Page 65 of Saved By Noel
And, although I’ll never admit it to anyone, I’ve even watched a few more of those cheesy Christmas romance movies. I’m simply making sure I thoroughly understand what people will be expecting coming in. Chase gets excited every time I settle on the couch with a bowl of popcorn.
The first time I sat down to watch one of the movies, I almost turned it off. A torrent of emotions bubbled to the surface with such force that I couldn’t fend it off. I thought back to my childhood, to all the snide comments my dad would make if someone tried to suggest a town Christmas celebration. I thought about the lackluster holiday memories I carry from my family, which led to a rabbit trail of lackluster family memories, period.
Saying yes to this Christmas festival has conjured competing emotions about my father’s memory. On the one hand, it’s almost liberating to do the one thing he was always so against. He’d made it so clear that I never lived up to his expectations, so why not spectacularly let those expectations down now that he’s gone?
On the flip side, I’ve realized that the part of me hoping I’d one day earn my dad’s approval never truly died. Even after Dad’s death, there’s still that boy inside me wishing that his father would be proud of him. Wishing that he’d regard me the way he always looked at Sam—a competent, successful man he was proud to call a son.
Like the cherry on top of my sundae of conflicted emotions, Clara’s biweekly visits have been their own combination of sweet relief and acute torture. Leave it to Clara to pull off such acontrast. Considering the fact that this festival really isherbaby, she’s insisted on sitting down together every time she’s here to go over updates and plans. The conversations talking logistics on her back porch or over dinner at the Deer River Bar leave me cravingmoremundane, everyday time with her. Denying the craving has become plain painful.
November rolls around, and I’m as prepared as I possibly could be. The weeks leading up to Thanksgiving are spent building and installing as much of the booths and decor as won’t interfere with everyday life. The public areas of town are strung with Christmas lights and greenery, and about 90 percent of the residential houses are lit up before Thanksgiving. Paul and Emily have had a healthy boost to their store’s income, placing bulk orders while still giving the townspeople a good deal on lights and decorations.
The First Noel officially opens the Sunday after Thanksgiving, making Saturday our final walk-through to ensure everything is ready. Clara is spending Thanksgiving with her parents and driving down Saturday morning to be here.
Paul and Emily have invited Pops and me to join them for Thanksgiving dinner. I drive to pick up Pops, making mental notes along the way of a few places that need light strands tightened.
When I knock on Pops’ door, there’s no answer. I call out for him, but the lack of response has me worried. I enter the house, finding it empty. Puzzled, I check upstairs, even though I don’t know the last time Pops attempted climbing the stairs. Finally, I head out back to his workshop.
Pops is deep in concentration, a cardinal taking shape in his hands. I glance around the workshop, shocked to see dozens of animal carvings lining the shelves.
I fight back the moisture in my eyes. Once I have my emotion under control, I knock on the door, trying to get Pops’ attention without startling him while he’s holding a whittling knife.
“You ready to go, Pops?” I ask when he looks up from his work.
“Oh, is it time for dinner already? Guess I lost track of time,” he responds, setting down the cardinal.
I take a few steps in and examine the carvings. There are bears, dogs, cats, and horses. But mostly, lots of birds. I glance over at Pops watching my appraisal of his work.
I’m fighting off emotion again, clearing my throat. “You know, Bev would be really proud of you. She would have loved to see these—I’m sure she’s looking down and smiling.”
Emotion clouds Pops’ face now, his eyes turning foggy. He nods, and then grips my shoulder and adds, “And your grandma would have loved to see all of this. She’d be proud of you.I’mproud of you, son.”
As two stoic men not used to feeling much emotion—much less displaying it—we stand there awkwardly for a beat before turning to walk to my truck.
Despite the extra load on her plate, Emily has still managed to pull off a Thanksgiving feast. Paul deep-fried the turkey, and every comforting side dish is present on the table spread. We pause while Paul blesses the meal, then begin passing plates.
“How are you feeling about Sunday, honey?” Emily asks me.
I swallow a bite of sweet potato casserole. “Honestly? Ready for this whole thing to be over.”
Emily laughs.
“The lack of knowing exactly what to expect is driving me crazy. I wish I knew how many people will show up. I hope this turns out being worth everyone’s time,” I explain.
“Yeah, I can understand that,” Emily responds. “There are a few thousand people who marked interested on the Facebookevent page, but it’s hard to know the real numbers of visitors that will translate to.”
“James told me that every cabin is booked solid for the entire three weeks of the festival. There are even a few booked all the way through Christmas,” Paul says before taking a bite of turkey.
“Really?” I ask.
“I’m not surprised. Syd did such a good job decorating—those cabins all look so cute and cozy. Who could resist?!” Emily remarks. “Is Clara still coming down for the first week?”
Mention of Clara catches me off guard, even though I know it shouldn’t, logically speaking. After all, she is the mastermind of this whole thing. For better or worse.
“Um, I assume so? I haven’t talked to her since her last trip here,” I reply, met with a tellinghmmmsound from Emily. “What?”
“I just assumed you were keeping closer tabs on her, that’s all,” Emily says. Her attention is diverted to scold her son for hiding his phone under the table, saving me from having to respond.
“We’ll be at the store, but let us know if you need any help with the final setup tomorrow or Saturday,” Paul interjects. He changes the subject to fill me in on Noland’s extended operating hours for the festival. I’m grateful for the diversion away from Clara.
