"It's never too late to take lessons," Grace said automatically. She believed that. At any age, someone could learn to do something different. One didn't have to just assume that they'd missed out in their school years and could never break new ground and learn something new.
"You're right. Maybe I'll talk to your aunt about giving me lessons. Thanks for the nudge," Kate said.
They chatted a bit more, while Grace bought one of the raspberry candy canes, and then also a peppermint one, because she knew her aunt loved them. She figured it could be dessert after their meal of subs that evening.
With a promise that she would be back, she waved and left to the bell ringing over her head.
She almost missed the sign on the window down at the bottom, where it didn't interfere with the display.
She stopped, the smile on her face slowly fading as she read, "Thirty-year tradition—Annual Mistletoe Meadows Christmas Concert. Now accepting musicians. Practice every Monday and Thursday evening. Occasional practice on Saturday afternoons. See Noah Parker."
Noah's phone number was on there too, and for some inexplicable reason, Grace almost got her phone out and started totype it in. She stopped with a small gasp when she realized what she was doing.
No. No. She was not going to get involved in this small town's Christmas concert. What was she thinking?
Except... If she was playing along with a bunch of other musicians, maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all. Maybe she would be able to do that.
No. She came here to rest and recover. Not to bite off more than she could chew. Or to give herself another panic attack.
But she held her phone loosely in her hand, contemplating. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to take a picture of the flyer and think about it a little bit more. For some reason, she didn't get the panicked feeling in her stomach and throat the way she did when she looked at the piano in her aunt's house. Maybe she could do this. Except... Maybe they didn’t even need a pianist. Maybe it was just stringed instruments... She glanced at the flyer again as she centered her phone. No. It didn't have any specific instruments on it. Maybe it just assumed that the people around town knew which instruments would be in the concert.
Snapping the picture before she could talk herself out of it, she tucked her phone in her pocket and hurried away, determined that she wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize her recovery, including playing in an annual Christmas concert, no matter how badly she was tempted.
Chapter 6
"The Mistletoe Christmas Festival is just one of the many Christmas traditions this town has. As you might expect because of the town name."
Grace sat in a chair in her Aunt Vivian's dining room, a blanket over her lap, knitting in her hands.
Her aunt sat across from her at the table, working on one of her intricate and exceptionally beautiful gingerbread houses. Just watching her aunt work made Grace feel relaxed and happy.
Soft Christmas music played from the speaker beside the window, and the occasional car drove down the street in front of the window, the headlights flashing.
The house smelled like cinnamon and yeast bread, and in the soft glow of the light on the coffee table, Grace could almost believe that they were in another world entirely.
The catastrophe of her last concert, the subsequent panic attacks, and fear that she might never perform again seemed like distant memories.
"I'd love to hear about them," she said, when Aunt Vivian didn't say anything more.
"Well, there's the Secret Saint. Our town is kind of famous for it."
"Secret Saint?" she asked.
"It's like a Secret Santa, only I suppose someone, I don't know who, coined the term, Secret Saint rather than saying Santa, because—and I'm just guessing here—a lot of times this time of year we get our attention off of what we're really celebrating and end up celebrating with the world. We even lie to our children and tell them that there's such a thing as Santa Claus, and make Christmas all about him and bringing toys and Rudolph and the North Pole. Sometimes we don't even bother to tell them the story of Jesus. Or, it takes second place to all the supposedly wonderful things that Santa does. Jesus can seem kind of boring after Santa."
Grace didn't say anything. She hadn't been brought up to believe in Santa Claus, and she didn't really understand why parents would lie to their kids that way. She was glad her parents hadn't, but she supposed it was a cute little story.
"I guess I don't really see anything wrong with Santa Claus, but I do agree that sometimes it feels like Christmas has been commercialized out of hand."
"I just think that's our little way of trying to make sure that we celebrate the true reason for the season."
"So what does the Secret Saint do?" Then she thought of an even more important question. "And who is it?"
"No one really knows. It seems to be different people. But whoever it is has a vast network of helpers who let them know when a townsperson might be experiencing difficulty or need some help."
"Like what?" she asked, curious despite herself. She'd never heard of a town that did this kind of thing.
"Sometimes it's simple things, like delivering groceries or a Christmas tree. Sometimes it's a little bigger, like giving a family who's had a hard time Christmas gifts to put under their tree for their children. Sometimes it's something as big as repairs to a home, like roofing or a new porch or fixing a banister. Thelist could go on and on. Sometimes the Secret Saint has paid off medical bills, given dental care to children, and even helped students with electronics and tuition bills."
