back door.

Ma, Larry called out to her again. When she didn’t answer, he let out a loud hissing sigh, whatever.

And oh how Andrea knew too well the accompanied gestures involved with that remark, the way he would straighten his back and then throw up his hands sarcastically tilting his head back and forth sideways. Typical theatrical Larry, she thought, and then slammed the back door to the house.

You might look like your father my dear son, but in no way are you the gentleman he was. She mumbled slamming the second door exiting the back porch.

Chapter 2

Joey pulled Andrea along the sidewalk. She didn’t know where they were headed other than down the street; and Andrea surely didn’t know when they would return. Being used to exercise, she didn’t mind taking long, quick strides to keep up with the dog’s pace. She and Roger took lengthy walks almost every morning.

The sun felt good against her face, and Joey’s soft brown and white coat gleamed in its light. She was trying to clear her head of the invading scrambling thoughts of how it used to be. Andrea was hurt, upset, and angry. The pain of losing Roger had been overwhelming, and all she really wanted was to be alone with her thoughts and memories. How dare Larry try to plan her life, and yes she most certainly did have a life. Did he think it would suddenly cease? Was she supposed to stop living? Andrea slowed down at the thought, pulling on Joey’s leash.

She and Roger had lived in their large Victorian home for thirty-five years. The white-shingled house, located on the corner of Bedford and Elm, was well kept. The hedges were always neatly groomed and surrounded by an assortment of flowering shrubs where strategically placed flowerbeds bloomed every spring through autumn. The flowers were Andrea’s baby; the rest of the landscaping, Roger’s.

The house had a significant sized covered front porch. The interior was simple, but comfortable, and the furniture was getting worn. Their spring project was to purchase a new living room set. Roger had already begun his quest for the perfect long, soft, cushy sofa, searching every furniture store this side east of the Mississippi, Andrea would tease. It was her home. It was Roger’s home. And Andrea couldn’t bear the thought of leaving it. Not now, perhaps not ever.

The Morgans had enjoyed retirement. Andrea retired two years prior from the local school system where she worked in the administrative offices for the district. Roger had retired a year earlier than she from a large investment brokerage firm in Manhattan. They had grown closer, cherishing each other’s company, often not saying much. Just being together in the comfort of each other’s companionship was enough. During the warmer weather, the two would sit for hours on the front porch in the two plush wicker rocking chairs hardly uttering a word. Andrea usually read a book or magazine, or worked on a sewing project while Roger tried the daily paper’s crossword puzzle. Many times she would get up and go inside, returning with two glasses of iced tea. He’d respond with a smile and a nod. In return, she would give him a soft kiss on his forehead.

The Morgans had toured Europe and sailed the Caribbean. Roger began helping his wife grocery shop and eventually started vacuuming, under her direction, when he saw her waxing furniture and changing sheets. He also began to clear the table and tidy up the kitchen after meals, sometimes even preparing breakfast or dinner.

I like this retired man, Andrea often smiled, while looking at Roger’s sudsy hands, and my manicures are lasting longer too.

I knew that, he would answer. See, I’m saving us money.

It was the little things that Roger did that let Andrea know just how much he loved her, and she found herself becoming more and more dependent on him. He was always her foundation; retirement had turned him into her right arm as well.

Roger enjoyed driving. He drove his wife everywhere she wanted or needed to go. I can drive myself, Andrea would argue, wishing to keep her independence.

We’re saving the wear and tear on your car, he would answer.

Roger and Andrea were the ones who traveled to their children for weekends, sometimes weeks, although they seemed to visit Marissa the most. So why didn’t Marissa say something to Larry when he made that harsh remark? Was she as taken aback as her mother? Of course she was, Andrea reasoned, and Marissa did scold Larry, didn’t she? Andrea couldn’t remember.

A wise investment, Roger would nod in approval, every time they entered the driveway gates at the Ski Mountain Trail Inn. And their daughter and son-in-law always made sure the most luxurious suite at the inn was at their disposal where Andrea and Roger would be treated like a king and queen. Every meal was a delicate New England adventure, and when Andrea would try to help with clean up, she would be remanded to the large parlor where a huge fireplace emanated warmth from a roaring blaze. There were baskets of walnut chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin cookies on the coffee and side tables, and on the sideboard one of those new single serve coffee pots sat surrounded with choices of various teas, coffees and hot chocolates.

They had only been to Liz’s loft a few times since she moved to Boston. Parking was a chore, and the only one that showed Roger and Andrea any kind of welcome or affection was Joey. They were offered a room with a view, a very cold view, winter, spring, summer and fall, a private powder room that did not include a shower, and Andrea cooked the meals or treated Liz to one of the local restaurants for dinner.

And Larry’s house was just that, a house. Jennifer was usually out shopping or playing tennis during the day, or driving the boys around for sports. When Roger offered to help out driving the boys around, he was told no thank you because he didn’t know the area.

Some kind of take-out would be brought in or take-out leftovers would be thrown together at night for dinner in the shiny, hardly used kitchen, and the accommodations offered them were in Larry’s home office, when he wasn’t using it that is. There was a pull-out, double sized (unopened) sofa that had to be made and unmade, and a bathroom down the hall that was shared with two very messy grandsons. One year when the family went for Christmas, Larry actually forgot to buy a tree. By the time he got around to it, there were none to be had. That was when Roger announced Christmas would be in Pleasantville from then on.

There was tension between Larry and Andrea for some time. You only care about your daughters, he would complain. And when Andrea tried to defend or deny, he would answer, you don’t even know your grandsons. You don’t know what they like to wear, what they like to do. You could care less. It’s Marissa this, and Liz that. I’m tired of it. Even when you come here, all you do is talk about them. How do you think my kids feel when you brag about all the cute things Kelly does?

Roger was the one who always cooled the situation. Andrea knew Roger favored Larry. She loved all her children, but Larry had gotten so pretentious with the power he had gained with success. She felt he was unapproachable, and always ready for an argument with her. She wouldn’t try to fix it now, she couldn’t, and Roger couldn’t help anymore.

Her thoughts drifted back to last Christmas. The family had gathered at her house and Roger had it decorated beautifully from outside in. He picked up the tree once again at St. Bart’s, and it was once again perfectly shaped and full. It was a wonderful holiday. The thought of spending it this year without her husband was crippling, and it was only three months away. There will be no tree, no decorations; I can’t do it, not without Roger. He was my Christmas; my St. Nicholas, my St. Roger.

Suddenly and without warning, a supped-up Mustang roared past Andrea, startling her sharply back to her current surroundings. Joey tugged on the leash, nervously jumping and barking. A young boy on a bicycle was approaching in the opposite direction when Joey fretfully wrapped his long leash around a young Maple tree, tangling himself somewhere in the middle of it all. Andrea had to unhook the dog, hold him with one hand and unravel the leash with the other. The process caused her and Joey to take up the entire sidewalk, so the approaching bike rider was forced to jump the curb in an effort to avoid them. The stress on the small vehicle from its leap from sidewalk to road was too much. Upon impact, the front wheel collapsed, throwing the operator forward on his knees.

Oh my goodness, are you alright young man? cried Andrea, while awkwardly trying to help the boy and simultaneously hold onto Joey.

Yes lady, I mean…. the boy tried to answer, but before he could, Joey was on top of him, licking his face.

He was a charming looking young man, with dark wavy hair, and large chocolate colored eyes. He had a softness about him, Andrea sensed it quickly, and recognized him as possibly one of Carmela Dempsey’s grandsons.

He won’t hurt you. That’s my um grandson Joey, and he’s making sure you’re okay, Andrea laughed. What’s your name son?

I’m Jessie Michaels, he answered.

Are you one of the Dempseys?

Kind of, sort of… my mom was before she married my dad.

Mary’s boy? Andrea asked, still trying to help the boy up.

Yes, ma’am, that’s me, Jessie answered pulling himself up, then sadly looking at his broken bike.

The Dempseys lived two blocks down the street from her. None of their children had left the Mt. Pleasant area, and by the look of the Dempsey’s driveway, all seemed to spend most of the time visiting their parents. The Dempsey’s house was often filled with children, bikes, and go carts. A basketball hoop was attached to the home’s garage, and on the side a large bin was filled with balls and various other toys, something not seen at the Morgans’ home for quite some time.

Well then, come on Master Jessie Michaels, let Joey and me walk you home. Andrea continued. You look like you need some TLC.

TL what?

TLC, Jessie. It stands for tender loving care, like Joey was just giving you before.

Oh, TLC. Okay. Really, I’m okay, ma’am.

Looking at the boys dirtied blue jeans, and noting a slight limp, she continued. Never you mind. I’ve known your grandparents quite some time. I even went to your mom’s wedding. Went to your two uncles’ weddings too.

Andrea freed the wrapped up leash and reattached it to Joey’s collar and took the other end. With her free arm she reached in Jessie’s direction, let me carry that wheel.

He obediently handed over the front wheel to his prized possession, looking up at Andrea. You really know my whole entire family? What’s your name? he asked.

My name is Andrea Morgan. I live in that white house on the corner down there. She pointed in the direction of her home.

You mean the one with the big huge front porch?

Well, I didn’t think it was that big. She stopped and smiled, tilting her head amused. I guess that would be the one.

Chapter 3

Within minutes Andrea, Jessie and Joey approached the front door of Carmela and George Dempsey’s home after sidestepping wagons and dolls scattered along the pathway.

Andrea rang the doorbell,