Page 71 of The Christmas Keepsake
Maddie made another audible yawn. “We’ll see.”
Mallory resisted the tears pressing behind her eyes. She bit her tongue and some of the pent-up things she wanted to unload. “Sounds good. Have a good night.” She didn’t wait for Maddie to reciprocate. Instead, she disconnected the call, feeling deflated and disappointed.
The whole reason for the call was to tell Maddie about all the positives in her life. She’d wanted to tell Maddie about her relationship with Hollis. And the kiss.
But now all she wanted to do was put on her pj’s and climb into bed alone. Actually, she didn’t want to be alone anymore. She’d discovered something better than turning inward when she was upset—and that was turning outward, to Hollis.
The Number 11 Ornament
As you know, I don’t believe in coincidences. Everything is ordered. Nothing is by chance. Open the small silk sack, and inside you’ll find a little metal tag with the Popadine Tree Farm logo and the number 11. It’s a tag from a live tree that your grandfather and I purchased our first year of marriage, the day after Thanksgiving. Mickey had insisted the tree be live, and there was only one place to get it. I would have shied away if I could, but that would have raised brows. So I went, hoping I wouldn’t return again until the following year. Boy, was I wrong.
Here’s the story.
Opening night of a play is like preparing for a wedding. As the director, screenwriter, and lead actress, I felt the pressure. Not to mention the additional pressure that my now full-size baby was putting on my bladder. TMI? We’re family. If you can’t tell your dear granddaughters about things like this, then what is family for?
So, on opening day ofSanta, Baby, I was in a bit of a panic. The excited, good kind. We were just hours before the curtains opened, and then… disaster struck. When I stepped into the front area of the theater and felt something wet on my feet, I thought I’d wet my pants. Or that my water had broken.
It wasn’t me though. As I scanned my surroundings, with our first live Christmas tree in the corner, I realized the entire room was flooded. My heart slowly dropped as Mickey stepped up behind me. I heard him gasp, and I knew I wasn’t overdramatizing what a disaster this was.
“What are we going to?” I turned toward him, my eyes glistening with tears.
For a moment, Mickey looked speechless. His lips parted, and his eyes were dazed and confused.
“Mickey,” I said again. “Do we cancel the show?” My heart was pounding, and my knees felt weak under the weight of our baby, who suddenly felt far heavier. The thought of canceling was soul crushing. We needed to sell tickets to pay the overhead. If the first production didn’t even happen, then there was a good chance the theater itself might not even survive.
“No,” he said quietly, his eyes becoming clear as he looked at the tree in the corner of the room too. Then he turned to me. “The show must go on.”
I guess people around town think that’s my tagline. I was always saying the phrase in any circumstance. But the truth is, your grandfather said it first. “You wrote the whole script. We rehearsed. We have the actors, the props. We have everything except the stage.” He stood there thoughtfully. I could practically see the wheels turning in his head. “I’m going to talk to Ralph.”
“Ralph?” I looked at my husband. Over the last couple of years, Ralph had made a name for himself as the owner of the Popadine Tree Farm. In Mickey’s eyes, Ralph was old news. I’d dated him in high school before going off to New York, but that was all. Ralph had moved on and gotten married. According to everyone else, we were history. My secret was mine, and mine alone. “Why him?”
I could see that Mickey was swept up in his thought process. “I’ve heard talk of him building a huge barn on the tree farm property. I think he had big plans for it, but he ran out of funds. Or something along those lines.” Mickey shrugged.
“I’m not following what you’re trying to say,” I said,preoccupied with Ralph’s name in the same conversation as my play. Hearing his name still flustered me more than I liked to admit.
“The barn, Nan. Ralph is a great guy. I’m positive he’ll let us hold your play there if we ask.”
“You’re suggesting that we put on the production in a barn?” I asked, equal parts intrigued and appalled. Theater was meant to be carried out like teatime in high society. People dressed up. They arrived early because, once the doors were closed, they didn’t reopen until intermission. Barns were… well, barns were for animals.
Mickey’s eyes lit up as he spoke, suddenly alive with passion. “The Popadine family is into construction. I’ll hire them to build a stage. The tree farm has a huge parking lot to accommodate attendees. It’s perfect.” Mickey looked at his watch and gave a small nod. Then he leaned in and kissed my temple. “I’ll make the calls right now,” he said before walking out of the theater and leaving me there, still flustered, confused, pregnant, and standing in several inches of water on the floor.
What other options did I have? And, I had to admit, it wasn’t an awful idea. It was perhaps even… genius. Everyone loved to visit Popadine’s Tree Farm during the holidays, especially now that Ralph had taken over, with a healthy dose of change and his undeniable charm.
My only hesitation was the obvious. I was a married woman now. Pregnant too. I wanted to be a good wife to Mickey, but my heart betrayed me at the very thought of my first love. In a small town, you can’t escape your first love. You just can’t. But you could do your very best to avoid that love, which was why Mickey’s idea seemed like a disaster waiting to happen.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The most important thing about acting is honesty. If you can fake that, you’ve got it made.
—George Burns
Hollis’s stomach felt like a pit of acid.
Earlier this afternoon, he’d called up Sandy and invited himself to dinner tonight, which wasn’t out of the norm. They tried to have a family meal at least once a month. More often if possible. But things had been busy lately with the construction crew and Christmas season upon them.
Tonight’s visit wasn’t just a casual catchup, however. Hollis had an ulterior motive, which made him feel guiltier than the time he’d graffitied his old principal’s vehicle—and that was saying a lot, because that ’57 Corvette meant a lot to the former administer of Bloom High, and everyone in town knew it.
Pulling on a nice polo shirt, Hollis glanced at his reflection in the mirror. His beard was a little overgrown, which was fitting for a guy who worked at a Christmas tree farm. He kind of felt like a lumberjack.
