Page 74 of The Christmas Keepsake
Hollis nodded. “Right. I need to find him.” He didn’t move though. Not until Dr. Lynch reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll call you as soon as I have more information on Duke. Trust me.”
He did trust Dr. Lynch. He’d been working with her for years through the rescue and with his dog training clients. “Thank you,” he said quietly. Then he turned and forced himself to leave the vet’s office when all he really wanted was to stay by Duke’s side.
The Star Ornament
The Star Ornament is in the box labeled with a 12. Inside, yes, you’ll see a sparkly, glittery star. Usually, the star goes on top of a tree, but not this one. This one is hung twelfth down. It was a gift from the Bloom mayor, if you can believe it. An honor and a treasure, and the reason my play became a Bloom holiday staple.
Here’s the story.
That first year of motherhood with my baby girl, I felt like I was stumbling through a thick fog, never quite sure if I was doing anything right. Every cry, every sleepless night, every moment of uncertainty chipped away at my confidence.
I remember standing in the nursery one night, my daughter wailing in my arms, and feeling completely overwhelmed. The theater, my pride and joy, felt like a distant memory. My dreams of Broadway stardom seemed laughable now. In that dark moment, I considered running away from it all—my husband, my child, the theater. Everything.
That feeling lingered for days until my mother, bless her heart, took me aside. She must have sensed the exhaustion and seen the doubt in my eyes. “Nannette,” she said, using my full name, like she always did when she was being serious, “good mothers always feel like they’re doing things wrong. It’s a sign that you care and that you want the best for your baby girl.”
Those words were like a lifeline. They didn’t magically make everything easier, but they gave me the strength to keep going.
Mickey, my dear sweet husband, was a rock through itall. He’d get up in the middle of the night to tend to the baby, insisting that I needed my rest. “You’ve got a theater to run, darling,” he’d say with a wink. “And you’re doing it with a baby on your hip, literally carrying the load all day. Let me handle the midnight feedings.”
Not all women are as lucky to have a spouse who understands how hard it is. I’d direct rehearsals while bouncing Daisy in my arm and rewriting scripts one-handed while she napped on my chest. The actors and crew were wonderfully understanding, cooing over her between scenes and offering to watch her when I needed a moment.
It certainly wasn’t the life I’d envisioned when I’d set off for New York with stars in my eyes and Broadway dreams in my heart. But as the months went by, I realized it was so much more. The theater became not just my passion, but also a second home for my little family. My daughter’s first steps were on that stage, her giggles echoing in the wings as she watched rehearsals from her playpen.
Being a mother changed me in ways I never could have foreseen. It softened my edges, making me more patient, more understanding. It gave me a new perspective on the stories we told onstage, a deeper appreciation for the complexities of human emotion.
That first year flew by in a blur of sleepless nights, baby giggles, and theater productions. Before I knew it, my little girl was toddling around, babbling her first words—many of which, I’m proud to say, were theater terms she’d picked up from all the time spent there. As the next Christmas approached, and the one after that, the town folk asked about our annual productionofSanta, Baby. They didn’t just ask—they practically demanded it. The mayor came to me personally becauseSanta, Babyhad been the topic of a town meeting. The town wanted the play to continue. As if I might say no, the mayor brought me a gift. A beautiful brass star to represent what he said I was to Bloom—a shining star.
Who needed Broadway when they had the entire town of Bloom as their fan base?
I think it was more the play that had struck a chord than me, actually. Santa and Mrs. Claus having a “real” marriage? The kind that all married couples knew. The well-kept secret that kept hopeless romantics believing the fairy tales they’d grown up believing. My debut play had become such a beloved tradition in such a short time that it drew people from neighboring towns every year, more and more as word of mouth spread.
The rest, as they say, is history. Bloom history.Santa, Babybecame an annual tradition, one that would shape our little town for years to come. It was more than a play; it was a piece of who we were, a testament to the power of family, community, and the magic of theater.
Looking back now, I wouldn’t change a thing. My daughter grew up in that theater that was our wonderland. And then my granddaughters too—but that’s a different story. More plays came along, some that stuck and some that didn’t. ButSanta, Babycontinued. The magic captured in that script was what got me through the darkest moments. That magical feeling spoke to the town as well.
It brought the community together for a shared experience each year, to laugh and cry and catch that glimmer of hope that shimmers brightest during the holidays.And, if you ask me, that’s the real magic, the kind that lasts long after the curtain falls.
Truthfully, I think the reason that play resonated was because of the leading man—the one in my head when I’d written the story. It was this imaginary story of me and my first love. The only place we ever got to exist after that whirlwind romance in high school.
Chapter Twenty-Three
To be an actor you have to be a child.
—Paul Newman
Mallory’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel as she navigated the winding road to Memory Oaks Nursing Care, her conversation with Maddie echoing in her mind. It wasn’t like Mallory to let her emotions get the better of her, but Maddie’s insistence and vastly differing opinion about something so sentimental stung.
But Maddie did have a point. Selling was the only answer to being able to afford Nan’s continued long-term care. She was wrong about Mallory not wanting to deal with the theater though—even with the now-necessary repairs.
Mallory pulled into the parking lot of Memory Oaks and took a deep breath, trying to push aside her discombobulated feelings. Nan was sensitive to everything around her. Mallory didn’t want to set Nan off, especially tonight, with the holiday celebration happening in the community room.
As Mallory entered the facility’s lobby, she took in the festive decorations, garlands draped along the reception desk, and the smallChristmas tree twinkling in the lobby’s corner. Mallory checked in with Francis at the front desk.
“Is Hollis here yet?” she asked.
Francis shook her head. “Not yet, but he told me earlier that he was coming.”
