Nate answered questions about the history of the ceremony and his responsibilities as Lightkeeper.
I chimed in when asked about the Hearthkeeper role, giving what little history I'd heard from my neighbor and the bit I'd researched.
It was enough to appease her and she moved on, asking about the toy drive, and Nate's face lit up as he described the overwhelming response from donors.
"We've collected over three thousand toys so far," he said. "Along with winter clothing, books, and games. The community has been incredibly generous."
"And Ember, you've been instrumental in helping to organize the collection events," the interviewer said, turning to me. "How has it felt to be part of such a meaningful tradition?"
No matter how far they steered from the gossip headlines I'd been reading, nothing seemed to quell my anxiety.
It was like my fight or flight response was permanently flicked on.
"It's been an honor. Seeing families come together to support their neighbors reminds me why these traditions matter."
The words sounded hollow in my ears, like I had just rehearsed something a committee member told me to say.
But the interviewer nodded approvingly and moved on to her next question.
We made it through the segment without incident.
When the cameras finally stopped rolling and the crew began breaking down equipment, I felt a rush of relief so intense it left me lightheaded.
They came to remove our mics and I stood carefully, willing my legs to remain steady.
When they dismissed us, I followed Nate toward the back of the studio where we'd left our coats.
"That went well," he said quietly. "You did great."
"Thanks." I focused on putting one foot in front of the other, navigating around cables and equipment cases.
I felt dizzy.
I knew my blood pressure was high but I felt proud of myself. I was battling my own fears and winning, and it felt good.
We were nearly to the exit when I heard voices and looked up to see two church elders speaking with a production assistant near the green room door.
I recognized them immediately from various community events.
Both were in their seventies, dressed in formal clothing, and one wore a clerical collar.
They spotted us at the same moment and their expressions shifted from pleasant to disapproving.
"Dr. Bradley," one of them said, nodding stiffly. "We're here to record a segment about the church's involvement in holiday traditions."
"That's wonderful," Nate replied. "The church's contributions to the community are invaluable."
He moved toward the coat rack, leaving me standing a few feet away but outside of earshot.
The second elder took the opportunity to step closer to me, and I didn’t care for her expression at all.
Not when she eyed me and definitely not when she leaned in closer to speak to me.
"Young lady, I feel compelled to speak plainly," she said low enough that Nate couldn't hear. "What you're doing is shameful. We've all seen the photographs of you kissing Dr. Bradley in that alley. Displaying such behavior in public, with a man old enough to be your father, while claiming to represent family values?—"
Heat flooded my face. "I don't think this is an appropriate conversation."
"Appropriate?" The first elder joined us and didn’t even bother hushing his tone. "What's inappropriate is your conduct. You need to pray for salvation, child. Ask for forgiveness before it's too late. The path you're on leads only to destruction."
