The voice of an angel
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The community centerwas filled to bursting when Max and his family arrived. Mona had texted they saved them some seats up front, and Ginny found them quickly. Mona waved, the light catching the hundreds of sequins on her sweater. Around her neck was a set of Christmas lights that seemed to flash in morse code.
“Over here, guys.” Harold stood and shuffled to the side for his granddaughter. “Hey, princess,” he said, wrapping Josie in a bear hug.
To no one’s surprise, Harold had taken his role of grandfather seriously before Josie was home from the hospital. He’d bought cigars with her initials and handed them out to everyone he knew in town, sometimes on several occasions. When Henry rounded out their family, he’d had ballcaps made with Henry’s birthdate and wore it until the brim warped and the embroidery faded.
“Hi, Gramps.” Josie hugged him back before leaning over and sharing the love with Mona.
Max and Ginny took their places, silencing their cell phones and shedding their coats. “Is our boy ready?” Mona asked as she handed everyone a program for the show.
“I think so,” Ginny replied. “I heard him practicing his lines in his room before we left. He’s really excited.”
Beside her, Max tensed. His program was already rolled up tight, the paper creasing in his firm grip. Ginny covered his hands with hers and squeezed. “What if ...” Max whispered, careful to keep his voice low so Josie wouldn’t hear.
“No what-ifs,” Ginny chastised, pulling whatever confidence she had left. “Hen is ready, and he knows what he’s doing.”
Max leaned closer and added, “But he stammered in the yard the other day and ...”
Josie surprised her parents by scooting closer. She shook her head and looked older than her twelve years. “Henry is fine, guys. He was upset about Zippy, but you saw him today. He wouldn’t shut the hell up.”
Harold bit back a smile. “Language, princess.”
“Sorry.” She shrugged. “But I know I’m right.”
Max pulled his daughter in for a hug, likely embarrassing her with the public display of affection. “Have I told you recently you’re a great freaking kid?” He kissed the top of her head as tears threatened to fall.
“Pfft.”
Their love fest was interrupted by the lights flashing. A stout man in a green sweater clambered up the stage and pulled the mic from its stand. “Good evening, everyone.” The room quieted as he went over the program plans. “And as we get ready for the kids to wow us”—he paused to make jazz hands—"I remind everyone to silence their phones, avoid flash photography and ...” He hesitated before turning to Mona. “If you’re wearing lights, we ask that you turn them off for the performance.”
Mona winced, fumbling the power button on her necklace. Harold leaned in, and said, “I think you look lovely.”
Ginny warmed at the display. Even after all these years, it filled her heart to see her father so happy. Her mother hadn’t been in the picture for decades, and at first it seemed Harold was destined to roam the earth alone. Then Mona moved to Buckeye Falls and the rest was history. Ginny was sad they wouldn’t be joining the festivities at Christmas, but Mona promised her son Tommy they would visit in Cleveland. Seeing as how she got to see them every week, Ginny knew she had to share.
“Without further ado, let the pageant begin!” The emcee clapped and hopped off the stage.
Both Max and Ginny had been at Henry’s practices, so they knew he didn’t come on until the third song. Everyone hummed along to the familiar tunes and clapped when the first soloist, a gangly girl the same year as Josie, finished her rendition ofSilent Night. A pair of boys a few years younger than Henry then stumbled onto the stage. One of them played the recorder as the other sang the chorus ofSanta Claus is Coming to Townsix times before his mother began clapping to end the repetitive performance.
On their way off the stage, the shorter of the boys plugged his finger up his nose before flicking a booger on his friend. Josie made a gagging sound as Harold struggled to contain his laughter. “Boys are gross,” she muttered, which earned a smug grin from Max.
“Sounds like we might have another few years before I need to buy a shotgun,” he whispered in Ginny’s ear.
She didn’t have the heart to tell him she thought that time was closer than he realized.
Finally the time came for Henry’s part of the show. He parted the actors on the stage, emerging with the confidence of a thirty-year-old Broadway star, not an eight-year-old novice. “And then the angels appeared ...” He threw his arms out theatrically, his voice as clear as a bell. The Sanchez clan watched in delight as Henry did his first scene with ease, never once stumbling or missing a line.
Max quaked beside his wife and daughter, holding back the tears until the end of the show. He was so proud of his son, proud of what he’d overcome at such a young age.
“He’s killing it, Dad,” Josie promised, leaning her head on his shoulder.
And he did kill it. Henry didn’t miss a beat throughout the show. His monologues were funny, the timing on the songs perfect, and his voice never wavered—not once.
When the pageant ended, everyone in the community center erupted into cheers and applause. Josie stood on top of her chair, cupping her hands as she shouted, “You did it, Hen!” She added a few cat calls for good measure.
Ginny caught Max wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve, and she couldn’t keep her own tears at bay. Dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve, she took a deep breath and rallied for her son. While she knew he’d appreciate their emotions, she didn’t want to cause a scene.
