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The next morning, the day before Christmas Eve, Sophie rearranged the notebooks on her table in the corner of the café with one hand while she held her phone to her ear with the other. “I promise, Ben, I’ll be okay.”
“I’m worried about you.” His voice sounded tired and strained and far away. “I hate that I had to leave town so early. But I needed to meet with Charlie in the Boston office–”
“I understand.” She used her softest voice and was grateful she was alone. Because of the fire, Lily had closed the café in order to help hand out refreshments to the tired firefighters and other first responders. “Are you sure you weren’t hurt from the fire?”
“I promise I’m not hurt. The firefighters were putting out the fire, and I was in their way. Until I get a report from the fire inspector, there’s not much I can do. Thank goodness the fire didn’t spread from the bell tower. The firefighters saved the main church building.”
The entire town was relieved about that.
“And you’re sure this fire had nothing to do with the Black Jacks seeking revenge?”
“I’m sure.”
She frowned because his quick answer told her he wasn’t sure. But she didn’t want to argue with him. “When will you be back?”
“Soon.” He paused for a moment. “No one would blame you if you changed your mind about the parade. Not after this fire. And tomorrow is Christmas Eve.”
She stared out the window at Main Street, surprised to see the town so empty at ten in the morning. Late last night, before the fire, she’d sent out a note on the town’s email system announcing her plan to run the parade and that sign-ups would begin this morning in the café. She’d hoped to have a line of volunteers waiting to sign up by now. But considering the fire was the only thing the town was talking about–for good reason–she wasn’t going to worry or be disappointed by the lack of enthusiasm. “The parade is still on. I just need you to come back to me safely.”
“I promise. And don’t forget Lotto offered to help. Call him. He’s not just a pretty face.”
She laughed. “I will.” After hanging up, she put on her black coat and blue hat, picked up her notebook and pen, and grabbed her coffee mug. Then she went outside to sit on the iron bench in front of the café. The snow had stopped and melted away, except for some dusting on the nearby rooftops and bushes.
Earlier, when she’d learned about the fire, she and Lily had made a ton of breakfast sandwiches. Then Lily and Nana Ruthie had packed them up and taken them to the town hall where the first responders were gathering. She’d offered to help them, but Lily had asked Sophie to watch the café and reminded her about the volunteers who might drop by.
That was two hours ago.
She sipped her hot coffee and told herself she wasn’t being left out of things. She was doing her part by waiting for volunteers to sign up for her Christmas parade.
“Hey.” Lotto came out of The Ren’s front door with a metal coffee tumbler and sat down next to her. “I saw your email. How are the sign-ups going?”
She waved toward the empty street. The only activity was from the flashing lights at the bottom of the hill, near the church. “I’m beating people away with a stick.”
Lotto laughed, leaned back, and crossed his ankles. “Don’t worry. They’ll come. This town always shows up when things are important.”
“Maybe for people like Lily and Nana Ruthie.”
His frown, along with his worn jeans, black jacket, and swirling tattoos on his bald head made him appear fiercer than normal. “What does that mean?”
“It means my timing is terrible.” Not liking the self-pity in her voice, she covered it by sending him a self-deprecating smile. “I put out an email on the town’s email loop asking for help with the Santa parade right before the fire started. Now I’m wondering if Ben is right. Maybe we should cancel–”
“Hi, there.” A young man, about eleven years old, appeared in front of her. He wore an oversized army jacket and his smile showed off braces with red and green rubber bands. “Is it true you’re taking sign-ups for the Santa parade?”
“We are.” Sophie put her mug on the ground, found her pen, and opened up her notebook. “Do you want to be in the parade or help us organize it?”
“You’re Dave Tolliver’s son, aren’t you.” Lotto asked.
“Yes, sir. My friends call me Davy.” He chewed his bottom lip and his glance danced between her and Lotto. “We–I mean the middle school marching band–want to lead the parade. But only if you don’t allow the high school marching band to play.”
Lotto’s laugh sounded like a bark.
She tilted her head and stared at Davy. “You want me to exclude another band from the parade? Or you won’t play?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Davy took out his phone and swiped the screen. “Do you want to hear what we sound like? We’re better than the high schoolers. They stink!” Then he held up the phone and she heard the tinny sound of an off-key middle school version of a famous Rolling Stones song.
Once Davy put his phone into his coat pocket, Lotto asked, “Can you play any Christmas carols?”
“Does that song about grandma getting kicked in the head by a reindeer count?”
