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After the call, I realized I’d been smiling because my father sounded proud of me. Then I remembered what he thought I had agreed to, and the smile disappeared.

Meridian’s statement went out that night. The legal wording proved their lawyers had drafted it days before Crane invited me upstairs to apologize.

CHAPTER 15

NORA

By eight Friday morning, I had presented the festival budget without my co-chair, lost four vendors, and ignored two calls from Griffin. Thursday had been a long day.

Rosie, Griffin’s operations director, had driven four hours through the dark to help with vendor calls and paperwork. Jenna, my holiday clerk, kept Winters Wonderland open while I faced the council.

At six Thursday evening, Griffin called a second time. I watched his name fill the screen and chose not to answer. He did not leave another message.

At eight Friday morning, Owen called.

Owen’s voice came through before I finished saying hello. “Nora. I need you at the community center. Now.”

The parking lot was fuller than it had been for any morning meeting in the festival’s history. It held Frank’s truck, Pearl’s sedan, Ivy’s ancient station wagon, and a dozen more vehicles belonging to people who should have been unlocking their shops. The festival committee’s seven merchant members sat together at the front. Owen held the council’s eighth vote. Everyone else filled the rows behind them.

Owen met me at the door and handed me three printed pages. “The first two are Meridian’s statement. They’re cutting ties with Griffin and calling him a rogue developer. Overextended. Irresponsible.”

I reached the third page. “What does that have to do with the festival?”

“Nothing. This does.” He tapped the notice. “Four vendors withdrew yesterday. That puts us below the minimum the town needs for the festival permit and the extra insurance coverage. We have until noon to replace them.”

“And if we don’t?”

“No permit. No coverage. No festival.”

The room was silent when I came in. Frank sat in the front row with his arms crossed. Pearl sat in the corner with her hands flat on her knees, which meant she was holding on to something.

“He called twice,” I said. “I didn’t answer.”

I wanted to explain that I had been angry and hurt. Neither fact changed what I had done, so I stopped there.

Owen took his glasses off. “Rosie says Griffin is tied up with lenders. She’s been here since six making calls.” He polished a lens on his sleeve, which is what he does instead of raising his voice. “That helps. It does not replace four vendors.”

Nobody rushed to make me feel better. I appreciated that. I would not have believed them.

“The emergency protocol gives us until noon,” Owen said. “We need the vendor count back above ninety percent. That is the whole problem.”

“Then we use the four hours,” I said. “We don’t suspend anything before noon.”

“Four vendors left this week,” Frank said to the table. “That drops us below the policy floor. Three of them told me it was leadership. One of them told me it was you.”

“Jenna has my shop,” I said. “Rosie and I will split the vendors. Give me the two who blame me. Owen, call the permit office and the carrier. Find out exactly what they’ll accept by noon.”

For three hours and thirty-eight minutes, the community center became a bad call center. Rosie and I worked the vendor list while Owen stayed on the phone with the permit office and the carrier. Pearl arrived with a pastry box labeled EMERGENCY MANAGEMENT. The label did not make the bear claws official, but it made them disappear.

The Salem barbecue truck came back. Two vendors could not rearrange their prep schedules again, and the fourth would not commit until the insurance was final. We reached eighty-eight percent, two points short of the policy minimum.

Rosie found two more leads. One did not have the staff, and the other could not get the required insurance in time.

At eleven fifty-five, Owen wrote the result on the whiteboard. Vendor coverage remained at eighty-eight percent.

I called the last vendor myself. She said she could not gamble her own payroll on a festival without insurance. I understood too well to argue. At noon, I put down the phone. “Call the vote.”

Owen called it by name. “All in favor of suspending the forty-third annual Holly Creek Christmas Festival.” Colette raised her hand first and apologized while she did it. Dale Henderson, who ran the cocoa cart and held one of the eight committee votes, raised his without looking at me. Ed Whitmore said, “It’s the right call,” and sounded as if he needed to hear himself say it.