5
E leanor sat at her desk, a hot cup of tea steaming beside her. She wiggled her fingers, stretching them out, before placing her hands on the keyboard and typing.
Ballroom Dancing Competition Proposal
She stared at the screen. Blink. Blink. Blink. The cursor pulsed rhythmically, like a digital heartbeat summoning memories of Carl. “Silly woman,” she said, yet the ache grew as thoughts of Carl threatened to overwhelm her. How she would give anything to once again brush her lips against his, stare into his dark brown eyes, run her fingers through his thick, wavy hair, and feel the heat from his hand on her back as they glided across a polished dance floor.
But that would never happen. They’d shared their last dance. “You’re so beautiful,” he’d told her when they'd won the Starlight Swing Competition. He'd squeezed her hand, his shoulders back, so proud. Then he'd collapsed, and all their hopes, dreams, and love had died along with him on the floor that terrible, terrible night.
“I can't do this,” Eleanor said, pushing her chair away from her desk. She entered the kitchen, her hands shaking as she filled the kettle for another cup of tea, even though her old one remained untouched. It was something to do, something to occupy her mind. As long as she kept busy, no matter how trivial the task, she could keep her grief at bay.
Still, years and years of suppressed emotions had lodged an enormous ball of anger deep into her heart. It wasn't fair that Carl was taken from her so long ago. How could someone so full of energy, light, and love just die? A brain aneurism, that's how.
A sob escaped her. Time didn't heal her wounded heart. She'd been without Carl for twenty-five years, and yet her grief felt so fresh, so raw. Indulging her melancholy, she pulled out the photo album she kept in the side table drawer, the edges worn from the countless times she'd thumbed through its pages. With a shaky hand, she opened it to a brighter time.
“Oh, Carl,” she whispered, tracing his face with a wrinkled finger, “Look at us on the dance floor, we were wonderful, weren't we?” In the photo, Eleanor's younger self beamed, her sequined dress catching the light as Carl held her close. “That was the first competition we won, remember?”
Then she flipped to the next page. She and Carl stood in front of a large studio window. Above them, a sign read: Frost Dance Studio. They were smiling as they cut a ribbon for the grand opening. Nothing could dampen their spirits that day, not even the cold Seattle rain. A tear hit the page, and she quickly wiped it away.
She'd call Vivian and tell her she'd tried to write the proposal but that it was too hard. Vivian would understand.
Eleanor turned another page, and there they were, at the town hall, having said their vows in front of a justice of the peace. Vivian and a small group of their friends were throwing rice over them as they walked out. “I miss you, Carl,” Eleanor said, “Every single day.”
But staring at the picture gave her strength. Their dance studio was long gone, as was their Seattle apartment, but the town hall? She could hold on to that.
Eleanor stood determinedly, made her cup of tea, and sat back at the computer. She began typing. “This is for you, Carl.”
***
Two weeks later, Eleanor found herself back at the school gymnasium. It was hot and stuffy as she waded through the aisle, wedging between Mildred King, the librarian, and Vivian.
“My word,” Mildred said, “I haven't seen this many people in one place since last year's chili cook-off disaster.”
Eleanor sniffed. “Well, let's hope this gathering doesn't end with the fire department being called.” Vivian let out a small laugh and gave Eleanor a friendly pat on the arm. “Eleanor, be nice.”
Eleanor nodded at her friend, but she had been trying to be funny.
She turned in her seat, glancing around the gym. She caught Stanley Boone's eye behind her. He moved forward in his seat, smelling of cheap cologne. “What do you think, Eleanor? I bet there's been a bunch of wacky ideas.”
Eleanor bristled, her spine stiffening. “Did you propose anything?”
“Well, no.”
“Then don't be so quick to judge, Stanley.”
Not waiting for Stanley’s reaction, Eleanor turned back to face the front. She knew he'd be shocked, as typically they mocked people together.
Luckily, Mayor Evergreen took to the stage, ending any further chance of conversation.
“Here we go,” whispered Vivian.
Eleanor smiled and nodded despite thinking she might be sick. She'd poured her heart into that proposal, but what if the mayor's office hated it? What if she became the laughingstock of Mistletoe? She was about to get up to leave when the mayor began speaking.
“Good evening, everyone. Wow! Look at this turnout. What a town we have, eh? What a town!” The mayor took a moment to look across the crowd. “Now, let's get down to business, shall we?”
The audience applauded.
“So, after a week of studying all the fundraising ideas, we have selected three to help us reach our goal of renovating the town hall.” He took a sip of water. “The first is a crowdfunding option submitted by Matt Leclerc, our local tech wiz. I think this will be quite successful, especially if we can tap into the pockets of all the tourists who have graced our quaint town since becoming a Christmas-themed destination. Thank you, Matt, for your proposal.”
Cheers and applause came from the crowd.
“Next, we have a silent auction, and believe me, this isn't a small affair. Already, there are companies willing to make significant donations. The Mistletoe Inn and Spa have donated a couples weekend. Northern Bound Expeditions has donated two trips. One is a northern lights viewing weekend, and the other is a dog sled camping trip. Those are only a few of the local companies willing to make a difference. So a big thanks to Marshall and Ilene Hendrix for their idea and hard work at finding sponsors before the proposal was even accepted.”
Again, the audience clapped and cheered.
Eleanor relaxed. There was no way her idea was being chosen.
“And now, our third and final selection, something a little different, and something I think will liven up the long fall nights, a ballroom dancing competition!”
Eleanor's jaw dropped to the floor. Surely, she'd misheard.
“This proposal caught our attention because of its fun nature. It's something we can all participate in, and the person who submitted this believes that with her connections, we can have professional dancers compete as well. If it turns out half as good as the proposal, we are in for a treat, ladies and gentlemen, a real treat.”
“But I can't dance,” someone cried out.
“Then you should learn,” the mayor responded. “I'm sure there are dozens of YouTube videos out there.”
The crowd murmured in agreement.
“Who came up with such an idea?” someone shouted.
Eleanor's momentary elation was quickly replaced by panic. She hunched her shoulders, trying to make herself as small as possible. But a voice inside her, one that sounded suspiciously like Carl's, said, “Stand up, Ellie. It's your time to shine.”
With trembling hands, Eleanor slowly rose to her feet. “I did,” she said.
The gymnasium fell silent. All eyes turned to Eleanor, looks of disbelief etched on their faces. Eleanor felt her cheeks burning. “I used to teach ballroom dancing,” she explained. “With my late husband, Carl.”
Beside her, Vivian began clapping, and then everyone joined in.
Eleanor's heart raced, but not with fear. In fact, there arose a feeling she hadn't felt in years: determination.
But as Eleanor walked home that night, and the initial rush faded, a new worry crept in. “What have I gotten myself into?” she wondered aloud, her mind racing with potential disasters. It could be awful… or it could be marvelous, a little voice said. And for the first time in a long time, Eleanor chose to believe in the latter.