“He’s practiced so much.” Mauve drew in a deep breath and tented her hands under her chin. “I just hope the crowd doesn’t scare him.”
“All those eyes on him,” Jason concurred. “But maybe he’ll shine. He’s been so animated during our practices.” They’d had their last one just that morning, with Mary, bless her, on a video call with them. She’d declared Ollie fully ready and had signed how proud she was of him. Ollie had signed back that he was proud of Ollie too. Which had made Mary and Jason laugh. The more comfortable he became, the more his charismatic personality really came out for all to see. Jason knew he would show everyone how special he was—if he kept his nerves in check.
Please God, make it so, Jason prayed silently.
Jason turned to look behind them just as Reese, Roan, and their boys took seats near the back. He spotted Sarah and Ben on the other side of the aisle, also in the front row with Nadia between them, the little girl on her knees facing backwards to watch people file in and find seats.
They’d saved places for Cynthia and David. They arrived a few minutes before the concert started, apologizing for cutting it so close. They’d been delayed at the inn waiting for their car.
“I’m glad you’re here, Mom,” Mauve said.
“We’re happy to be included. I’m going to try not to cry,” Cynthia said, patting her daughter’s hand. “I’m very proud of you.”
Mauve’s mother had said how proud she was of her a lot in the last few days. Mauve would never tire of hearing it.
“This was all Jason,” Mauve said.
“No, it’s all you,” Jason said. “You’re the one who cared enough to think of ways to bring Ollie out of his shell.”
Lights dimmed—and Mrs. Jones came out to welcome them all. “The children have been working hard to bring you some Christmas spirit through music. We’ll start with our kindergarteners.
The kindergarten kids, wearing reindeer antlers and red sweaters, sang “The First Noel” in close to a dozen different keys. Regardless, the congregation clapped warmly, other than those with phones in their hands, recording sweet memories.
Then the combined first, second, and third grade classes came out, dressed in green instead of red and no antlers. That was a relief. Ollie hadn’t practiced with anything on his head.
The children climbed the risers and arranged themselves in three tiers, the smallest in front. Ollie took his place to the left where a small chair had been placed between the risers and the piano. The spotlight above it was already lit. Ollie stood in front of the chair, his hands at his sides. He looked adorable with his hair combed neatly and a green sweater paired with black trousers. From what Jason could see, he didn’t appear to be nervous at all. In fact, he grinned at the audience and waved to his family.
Nadia shouted, “Hi, Ollie! Can you see me?”
A ripple of laughter floated through the room as Ollie waved at his sister.
Mrs. Jones stood just feet away from the children, adjusting her wire-rimmed glasses before lifting a hand toward the piano.
The pianist played the opening notes and then the children started to sing, the first line coming out a little ragged but together. “Frosty the snowman was a jolly happy soul.”
Ollie lifted his hands in time with the line. “Frosty”—the small shivering motion he'd invented in Mauve's office, hands cupping an imaginary ball of snow at his chest, shoulders hunched and a tiny theatrical shudder. “Snowman”—both hands loose, palms facing each other, drawn down through the air inthe shape of three stacked balls. Then he brushed his flat hand up his chest for “jolly happy soul,” and his face opened into the cheap-seats grin he and Jason had practiced.
Mauve's hand closed around Jason’s.
“With a corncob pipe and a button nose and two eyes made out of coal.” Ollie's invented corncob pipe, two fingers held to the corner of his mouth and a small flick. The button sign was a twist of his finger at his cheek. For eyes he pointed at his own, two quick taps. For coal he made the sign for black, with his index finger drawn straight across his forehead.
The class kept singing, accompanied by the piano.
Jason had drilled the rhythm for two weeks now, telling him, don't outrun the music, don't lag behind the music, let your hands be the same speed as the words. Ollie was doing so well, sitting right inside the beat, his face moving with the song. Sad on the “thumpity-thump-thump” line, where Frosty has to leave. Bright again when the children come back into the lyric. He had figured out how to act with his eyebrows, and, from twenty feet away under a single spotlight, it was working perfectly.
The class went into the bridge.
“Thumpity-thump-thump, thumpity-thump-thump, look at Frosty go.” Ollie made small drumming motions with his hands on his thighs for “thumpity-thump-thump,” and then he made the sign for go with both hands traveling out in front of him, palms forward, like he was pushing Frosty out into the world.
Ollie did it with such intention, his palms square, arms straight, whole body angled forward that he looked like a kid earnestly telling his friend the snowman to go and live his life.
The gesture hit Jason hard. He didn’t want to go and live his life without Mauve or Roan and his family. He wanted to live it right here. How did one reconcile that with ambition? There had to be a way.
Then the last verse.
“Frosty the snowman had to hurry on his way.” Ollie signed “hurry” with his hands tipping quickly forward, one then the other. He signed “way” with a flat hand traveling along an invisible road. He came to the last line and Jason’s eyes filled.
But he waved goodbye, saying, ‘Don't you cry, I’ll be back again someday.’”
