Page 106 of Happy After All

That’s new. I’m not sure how I feel about it. The hope.

“Come on,” I say, moving us over to where the kids are rehearsing. “I think we are legally obligated to get an early look at the show.”

As we draw closer, the high-pitched singing grows louder, and at least that does something to dispel some of the tension in my chest.

“So this is what I’ve missed avoiding Christmas services with my parents all these years,” he says.

I laugh. “I don’t know. Maybe they aren’t this elite at your parents’ church.”

There is chaos as Mary moves into her position with flour bag Joseph, and the donkey jumps, and then a camel snorts and startles.

Reigna throws her hands up and yells, “Cut! Oh, hello, Amelia,” she says. “I’m so glad you stopped by to see rehearsal.”

“This is very impressive,” I say.

“Very. I can’t wait until Christopher is here to read for us.”

“I didn’t realize you were doing a whole manger scene. I thought that it was going to be ...”

“Oh, it will be inclusive,” she says. “We have a manger and will be doing a display with the menorah and a kinara. Of course, many portions will just include Santa as a secular symbol.”

“I see,” I say.

“I thought of everything,” she says.

But the resolute refusal of the donkeys to behave makes me question this. Alice is sitting at the keyboard, and when she sees me, she waves.

And winks.

She is a scoundrel, which is why I love her.

“From the top,” says Reigna.

The choir begins to sing “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” and that’s when everything falls apart. One of the donkeys gets loose and begins to run around the choir, which makes the camel startle again. Half the manger scene is knocked to the ground.

One of the children in the choir, whom I recognize as Lorena’s oldest, gets jostled and falls over and starts crying, and Mary mobilizes. She stops in front of me, and suddenly, I find myself being handed baby Jesus.

“Can you hold her for a second?”

She races to her other child, and I find myself frozen. I haven’t held a baby since ...

I feel Nathan get still next to me. I’m horrified by the wave of grief that threatens to swallow me whole. Because it’s been more than three years. This isn’t my baby. I’ve seen babies. I’ve been around them. I’ve even seen Lorena’s baby before. But I’ve never held her.

My throat feels too tight. My body strung out.

Nathan knows. He knows why I’m standing there, losing touch with reality. Losing touch with the ground. I know he doesn’t know what to do. Neither do I. I can feel that he’s about to take the baby for me, when suddenly, there is a gentle touch on my shoulder.

“I’ve got her,” says Alice, looking up at me with startling clarity in her blue eyes.

Like she sees me. Like she sees what’s hurting me.

She pats my shoulder and holds the baby close.

“You go on,” says Alice.

Nathan takes my hand, squeezing it slightly as we walk away from the scene.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry I . . .”

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