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“We’ll still win,” she said. “I’ve had nothing todobut sing these last few weeks. I’m beyond warmed up. Plus, there’s the sympathy vote—can’t discount that.”
“The—the what?”
“My twisted ankle, your broken heart. Who wouldn’t vote for us with all that going on?”
Sarah stared a moment, then she burst out laughing. She’d forgotten how funny Amy could be. That dry wit of hers packed quite a punch.
“Okay,” said Sarah, once her eyes had stopped streaming. “You get in the truck, and I’ll load up your wheelchair. And no going out of your way to court that sympathy vote. We’ll win on our merit.”
Amy snapped off a mock salute and clumped off for the truck. Sarah followed more slowly, easing her chair down the steps. She’d been dreading tonight, but maybe it was just what she needed—a chance to rip the Band-Aid off all at once. The whole town would see her without Tad and West, and that would be that, no endless explanations, nowhere’s that sweet man of yours?
She pulled up behind Will just after five. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and Main Street had come to life, lights in every window, decorations everywhere. Swags of holly and mistletoe hung between the streetlights. A set of light-up reindeer pranced over the bank. Someone had built a snowman in the library yard and stuck in a glowstick to serve as its nose.
“Everybody warm?” Aunt Nancy was handing out hats and mitts from a box. “Sarah? You good?”
“Perfect,” she said.
“And Amy? And where’s…” She caught Sarah’s expression, and her own face fell. “Oh, honey.”
“I know.” She pulled Aunt Nancy aside. “Could you, uh, help spread the word? And let everyone know I’m not ready to talk about it? I just want to enjoy tonight, without a lot of questions.”
“Just one question,” said Aunt Nancy. “How bad should I trash him?”
“No, don’t do that.” Sarah shook her head, trying to smile despite the hurt she felt. “If there’s blame to be had here, it falls on both sides. But if anyone asks, you can tell them it wasn’t meant to be.”
Aunt Nancy shot her a searching look, but let it go at that. She moved on down the line, shaking her box.
“Hats and mitts, hats and mitts, get your hats and mitts here.”
Amy rolled up to Sarah, wheels crunching in the snow. She’d hooked up her battery and the wheelchair was lit up like a rainbow, casting bright spots of color wherever she went. Sarah’s vision swam and doubled, but she smiled through the sudden tears. Whatever Tad thought of her family and the way they did things, they’d always be here for her, always on her side.
Amy grabbed her hand. “Come on. Let’s sing our hearts out.”
Sarah couldn’t think of a single thing she’d rather do. She basked in nostalgia as the procession kicked off—songs she’d been singing since before she could read; sights and sounds so familiar they’d become part of her. Mom’s Christmas scarf, stitched with holly and bells. Uncle Vern with his snare drum, Aunt Val with her clappers. Uncle Al and Aunt Nancy gloriously off-key. Amy’s clear voice soared over it all, so sweet and powerful it made her eyes sting.
The town came out to join them, as they did every year. Their voices swelled like the tide, and Sarah sang louder. She sang till she cried, and still she kept singing. It felt good to let go, to let her pain drift off on a current of song.
By the time they crested Main Street, Sarah’s throat was sung raw, but her eyes were dry. She tilted her head back to watch the snow fall, lit up from below by Amy’s wheelchair. Fat flakes kissed her cheeks, red and purple and blue. She opened her mouth and caught one on her tongue.
“I still do that too,” said Aunt Nancy. “Never gets old, does it?”
Sarah laughed. “I guess not.”
“You’regrowing up, though. You’ve really—” Feedback cut her off, Aunt Val on Will’s flatbed, testing her bullhorn.
“Sorry about that,” said Aunt Val. “But I know you’re all eager to get inside and warm up. So, without further ado, thanks to all our Carson Carolers—but one team stood out on tunefulness, enthusiasm, and sheer Christmas spirit. This year’s carol winners are Sarah and Amy. Now, everyone head to Vince’s for free cocoa and pie, and don’t forget to…ah, screw it.” She let her bullhorn drop as the stampede began, whoops and shouts rising all down the street.
“Sarah!” Amy wheeled up, her lights blinking bright. “Is it okay if I go with my friends?” She gestured at a knot of teens waiting down the street—one boy, in particular, with a lovestruck gleam in his eye. “They promised to get me home afterward.”
“That’s fine, have fun. Just don’t forget to let Cassie know.”
Amy rolled off, and Sarah shivered in the cold. The crowd had moved off, heading for Uncle Vince’s. Sarah considered joining them, but the thought made her tired. She couldn’t keep smiling even one minute longer. She got in her truck and turned homeward, but slowed when she saw Cassie’s street coming up. Her friend might be sleeping, but maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she was awake and wouldn’t mind company.
Someone should check on her. That flu’s pretty nasty.
Mind made up, she turned and parked in Cassie’s driveway. She tiptoed up her front steps and tapped on her door. If Cassie was snoozing, she wouldn’t wake up. But if she wasn’t—
The door opened a crack, then swung all the way. Cassie peered out, draped in a quilt. “Oh, honey,” she said. “You look worse than I feel.” She ushered Sarah inside. “Amy told me you won tonight, so…congratulations?”
