Page 3 of The Christmas Stroll

And without her dad, the Nantucket Christmas Stroll had never truly felt the same.

Chapter 2

Across the ballroom, the carolers finished their song and transitioned seamlessly into ‘The First Noel.’

Guests applauded. The server Maggie’d redirected ten minutes ago completed a perfect loop through the cocktail tables, his tray balanced and his approach angles exactly right. The centerpiece she’d adjusted hadn’t moved.

Everything here was exactly as it should be. Everything here was under control.

Maggie sighed, pulled up her mother’s contact and dialed.

Helen picked up on the third ring.

The background noise from Maggie’s childhood home was immediate and familiar; a Bing Crosby playlist turned up too loud for a weekday evening - and the porcelain clink of a teacup being set down on a saucer.

Her mother’s voice came through bright and clipped. A little too bright. “Sweetheart! How’s your party going?”

“It’s fine. All good.” Maggie shifted her weight and pressed her shoulders back against the pillar. “I just talked to Lucy,” she stated without preamble.

A pause, but only a beat. Helen’s voice stayed light “Oh. How is she?”

“She’s fine, Mom. But she mentioned there’s lately been some last-minute confusion surrounding this year’s Stroll?”

“Oh goodness. It’s nothing to worry about. Just a slight difference of opinion between Her Majesty and I about some of the arrangements. These things happen.”

Maggie recognized the tone. It was the same voice her mother used when she insisted the roof leak was just a ‘tiny drip’, or the car’s engine noise was ‘probably nothing serious’. The voice that meant everything was absolutely not fine.

Plus she’d referred to Marianne ‘Her Majesty.’

Oh dear.

“What was the difference of opinion about?” Maggie asked.

“The lighting.” A brief, tidy pause. “Along the harbor walk. Marianne had taken it into her head that we ought to do an upgrade this year, some enormous flashy display, LED this and programmable that, on the oldest part of the whole program. The harbor walk lights have been the same since forever - warm white. Traditional and classic. Your father loved them.” A breath. “I didn’t agree and I said so. Now. Tell me about your evening, I want the whole thing. Did the mayor come?”

“He came.” Maggie did not go where the sentence pointed. She stayed exactly where she was; Bing on the radio and the ticking of a clock she could mentally picture on the mantel over the living-room fireplace, and her late father’s photograph.

“So you two just disagreed about the holiday lights …”

“Yes. I’d imagine she’ll come around eventually.”

Maggie let the silence stretch for a moment, listening to the tinny music in the background on her mother’s end.

“You imagine she’ll … are you and Marianne not speaking right now?”

Another pause, this one considerably longer. “We’ve been communicating through standard committee channels of course ….”

“That’s not what I asked, Mom.”

“Margaret Sullivan.” Her mother’s voice sharpened this time. “May I remind you that I’ve been joint head of the Stroll committee since before you were born. I don’t need managing.”

Maggie sighed inwardly. “I’m not trying to manage you. I’m simply asking if you’ve talked to Marianne about all this confusion.”

“And I’m telling you we’ve exchanged opinions through the preferred channels.”

“That’s not - ”

“Sweetie, I am the mother in this relationship remember?” Helen interjected. “You are not the one who should be scolding me.”