Page 18 of The Best Christmas Choir Ever

She tried to imagine it: standing before a crowd of hundreds, bowing to applause, all while knowing that Tom never would again. How could she do that to him? Pressure swirled behind her eyes. Gram’s words echoed in her head. What was the right answer? What would plug the hole in her chest?

“Send me the audition,” she found herself saying.

“Okay!” Alicia said, her tone filled with surprise. “Great. Let’s see if it sparks your interest, and we’ll go from there. No pressure.”

No pressure. Right. Then why did it feel like she was going to explode? “Thanks,” Charlie managed. She glanced at the time on her phone. “I gotta run and host a music class for a bunch of geriatrics.”

“Come again?”

“Long story for next time. But just know that’s reason number two that Julian is on my shit list. Talk soon?” she said, knowing they would.

“You bet. I need to know all about this music class with horribly hot Julian.”

“Just horrible,” Charlie muttered. “We’re leaving it at that.” They hung up, the sound of Alicia’s laughter fading.

Five

Julian

There had to be some sort of cheat code to properly filling out government grants. Julian was certain of it as he stared at the blank document on his computer. He scrolled through miles of unanswered questions until he reached the end of the application and slumped back in his chair with a defeated sigh.

He’d already been at this for the better part of an hour and still no end in sight. Despite the seven years he’d been doing this, submitting applications in the hopes of receiving additional government funding, he still hadn’t figured out the winning combination. And every year, he had to admit defeat and relegate the music program to a work in progress.

If only he could figure out what the reviewers sitting in their fancy government offices wanted to hear. Was it statistics on the positive effect of music on the elderly? Or maybe they wanted to be entertained? He could give them any number of funny or heartwarming personal anecdotes from his time at Glendale. The problem was Julian never knew which way to lean with these applications, and he was obviously doing something wrong because for years he’d heard nothing but radio silence. He wasn’t foolish enough to think that he was the only person trying to squeeze more money out of a broken system, but he figured after this many tries, he might have struck it lucky at least once.

Julian minimized the application, giving his eyes a break from the screen as he checked the big calendar on his desk. There was less than a month until the end of December. Until another year came and went. It had been a good year, he supposed, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wanted to be able to do more for the residents.

Maybe he should consider hiring a grant writer. There were people that made a living perfecting these types of applications. But what would that cost him in the end besides precious funds from his already taxed budget? If the application still amounted to nothing, then he’d be eating into his meager funds for no reason, which would mean fewer trips to the community center, less programming and fewer supplies to run those programs. Julian already knew that if he let the paint run out in the art room or failed to provide gardening supplies in the spring there would be hell to pay.

He snorted under his breath at the mental image of being hunted down the halls of Glendale by an angry mob of cane-wielding residents.

Okay, a grant writer was probably not the right choice.

Still, he had to try something to keep this music program going once Charlie left. Charlie, who didn’t even want to be here. Charlie, who’d been occupying his mind for days now. Charlie, whom he needed to stop thinking about because she was only a temporary fix to a long-term problem. And as far as he and Charlie were concerned, that was for the best.

But he still needed an action plan for the new year. Julian opened another document on his computer screen, finding the Volunteers Wanted poster he’d been working on earlier. After a quick spelling-and-grammar check, he hit Print. There was no guarantee that he’d scrounge up another volunteer in the community, a market he’d already tapped, but he needed to try something. Maybe he should have titled the poster Christmas Miracle Wanted.

Julian rolled across his office on his desk chair to reach the printer when a familiar squeak issued from the hall. He looked up in time to see a small cart appear in the doorway, followed by a beaming smile.

“Morning!” Warren chirped as he followed the cart into the room. He kicked on the brakes and leaned against the cart in his scrubs, his ID badge hanging from one of his pockets and a stethoscope poking out of another. Though most of the residents at Glendale were independent, there were a few that needed additional care, requiring a small team of medical professionals.

“You’re making the rounds early,” Julian said, grabbing his printed posters.

“The staff have CPR recertification after lunch.”

“Oh right. You told me that.”

Warren was both a colleague and a friend, and one of the most dedicated nurses Julian had ever met. He’d been working at Glendale even longer than Julian and was the kind of guy who would sit down after his shift for a coffee with a lonely resident. Julian had always admired that. Actually, he aspired to be a little bit like Warren.

Glendale was lucky to have him. Julian was lucky to have him.

Warren cocked his head and frowned. “You got a headache?”

“No,” Julian said. “Why are you asking?”

“Because you’ve got that pinched look you get right before you start complaining about the headache the budget is giving you.”

Julian smirked. “I’m fine.”