CHAPTER THREE — SAMPLE
The cold hit Bradley as soon as he climbed out of his truck, making him regret every decision that had brought him here. It was a quarter to nine, and the night was dark and damp. Low clouds hung in the sky, obscuring the stars. It felt like it might snow, but Bradley doubted they would be lucky enough to have a white Christmas.
Pulling his Carhartt jacket tighter around himself, he regretted not grabbing his gloves. Trudging toward the entrance of the Westbrook Trading Company, he was surprised to see the number of cars in the parking lot. It’s Christmas Eve, he thought. Don’t these people have anywhere better to be? He wished he were home with his wife and kids.
The Westbrook Trading Company stood like a forgotten relic from a lost era—four stories of tired brick and faded ambition, perched just outside the town limits like a guard too dignified to retire. Built in the 1940s, its exterior fused Art Deco elegance with utilitarian muscle, featuring vertical lines that ascended to a simple parapet, accompanied by two flagpoles that hadn’t displayed a flag in years.
A grand marquee extended over the main entrance, its rusted underside showing the marks of countless winters. The once-bright chrome trim had faded to dull pewter, and the neon letters spelling out “WESTBROOK TRADING COMPANY” flickered sporadically, as if the sign were struggling to remind passersby of its presence. Some bulbs on the marquee had gone dark, but most clung stubbornly on, as if they didn’t know when to quit, much like the rest of the store.
Flanking the entrance were over sized display windows framed in tarnished brass. Once upon a time, they must have featured creative displays of mannequins sporting the latest styles, toy soldiers, model trains, and a variety of other items to catch the eye. Now they were filled with generic vinyl signs featuring stock photography. One window had a crack running through the corner, long enough to notice but not enough of a priority to fix.
The store was a stubborn holdover from the days when people dressed up to shop—when department stores were cathedrals of commerce, not just big-box retailers packed with impulse buys. Even in decline, the Westbrook Trading Company maintained a battered dignity, like an aging film star still wearing rouge, waiting for one last close-up.
Everyone in town referred to it as the WTC, but Bradley hadn’t set foot inside since last Christmas. Nowadays, he did most of his shopping online. It was more convenient, and with free shipping, it wasn’t worth the gas money to drive across town.
Honestly, he had no idea how the place managed to stay in business.
As he approached the store, he noticed a line of people winding around the building. That can’t be the line to get in, he thought. But sure enough, hundreds of shivering customers were huddled together outside the front entrance.
Bradley didn’t want to stand in line without a good reason, so he made his way to the front, hoping by some miracle that he would be able to skip the wait.
“Is this really the line to get into the store?” Bradley asked a woman standing near the front. She gave him a look like she couldn’t believe it either. “Yup,” was all she said. Behind her, the line stretched in an endless stream of desperate shoppers, each braving the cold for a Plastic-Thing-3000.
Bradley scoffed as he walked down the line, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He hated the thought of waiting in line for anything. But this was different. It wasn’t just another ordinary holiday shopping trip. It was a last-ditch effort to secure something for his kids. He found the whole situation absurd. Yet, here he was on Christmas Eve, standing outside like an idiot, hoping to grab a toy that would be forgotten in a week. But right now, he needed to stay on track. It was about getting it done and getting home as quickly as possible.
As he walked down the line, he scanned the faces of the other shoppers—tired parents with kids wired from too many Christmas cookies. Regular people just trying to make the best of a night that had turned into a frustrating marathon. He glanced back at the line again and sighed. The damp air was starting to creep under his collar. He hadn’t expected such a long line, but it began to sink in as he glanced at the sea of humanity.
A voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “Bradley? Is that you?”
Bradley saw Alisha standing in the crowd and was surprised to find her there. “Alisha? I haven’t seen you since…” he trailed off, trying to recall the last time they had seen each other.
Before she could respond, a voice cut in from behind them. “Hey, buddy! The end of the line is back there!”
Bradley held up his hands to pacify the protester. “Yeah, yeah. Give me a minute.” He turned his attention back to Alisha. “Looks like the crowd’s getting restless.”
Together, they looked up and down the line at the impatient people waiting to get inside the store and out of the cold. “My feet are blocks of ice,” Alisha said, stomping to emphasize the point. “I hope they open soon.”
Bradley looked down at her feet and shook his head in disbelief. She was wearing open-toed shoes, so of course, her feet were cold. What made her think that would be a good idea? Bradley thought. He wanted to tease her, but now wasn’t the time. Instead, he said, “Well… I’d better go. It was nice bumping into you.”
“It was nice seeing you, too,” Alisha replied.
Bradley turned away and headed for the end of the very long line. He rounded the corner and was greeted by a sea of bundled-up bodies. He let his breath out slowly. It was going to be a very long night.
“Hey! Bradley! Over here!”
A familiar voice cut through the cold, and Bradley glanced up to find Colin waving from the far back of the line. Bradley gave a quick nod of acknowledgment and made his way through the crowd toward him.
When he finally reached Colin, he grinned. “You made it,” Bradley said.
“You didn’t think I’d leave you hanging, did you?” Colin smiled.
“I wasn’t sure you’d show up.”
“Why?”
“Well,” Bradley started. “It’s Christmas Eve, and it’s fricken cold out here.”
“I’ve got nowhere else to be tonight,” Colin shrugged. “So I may as well freeze my nuts off with you.”
Bradley smiled. Sarcasm was Colin’s love language, but it was nice to see his old friend. Between his job, wife, and kids, it was hard to find time to hang out together. “Hey, Merry Christmas.”
“Yeah, Merry Christmas and all that crap.”
Bradley clenched his jaw; his friend’s snark had struck a nerve. The whole Christmas experience felt off, as if it had become just another commercialized grind. A part of him missed the simplicity of his childhood Christmases, when the holiday was filled with excitement and felt so special. It was more than just finding the right toy at the right time.
“How’s everything at home?” Colin asked, breaking Bradley out of his thoughts.
“Same old,” Bradley’s feet were cold despite his thick boots. “My wife’s got the kids in full Christmas mode, doing the church thing, baking cookies… You know, all that festive stuff. Meanwhile, I’m here freezing my butt off, trying to get the kids a Plastic-Thing-3000.”
“A Plastic-Thing-3000?” Colin sounded like he had never heard of it, whereas Bradley hadn’t stopped hearing about it from his kids since Halloween. “What is that?”
“I have no idea,” Bradley admitted.
“It’s unbelievable what kids want these days.”
Bradley nodded, a sarcastic edge in his voice. “Have you seen the advertising for it? It’s pretty brutal.”
“Oh?” Colin asked, clearly intrigued.
“Yeah,” Bradley said. “The advertisers use every trick in the book to make the kids want the Plastic-Thing-3000, and then they make the parents feel guilty if they don’t get one.”
“It can’t be that bad,” Colin said.
Bradley gave a half-laugh. “Clearly, you haven’t seen the advertisements.”
Colin shook his head. “This is the first time I’m hearing about it. You know, I’m kinda out of the loop when it comes to children’s toys.” Colin was single, without kids or any prospects of ever having any.
“Then consider yourself lucky,” Bradley said with a grin. “It’s all the kids talk about.”
“Well, maybe tonight I’ll get to see what all the fuss is about,” Colin said.
“You might not,” Bradley admitted. “These things have been sold out since Thanksgiving.” He swirled a finger around, indicating the other people in line. “I, like every other parent in America, have been desperately trying to get one, and this is our last hope. I saw online that the Westbrook Trading Company has an entire stockpile they’re distributing tonight.”
“How convenient.”
“Yeah, right? It’s all about supply and demand,” Bradley said with a shrug.
“Hopefully, they’ll still have one or two by the time we reach the front line.”
Bradley was thinking the same thing. “Yeah. But you know what’s going to happen, right?”
Colin raised an eyebrow. “No, what?”
“The kids have been begging for the Plastic-Thing-3000 since they started advertising it in October. If we get one, they’ll be excited to open it tomorrow morning. But after 20 minutes, they’ll forget it even exists.”
Colin laughed. “Yeah, I remember doing that with a gift or two.”
“It’s nothing like the Star Wars toys we had as kids,” Bradley said, with a touch of nostalgia.
“Wait. Do you still have them?” Colin asked.
Bradley smirked. “They’re collector’s items!”
Colin chuckled. “Is that how you justify it?”
“It works on my wife,” Bradley said with a wink.
Bradley shifted his weight from one foot to the other, tucking his cold hands under his armpits for warmth. He pulled his Carhartt jacket closer to his body. As a mechanic, he had half-melted the zipper last week when he leaned too close to the oxy torch. It was just one more scar on a jacket that had endured too many winters and not enough wash cycles. His wife wanted him to get rid of it, but Bradley felt that replacing it would be like betraying an old friend.
Colin looked like he belonged anywhere but inside a mechanic’s shop. He was tall and lanky, wearing a buttoned peacoat and a knotted scarf. Bradley knew that Colin had an aversion to manual labor and felt more comfortable with a computer than a wrench. Colin blew into his gloved hands as if he could feel the warmth through the leather. Bradley doubted he could, but he certainly envied his friend’s gloves.
“Are you even warm in those things?”
“Nope,” Colin said, looking at his gloves. “But they look amazing on me.”
Bradley shook his head. Some things never change. They stood side by side, mismatched in every way, yet they had been best friends since grade school.
As they continued to catch up, a commotion up ahead caught their attention.
Colin’s eye narrowed. “Hey, I recognize her!”
“Who?” Bradley asked, following his gaze.
“That bitch cut me off in the parking lot!” Colin said way too loudly.
Bradley cringed. He saw several young children huddled in line with their parents. Their eyes were wide with innocence, and Bradley could tell the holiday spirit was still very much alive in them. Bradley smacked his friend on the chest. Hard.
“What?”
“Dude. There are kids here. Watch your mouth.”
Colin glanced around, as if noticing the children for the first time. “Sorry, kids,” he mumbled half-heartedly.
Bradley looked around at the other parents standing in line and could tell they appreciated the correction. To reinforce it, he said to Colin, “Do better.”
“Fine.” Colin raised his hands in surrender. “But that woman is a real… Grinch!”
Bradley cracked a smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to move on. “Okay. So what happened?”
Colin unclenched his jaw and dropped into storyteller mode. “It’s Christmas Eve, the lot’s a war zone, and I’m circling like a vulture. I finally found this one golden spot near the doors. An older couple is backing up their big old Buick, taking their sweet time. I give them space. I’m patient. I’ve got my blinker on and everything. Then just as they back out, this tiny little Kia comes flying in like a bat out of…” Colin stopped and looked around at the kids. “…like a bat out of Sunday School. And she steals the spot right out from under me! She didn’t even look my way.”
Bradley winced in sympathy. The lot had been a madhouse. He’d ended up parking what felt like three counties away. “That stinks,” he said.
“I’m going to say something,” Colin muttered, fists clenched like he was warming up for a showdown.
Bradley threw a hand up. “Hold on. Just… don’t. Let it go.”
Colin turned to him, incredulous. “What? Why?”
“Because you can be the better person,” Bradley said. “And because… It’s Christmas.”
Colin let out a long, slow sigh. “Fine. I’ll let it go. But she’s a total Grinch.”
Bradley nodded. “I don’t doubt it.”
He turned his attention back to the line, where the woman in question was now loudly complaining about something to the people around her. Bradley watched her for a second, then shook his head. There was always one in every crowd.