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“As I said, this festival was a huge part of my life growing up. It was a time when it felt like the whole world came together to celebrate the magic of Christmas. There was special music, special food, special friends, special bedtimes—it was just a sparkling and shimmering month I looked forward to every single year. As some of you may know, it’s possible this may be the very last Holly Ridge Christmas Festival. I’m hoping that is not the case because I want future generations of Holly Ridge residents and those from surrounding towns and communities to experience what I did growing up. I’ve learned recently that my red-and-green-colored glasses viewing the festival as a welcoming and magical place may not always have been completely accurate, so I hope that those of you who are here tonight and across the span of the festival will remember that Christmas is a time to open our hearts to everyone, no matter where they’re from, and welcome them to our town to enjoy our festival.”
“And now, please enjoy a Christmas medley from our very own Holly Ridge Marching Pines!”
Did I intentionally plan a not-so-veiled message about inclusivity at our festival right before a marching band started playing, which would be followed by a child reading a poem? Of course, I did. No one is going to heckle children—at least I hoped not—and hopefully the twinkling of the lights immediately following the poem would soften any prickly edges I had raised.
After the band played and Olive read her poem, with more confidence than I had ever had at age eight, the countdown began.
“10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!”
Olive smashed the button with a bit more vigor than necessary, but she was excited—who could blame her—and the lights on the town’s Norway Spruce came to life. This was the signal for businesses and the lamppost’s decorations to turn on, and all around us was a host of bright lights and decorations, brightening the square with Christmas cheer.
“Enjoy the festival, everyone. Merry Christmas!” I said into the microphone as I waved to the already dispersing crowd, eager to get in line at the skating rink, refill their mulled wine mugs, or duck into the community center to get warm and check out those gingerbread houses. H&H were leading Gretchen and Brad off to the front of the skating rink line so fast I’m surprised their feet weren’t blurring like the Road Runner’s. For the first time since my speech ended, I looked back at Dad to see what he thought of my slightly off-brand messaging. He nodded at me, his face even more full of pride than it had been when I took the stage, and I let out a breath I wasn’t aware I was holding. Of course, I wanted the town to be proud of me, but at the end of the day, the approval of that man meant a whole lot more.
Chapter 23
Cole
The festival was off and running.
Blaire’s message about welcoming everyone into the festival was running through my head. Did she add that line because of my experience at the festival so many years ago? Did Blaire actually believe the festival was the path to take to end a decades-old rivalry that had started with a festival?
There wasn’t much time to ponder these existential queries, because suddenly, the community center was full of activity and people asking questions. Blaire was right, her volunteers knew their stuff and handled everything competently, but it was nice to be the extra body to direct people coming into the center to the right places, show them where they could drop off their gingerbread house competition voting sheets, and step-in to provide bathroom and dinner breaks for the volunteers.
The market and ice rink were scheduled to close at 11:00 p.m. on weekend nights, so things finally quieted down after 10:00 p.m. Volunteers packed up and headed home, Blaire correctly anticipated the shift needs for her rotations so as not to burn people out, and after a while, I found myself wandering over to the section of the community center that displayed the history of the festival. I thought back to that fateful festival twenty years ago—remembering all the twinkling lights, the booths decorated with garland, the town square’s gazebo lit up like a Christmas beacon, the huge tree decorated and bright. I remember noticing a brown-haired girl in a bright red jacket and shiny black boots, her mittened hand gripped by an older woman who seemed to be her mother. The Christmas lights reflected brightly in her eyes as they waited in the hot chocolate line with an older man who seemed to know everyone. I remember envying that little girl. Her Christmas spirit and seemingly happy, normal family, who could all go out in public together without anyone arguing or weaving drunkenly.
I shook my head to break out of my reverie and focused back on the displays in front of me. My eyes moved over all the photos and timelines that showed when different elements of the festival had been added, taking in that Norm was actually Norm the fourth. I knew from Blaire’s research that the first Norm had been stolen but had no idea a strike of lightning had taken out Norm Junior and a nasty beetle infestation had taken out Norm the third. I slowed down slightly at the photos of festivals from twenty-five years ago, which would have been the time that I was still begging my parents to come across the bridge and bring me to experience the jolliness of the festival first-hand.
Part of me was tempted to exit the exhibit before we hit the festival that ended all Christmas spirit for me, but a picture of a bright red coat caught my eye. I stepped closer and saw her, the girl with the brown hair, red coat, and shiny black boots from twenty years ago. She wasn’t holding the woman’s hand in the photo, but the older woman and the older man from my memory were in the background of the photo, which focused on the little girl with her hot chocolate, clutched tightly between her mittened hands and joy on her face after taking what I editorialized to be the very first sip. Pulling my eyes away from the girl in the photo, I took in the faces of the adults in the photo, startling to realize that I was looking at a younger, but unmistakably accurate, photo of former Mayor Greene. Did that mean?
My eyes swung to the left of the photo where the image explanation was written.
“Festival Planner Blaire Greene with her parents, former Mayor William ‘Bill’ Greene and Evelyn Greene, after the Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony.”
I couldn’t believe it. The little girl, who I had admittedly thought of less and less over the years, but I could still picture with alarming clarity whenever I put myself to the task, was none other than Blaire. The woman who had brought Christmas back into my life, even through a work obligation, after I had worked so hard to keep it out for so long was the one who had inspired so much of my holiday envy over the years.
Suddenly, I needed to see her. Realizing I was somehow the only one left in the room, I put my coat, hat, and gloves back on, turned off all the lights, and strode out of the community center with urgency. I vaguely remembered Blaire saying something about the doors being on timers that could be set remotely, so I hoped they locked behind me, but I didn’t have time to turn around and check. I had to find her.
I stopped on the edge of the square that had apparently turned into a ghost town in the time between me getting lost in the past, the festival ending, and now. Except there was one extremely familiar feminine figure standing in front of the Christmas tree, illuminated in the bright, white glowing lights. I couldn’t even be mad about the cost of electricity to run that many lights. Blaire had sourced a solar generator that had been storing energy for weeks now. Even if there were cloudy days during the festival, the tree could be on all day and all night in a completely self-sustaining way. And as I drew up next to her, I didn’t think Blaire had ever looked more beautiful than she did by Christmas tree light.
“How did things go in the community center?” she asked, by way of acknowledging my presence next to her.
“They went really well. You had practically the perfect number of volunteers, and they were all competent and able to help with every question or complaint. You might want to add an extra to allow bathroom and meal breaks on weekends and other high-volume times, but I was able to cover that tonight.”
Blaire turned her head to look at me.
“That’s a really good idea. I’ll adjust the schedule as I can accordingly. Thanks for stepping up tonight. I’m a little surprised you’re still here.”
Even though the urge to see her practically propelled me to this spot, I found myself not quite ready to share what I had realized.
“I thought I would check in with you to see how things went, though I’m also surprised you’re not passed out above Jitters by now.”
Susie had lent Blaire the apartment above her shop anytime she needed it during the run of the festival, so she didn’t have to go back and forth to her parent’s “all the way across town” and save a whole five-minute commute. It was a sweet gesture, though, and a sign to how important Blaire was to this town.
Blaire turned her face back to look at the tree.
“I realized I hadn’t really had a chance to just stop and look at the tree tonight, so I wanted to do that before I went to bed. Besides, I’m so wired from the adrenaline and excitement of the festival, I’m not sure I’d be able to sleep. I think tonight went really well; I just hope everything I did up to this point ends up being enough.”
We let the silence sit between us for a few moments when I finally broached the photo I had just seen.
