Memory walked out of the corner coffee shop, sipping her latte, her grandmother’s journal tucked under her arm. The snow beneath her feet crunched, which was better than the slush it would become once the sun was overhead. Her phone dinged, so rather than heading straight for the shop a few doors down, she took a seat on a bench and pulled the device out of her pocket, hopeful it was confirmation that the store she’d been talking to in Indianapolis had decided to place that order for the candy cane ornaments they’d been chatting about for the last few weeks.
The bench was snow free, so she set the book down next to her and pulled her glove off with her teeth, shoving it into her pocket so she could open the email. Scanning over it quickly, she saw that it was good news. “Thank goodness,” she muttered, looking up at the heavens. Normally, she’d say something to Grandma Helen in this situation, promising her she wasn’t running the shop into the ground, but there were people going in and out of the coffee shop, so she kept her thoughts to herself. Still, the extra income would be much appreciated. She knew she’d found a winner when she stumbled upon that particular ornament at a local craft fair back in October.
Seeing as though it was almost 9:00 and she’d need to be opening shop soon, she set her latte down and pulled her glove out of her pocket, pushing her hand into the fuzzy red warmth. Her phone safely in her coat, she picked up her cup and headed out.
A gust of wind seemed to come out of nowhere, picking up the end of her red scarf and blowing it into her face. Caught off guard, Memory stammered for a second, swiping the scarf away, and then turned so the wind was to her back. It was then that she saw the journal sitting on the bench. “Oh, darn it,” she muttered, picking it up. She glanced to her right, and saw other people struggling with the sudden breeze as well—a little girl chasing her hat, a man chasing a flyer, a woman on a bicycle stopping to adjust her hood. “Weird,” Memory muttered, hoping the weather would stay predictable for the rest of the day. She headed off to the shop, the book tucked safely under her arm.
The Memory Box was the second to last store on the east side of the square. Christmas Falls was a tiny town with a population of less than ten thousand, but this time of year, there were lots of visitors from out-of-town. For decades, Hoosiers had flocked to the area to see the Victorian homes all dressed up for the holidays. While things had changed with the historic homes recently, when the economy took a turn a few years back, people still came to the parade and the other fun events Christmas Falls was known for. Memory unlocked the shop door, glad to be in out of the wind, and tried not to think about how many of the Victorian homes were empty these days.
She went ahead and flipped the sign to “open” as she turned on all the lights and headed to the back to start the Christmas music. She had a few other errands to do before she’d be ready to help any customers, but most weekdays were usually slow until 10:00 or so, then, she’d have a steady flow of shoppers until she closed shop at 5:00. It had been that way since mid-November and would last until Christmas Eve. After that... she’d take most of the Christmas items down and replace them with other seasonal décor, but this time of year, The Memory Box was essentially a Christmas shop, carrying everything from special one-of-a-kind and handcrafted ornaments, to lights and wreaths, to special gifts. Of course, she still had the trinkets and collectibles that made The Memory Box what it was all year round—"the perfect place to find a treasure”--as Grandma Helen would say. But this was the time of year when the store really came to life.
Memory walked past the empty chair in the corner she kept to remind everyone of Grandma Helen. She’d tended the cash register from that seat behind the counter nearly every day for as long as Memory could remember. When Memory had been away at college, Grandma had gotten help from a few part-time workers, but as soon as Memory graduated, she’d come back to work at the shop. Spending her days here with her grandmother, while Helen chatted with customers and Memory stocked shelves, filled online orders, worked on the website, and managed the accounting, had been a dream come true. She’d never wanted to use her business degree at some large firm that wouldn’t appreciate her skills. Corporate greed was so much of what was wrong with the world. Instead, she’d hoped to grow her own small business and enrich the lives of the people in her community. She thought she’d done that.
But money was tight these days. After Grandma Helen suddenly passed away, Memory had closed the shop for a few weeks. And then, she’d had to find a way to balance everything. It wasn’t easy waiting on customers and doing everything else. Her father suggested she find some part-time help, and Memory would’ve liked to have done so, but she wasn’t sure if payroll could cover anyone else.
Grandma Helen had a few debts when she died, obligations Memory hadn’t known about. Her grandparents taken out a second mortgage on the house to pay for the shop when she’d first opened it. Memory had had to use everything in Grandma’s bank account to pay for her funeral and that mortgage, intending to continue to live there herself. But that hadn’t worked out. Storm damage from an ice storm in February had caused some roof damage, and Memory still didn’t know how she’d manage to pay for that. Tarps were doing the job as best they could for now. That wasn’t a solution, though. She hated to think of her grandparents’ house slipping into disrepair the way that so many of the other historic homes in town had with the recent recession. Moving back in with her dad hadn’t been an easy decision, but she couldn’t even afford to properly heat such a large house now—especially not with missing shingles and roof leaks. Now, it was paid off but sitting empty.