Kelli Carpenter had always loved Christmas. The carols, the shopping, the tinsel, and decorating the tree in bright lights and eclectic, mismatched but memorable ornaments collected over the years.
Although there were times when she might have wished that she lived somewhere she could experience a white Christmas, like in the song and seemingly every holiday movie ever made, she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else but Shelter Bay.
The coastal Oregon town was where she’d been born. Where, in the sixth grade, she’d performed the role of the Sugar Plum Fairy in her Pelican Elementary School’s production of The Nutcracker.
Shelter Bay was where she’d energetically waved her blue and white cheerleader pom-poms for the high school Dolphins, where she’d been president of the theater club and voted the most likely to star on Broadway. Where she’d fallen in love.
And, at one Christmas tree lighting she wished she could forget, had her heart shattered into a million pieces.
But she wasn’t going to think about that now. This upcoming program wasn’t about her. It was about making sure that the students in her kindergarten class would look back on tonight as a happy holiday memory. Also, hopefully, their parents and the rest of the audience members would enjoy the performance that she, Adèle Douchett, and Zelda Chmerkovskiy had been working on with the children since they’d returned from their Thanksgiving weekend.
“My nose doesn’t light up,” Cody Miller complained.
“Don’t worry, cher,” Adèle assured him. “This is just the dress rehearsal, so everyone can get used to wearing their costumes.”
The seamstress of the team, Adèle had created the reindeer costume with a hood that left the little boy’s face uncovered, partly so his parents could recognize him for their home video. But equally importantly, so he wouldn’t go bumping into other singers, or worse yet, the scenery.
Last year, Kelli had made the costume from a pattern she’d found on the Internet. Unfortunately, with that hood having slots only for his eyes and mouth, the visually impaired Rudolph had walked straight into the tree, sending it tumbling down on two snowflakes and an angel, who’d ended up with a bloody nose.
It was not, Kelli thought, her finest moment. Unfortunately, it had also become a viral YouTube hit for the remainder of last year’s holiday season. A bit of unwelcome fame she was determined to avoid this year.
“Mr. Douchett will add the battery before the performance,” Kelli assured the five-year-old.
“Good,” Allison Duggan said. “Because the song won’t work if Rudolph’s nose doesn’t flash.”
There were times when Kelli thought that she might as well give Allison the role of codirector. The tiny blonde might look like the Christmas angel she was dressed up to portray, but the little girl was a demon when it came to getting the details right.
“It’ll flash,” Kelli said.
Yesterday, Allison’s major concern had been whether or not there were enough rhinestones and sequins on her angel costume to sparkle properly beneath the spotlights.
ABC December was a simple and enjoyable play: Each of the children would do a little dance to the center of the stage, hold up a sign with a letter of the alphabet, sing two lines to fit their assigned letter, then dance off again.
It wasn’t nearly as complex as the Winter Snow Fairy play the fourth graders planned to do. Or the annual sixth grade shortened version of The Nutcracker, which, years after Kelli had performed it, remained an audience pleaser.
Although she was trying to keep her mind focused, Kelli’s concentration was that of a mosquito. Or at least a five-year-old.
“You seem distracted today,” Adèle noted after the small performers had all gone home and the three women were packing up the costumes and alphabet posters.
“This time of year is always a bit stressful,” she hedged, unwilling to admit to this woman she cared about so dearly that it was the older woman’s grandson who was causing Kelli’s mind to wander.
“You’ve always loved it so,” the seventysomething woman said, studying Kelli with concern. “I still remember how you seemed to float above the stage when you danced The Nutcracker. You actually became a sugarplum fairy.”
“I was eleven,” Kelli pointed out. “Life was less complicated then.”
“I suppose. Yet you’ve always embraced the holidays.” Adèle’s brow furrowed. “Actually, it’s been only the past few days that you haven’t seemed yourself.”
Kelli shrugged. “I guess the weather’s getting to me.”
“It’s winter,” Zelda, who was replacing pink ribbons in a pair of tiny ballet slippers with white, pointed out. “It always rains on the coast in December.”
Actually, it rained on the coast year-round, which had never bothered Kelli. In fact, she actually enjoyed the cool, misty days of “Oregon sunshine.”
“Maybe I just need to get away for a few days. I wonder if it’s too late to get plane tickets to Hawaii.”
“With Bradford?” Zelda asked.
“No. Alone.” She and Brad Archer had been dating for the past two months, but they were not anywhere near the stage in their relationship when she’d want to take a long flight and a beach trip with him.
“Alone?” Adèle looked at her as if she’d suggested taking a flight to Mars. “At Christmas? What about your parents?”
“It’s not as if I’d be abandoning them.” Merely escaping old memories she’d discovered she wasn’t ready to relive.
“Cole’s back home.” Adèle pressed her case. “Have you seen him yet?”
“No. We haven’t run into each other.” And hadn’t she done her best to make sure of that?
Over the past year, Kelli had tried to convince herself that she’d gotten over Cole Douchett. It wasn’t as if they’d ever actually had a romantic relationship. He’d always treated her like a little sister, even when she knew, in her heart of hearts, that if he’d only wait for her to grow up, they could be so much more.
Kelli couldn’t remember when she’d fallen in love with Cole. It seemed as if he’d always been hers. Living across the street, it was only natural that her older brothers would hang out with the three Douchett boys.
There were times when it was almost as if she had six big brothers.
But Cole had been different. He’d been the one who took her out for ice cream when Hershey, their chocolate Lab, had gotten run over and she couldn’t stop crying. When she was seven years old, during a halcyon weekend when her family stayed with his at the Douchett cabin on Rainbow Lake, Cole had taught her to bait a hook.
Although she’d have rather eaten dirt than touch a wiggly worm, years later, Kelli could remember his large hands covering hers as he’d helped her pull in that gleaming rainbow trout. That night, while sparks flew upward into an uncharacteristically clear night sky, he’d taught her how to cook the fish—which he’d cleaned for her—over a campfire.
Although she’d tasted fancier preparations of trout in the intervening years, that simple fish remained the best she’d ever eaten.
“Bernard and I are just rattling around in our big old house,” Adèle said. “I believe I’ll throw a holiday fais do do.” Which, although it translated to “make sleep,” Kelli knew was Cajun for party. Nobody in Shelter Bay threw parties like the Douchetts. “It’ll be fun to do for Boxing Day. You will come, won’t you?”
“If I’m in town, of course.” And if she didn’t come down with a case of the flu, which she could almost feel coming on.
Adèle started to open her mouth. Then closed it with a nearly audible snap. “Well, Cole’s got another twelve days before he has to return to Camp Pendleton. There’s plenty of time for us all to get together.”
Too much time to keep coming up with excuses to avoid the man, Kelli thought with a sinking heart.
Hawaii was looking better and better.