Page 69

The festival had taken over the vacant lot and half the square. By eleven, attendance had passed every projection I’d made. Three generations of Holly Creek moved between the food tents, craft booths, and stage. Frank stood beside the stage with his arms crossed, directing traffic without admitting that was what he was doing. The children’s snow-sculpture contest filled the strip in front of the old pharmacy. Colette had put Betty Alvarez in charge of the entry sheet.

“You’re judging?” I asked.

“I’m keeping the official list. Somebody added a snowman after the deadline and changed the time on the sheet. I will find them.” She pointed her pen toward a lopsided snow horse near the end. “That one is Chester. The Pemberton grandkids made him. He’s terrible, and I hope he wins.”

“I thought you were keeping the list.”

“I can do two things.” She made a note. “Merry Christmas, Griffin.”

The Henderson cocoa cart occupied the prime spot near the festival-grounds entrance. When I suggested moving it six feet to ease the crowd, Mrs. Henderson said, “We’ve parked here since 1998. The crowd can move.” Both Henderson kids worked the cart, the older one managing the spigot with the focus of a surgeon, the younger passing cups to a line that never dipped below twenty people. I’d watched long enough to learn their system. Cups went out the left side and napkins out the right. Anyone who tried to leave a tip got it pressed back into their hand with a look that ended the conversation.

“It’s a tradition,” Mrs. Henderson had explained. “Tips make it feel like a business. This is a gift.”

The Calloways’ food tent stood between the cocoa cart and the stage. Their smoker perfumed three blocks, and their faded banner hung crooked above the counter. Wes’s wife pressed a plate into my hands before I finished saying good morning. “Brisket. Eat it before you say anything responsible.”

“I’m glad you made it back. How is Wes’s mother?”

“Home and ornery, which with her is the same as well.” She looked at the crowded street. “After a week in a hospital, we needed to remember what home looked like.” She tapped the plate. “Now eat.”

I ate the brisket. It deserved the full thanks.

“And tell Nora the corner booth placement is the best we’ve ever had. She’ll pretend she didn’t plan it.”

She’d planned it. I’d watched her redraw the vendor map until the Calloways had the corner with the foot traffic, the way you’d set a place at the table for family who’d been gone too long.

I found Nora at noon, standing on a folding chair outside Winters Wonderland to rehang garland a toddler had pulled down. The shop glowed behind her. She wore her red coat and a crooked tinsel halo while directing the choir with one hand. Everyone waited for her next instruction.

She was laughing at something the choir director said. I had seen her angry, exhausted, frightened, and naked. She was beautiful every time. The red coat and tinsel halo were not helping my concentration.

Nineteen days since the festival committee had voted to suspend all of this. I’d run the count that morning without meaning to. Nineteen days from a suspended festival to a Main Street so full the fire marshal had come twice, once for the occupancy and once for the funnel cake.

“You’re staring,” Nora said, not turning around.

“I’m evaluating.”

“Mm. I’ve heard that one before.” She climbed down and surveyed the garland, then me, with equal scrutiny. “Verdict?”

“Structurally sound. Aesthetically over budget.”

“Flatterer.” She hooked a finger into my coat pocket and tugged. “I need you in the back room. There are boxes.”

“There are always boxes.”

“Griffin.” Her voice dropped. “There are boxes.”

There were, in fact, boxes. There was also a storeroom smelling of pine, cardboard, and the cinnamon she kept in a dish by the register. Nora shut the door behind us and grabbed my coat in both hands before my eyes adjusted to the dark. “I finally found you,” she said.

“Hi.”

“I’ve been watching you all morning. Solving people’s problems. Carrying things.” Her fingers walked up the front of my coat and stopped at the collar. “It’s been very distracting.”

“I could stop.”

“Don’t you dare.”

I kissed her and forgot every tally I’d made that morning. She pulled me close, her cold hands warming against the back of my neck while the tinsel halo slipped to the floor. Outside, four hundred people filled the festival. Inside, I only heard the small sound she made against my mouth.

We broke apart when the choir hit a warm-up chord through the wall, both of us breathing hard enough to make the boxes a convincing excuse.