“But I can’t.” I sigh and put my car in reverse. “See you tonight?”
“Absolutely.”
I drive into town, smiling at how the snow has ended up working in my favor here. Or at least, it’s worked in favor of Christmas Town. Creekville got far less snow than the cabin did, but just enough has stuck on north-facing roofs and in spots of landscaping here and there to give downtown even more of a snow globe effect.
I park behind the café. Sara will be in there with Celia, likely with a friend or two of Celia’s. Celia had asked before I left if she could bring extra help to make up for my absence.
I walk in through the back, and when I step out onto the sales floor, Sara waves at me but then calls, “Go! We got this. Go help Miss Lily.”
“On it.” It’s packed in the café like it is every Christmas Town weekend. All the people helping with set up duck in to fuel with coffee, and people who arrived early for prime parade space send in delegates to get trays of hot drinks for their groups.
I toss my purse onto my desk and set off at a jog for the town green, three blocks down.
Miss Lily is easy to find, her petite figure standing erect on the dais where the mayor will meet Santa to welcome him to Christmas Town. She’s wearing a bright red beret so there’s no missing her.
“I’m back,” I tell her, jogging up the steps.
She turns and smiles at me. “That you are. With roses in your cheeks too.”
“I ran from the café. I’m so sorry it took an extra day.”
She pats my arm. “Don’t worry, Taylor Bixby. Everything is falling apart right on plan.”
I survey the hive of activity as people scurry back and forth, yelling for tools or calling out orders as they hurry to get their booths complete in the two hours remaining before sundown. Miss Lily’s right; this is the normal level of chaos at this point, where it doesn’t seem possible for it to come together.
All the booths are up, but some are still missing their signs, only half of them have their lights strung or staked, and all of them have people inside trying to get their goods set up for sale. But the “town” is there in the booth facades, the mock village skyline that changes each year as groups and vendors change their themes. I’m not worried; it always comes together when Santa hits the switch. Suddenly, it will glow in the new-fallen darkness, a merry Christmas village, prepared to serve up delicious treats and handmade treasures.
I give her a hug. “Thank you for doing this, Miss Lily. You are the only reason I didn’t worry about not making it back in time to oversee setup this morning.”
“My pleasure,” she says. “But I’ll probably take next year off.”
I laugh as she hands me her clipboard and pretends to wipe her hands clean of the whole mess.
“I’m off to enjoy tea and a scone,” she says. “Then I’ll wait for my grandkids to join me for the parade.”
“Thank you again,” I tell her as I wave goodbye. Then I text Sara that Miss Lily is not to be charged today or all of next year for anything she wants from the café.
I hop down from the dais and inspect the progress, going from booth to booth, answering questions, offering praise and encouragement for the handful who have it together, stopping to see if the ones behind the curve need anything. They all need the one thing I can’t give them—time, so I offer reassurances instead. “You can do it! You’re so much closer than you think. This is looking even better than last year’s. You’ve got this!”
I field constant texts too. Mr. Groggins lets me know he’s at the Episcopal church, which is at the end of Main, where the parade will start. He’s dressed and ready to go.
Levi texts updates on their progress. They’ll wait until the last possible minute so as not to spoil the surprise of theeightreindeer pulling Santa, but by the time I hear the distant sound of the Albemarle marching band tuning, he texts that they’re in place and hitching up the reindeer.
My parents text that they have the twins at our usual spot, which I always stake out in front of the café. Sara had handled that this year.
At last, dusk falls, and the Main Street lamps come on. A classic Cadillac convertible will come down first, blaring cheerful Christmas music, driven by the mayor’s husband while she rides in the back, waving to the crowds on the sidewalk. I stay beside the dais, clipboard in hand, Bluetooth earpiece in, answering texts and a couple of panicked phone calls. Jeff, the grounds guy, finds me.
“Lights are good to go, boss.”
“Thank you, Jeff.”
It’s not a long parade, and even taking its time, it’s only about fifteen minutes before the mayor reaches me. Then her husband helps her down and drives the Caddy down Chestnut Avenue, the street that borders the green and serves as the parade route exit.
Mayor Derby climbs to the dais and waves to each group of marchers as they reach the end. The Cub Scouts, the little girls from the dance studio in sparkly costumes, the animal shelter walking a half dozen of their available dogs. I’m particularly proud of that. I invited them to participate last year, and every single one of those dogs ended up as a gift on Christmas Day. They’re all happy-looking mutts dressed with gift bows on their collars, and they’ll draw a crowd as soon as Santa opens Christmas Town.
Several more floats come down. The high school football team, the basketball team, the sheriff. He always has the “Grinch” cuffed in the back of his unit, his green face scowling through the window at the kids to their shrieks of delight.
At last, it’s the marching band, and as they come into sight, they begin playing a jazzy version of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.”
