Last Christmas. . .
As I danced across the stage at the Christmas Mountain Community Center in my red and white costume with matching Santa hat, I couldn’t help thinking that whoever said “the show must go on” should’ve also given advice on what to do once the show ended. Would that have been so much to ask? I mean, leave me hanging, why don’t you?
I’d unexpectedly returned to my hometown of Christmas Mountain, Montana—a small town built over a hundred years ago by settlers who arrived on Christmas and decided to make their homes here (thus, the name of the mountain and the town). I’d grown up in this scenic area just outside of Glacier National Park, with its mountains, lakes, and pine and fir trees, then left for college, and never returned (long story) until my childhood choir teacher and mentor, Melody King, asked if I would come back to perform in The Christmas Extravaganza, an annual event.
Ms. King informed me she’d become terminally ill with kidney cancer and her dying wish was that my childhood choir team—the seven of us had been the ultimate besties—perform our “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” routine for her one last time. My eyes watered as I looked out past the stage and found her leading us, with the baton in hand. Her silver hair was swept back away from her face but it didn’t look as shiny as it used to and she had dark circles under her eyes.
Her gaze caught mine and she smiled at me, making everything better for that split second.
Ms. King never married or had any children and in my heart I knew she felt that Ashley, Lexi, Morgan, Emma, Joy, Carol, and I were like her own kids. We’d performed this routine each Christmas from middle school through high school and I felt honored that she wanted us to perform it for her one more time.
Joy pushed her Santa hat out of her eyes, placed her fingers on the ebony and ivory keys of the piano and started playing the beginning notes of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” The rest of us spread out across the stage in our Santa hats and I couldn’t help thinking about how all seven of us had spread out across the country after high school, some of us losing touch.
But not one of us had said no to Ms. King’s request. How could we after all she’d done for us over the years? Back in Washington state, my boss didn’t seem to understand this reasoning and refused to give me the time off to come here—not even after I told him my dear friend was dying and this was all she’d ever asked of me. Nope, he said the holidays were too busy.
Pretty sure he didn’t get the meaning of Christmas.
So I quit my job, packed my stuff, and moved back to Christmas Mountain three weeks ago. My parents divorced while I was in college and moved away, so there had been no reason to return until now. Dad lived in Palm Springs with his new wife. Mom lived in Florida with her new husband. And instead of deciding which parent to spend Christmas with this year, I would be with Ms. King.
Before this month, I hadn’t seen Ms. King in person since I’d left for the University of Washington, where I obtained a degree in sociology. It had taken me six years to graduate—my parents’ divorce hit me hard and my motivation to study suffered. After graduation, I spent two years working ski patrol and as a ski instructor at the Crystal Mountain Ski Resort, which I’d enjoyed immensely—until my manager turned into a heartless toad.
Now, my stuff was in storage and I’d been staying at the Sugar Plum Inn (with a huge discount since my friend’s parents owned it). Even though my meager savings were nearly gone, I’d be here for Ms. King no matter what it cost me—the show would go on.
I belted out the lyrics for “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” with my friends, thinking: Yeah, I’m home for Christmas. But, now what? I needed a job, an income, and I had zero prospects!
Deep breaths, Faith. Deep breaths.
“I’ll be home for Christmas if only in my dreams . . .” I sang, blowing kisses to Ms. King after the last note, and trying not to pass out from the stress of having only forty-seven dollars in the bank and a pile of rejection letters to the résumés I’d sent out. Applause rang out through the community center as we girls took our bows and then danced off, regrouping backstage.
“It was like old times,” Ashley said, clasping her hands together.
“If it were like old times then Brent Donnelly wouldn’t be outside waiting for you right now,” Emma joked, giving Ash a hug. “I’m so happy for you and him.”
“Lexi and Kevin looked pretty cozy before the performance, too,” Carol said, and a smile took over Lexi’s face.
“I also saw Dallas Parker in the audience,” Joy said, putting an arm around Morgan. “I always knew Morgan and Dallas would get together one day.”
“How could you have known when I hadn’t known it?” Morgan laughed, shaking her head as she squeezed Joy back before releasing her. “I’m sure none of you will be surprised to learn that Ms. King had a hand in my bumping into Dallas again.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, turning to Morgan. “I thought you two reunited because Coraline accidentally leased the same business space to both you and Dallas.”
“Turns out it wasn’t an accident,” Morgan said, her pear-green eyes lighting up. “Ms. King told Coraline that Dallas and I needed a nudge in a certain direction, which is how the ‘mistake’ happened.”
“Ms. King played matchmaker?” I laughed, adjusting my Santa hat so it wouldn’t fall off my head. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Because you know our choir teacher as well as we do, Faith,” Morgan said, slipping her arm through mine.
“Thank goodness for Ms. King,” I said, my smile fading as we all grew silent. I knew what everyone was thinking, even though not one of us said it aloud: What will we do without her?
Ash put her wrist forward first, showing the faded hot pink friendship bracelet still wrapped there after all of these years. Then Lexi put her wrist on top of Ash’s wrist, showing her bracelet, too. Morgan followed next, then me, Emma, Joy, and Carol.
We’d woven and exchanged these friendship bracelets after our first “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” performance in the sixth grade when Ms. King led us to a special spot by Christmas Falls and told us how she’d exchanged bracelets with her lifelong friends at our age. The seven of us wanted to be those kinds of friends, too. So we’d tied the bracelets onto each other’s wrists, promised to always be there for each other, and knew we’d be best friends forever.
“I remember that evening by The Falls,” Ms. King said, startling me as she came up behind us. “You were young girls then and now you’re women. I’m so proud of every one of you.”
My eyes watered and my heart warmed. “Thank you, Ms. King.”
Our arms went around her in a group hug that made me feel eleven again—a time when my parents were married and financial worries were nowhere on my radar. When we pulled back, we chatted about the performance and then everyone went separate ways.
Alone backstage, I pulled off my Santa hat, peeked into the Christmas-tree-shaped mirror on the wall, smoothed my dark hair down and saw the despair in my almond-brown eyes peering back at me. My eyes watered, my throat tightened, and my freckled nose turned pink. I’d had no choice other than to quit my job, but I hadn’t exactly grown rich working ski patrol and giving ski lessons. My savings had only been enough to get me here and through the last three weeks.
The show must go on. But, how?
“Faith Sterling?” a man’s voice came from behind me.
“Oh!” My hand flew to my chest and I spun around to face the jolliest man I’d ever seen. He had tufts of white hair, a big bushy white beard, and icy blue eyes with crinkles on either side. His cheeks were rosy and pink as he smiled at me. “Yes, I’m Faith,” I said.
“Larry Kline,” he said, holding out a white-gloved hand. “You gave a wonderful performance tonight.”
“Thank you,” I said, squeezing his hand. I may be broke but, hey, at least I’d performed well. “Do I know you? You look familiar . . .”
“Ho-ho-ho.” He chuckled a jolly old laugh. “Perhaps you’ve been to Santa’s Grotto? That’s where my performances take place.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” I said, remembering that’s where I’d seen him before. I’d taken the grand tour a few days ago at the base of Christmas Mountain. A burst of joy ripped through my chest. “You’re Santa.”
“Actually, I’m the owner of Silver Bells Luxury Tours,” he said, tapping the side of his nose. “Santa’s Grotto is our most popular tour, especially in December. We keep luxury tours year-round, though, and I’m not getting any younger. A friend suggested I hire some help in my business office. I’ve heard along the candy cane wire that you’re looking for a job.”
“Yes, Mr. Kline,” I said, gripping his hand again and bobbing it up and down as hope surged through me. “I most certainly am.”
He chuckled, his belly bouncing, and he leaned toward me. “Then you’re hired.”
“I’m hired?” I asked, tears burning the backs of my eyes. But then my stomach clenched. “Don’t you need to see a résumé? Interview me? Call my previous employer?”
He shook his head. “I have it on good authority that you’re just the person needed at Silver Bells. See you on Monday, Faith.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kline,” I said, watching him disappear through the doorway leading out to the auditorium. My jaw dropped, I clasped my hands together and then threw my gaze at the ceiling, thanking my lucky candy canes that I had a job again. Just in the St. Nick of time, too.
But, wait. Why had he hired me just like that? He’d said he had it on good authority I’d fit in. My gaze flew to the doorway he’d just disappeared through and I saw him giving a woman a hug, before nodding to her and then walking away.
The woman turned toward me, her silver hair brushed back from her face, the dark circles under her eyes looking larger than they had earlier. She wobbled on her feet, gripped the back of a chair for balance and straightened. Her gaze lifted to mine and she blew me a kiss.
“Thank you,” I said, mouthing the words and putting a hand over my heart.
“You’re most welcome,” she said, mouthing the words back to me.
Ms. King had brought Santa to me, and he had given me a job. I shouldn’t have been surprised to find her behind my good fortune. Even though she could barely stand, she was an angel still looking out for her girls. My heart squeezed in my chest. I could only hope we’d given her as much joy over the years as she’d given us.