Chapter Nine #2
She stood there and watched Hollis as he prepared a plate of cookies and chatted with her Grandpa Charlie and Eleanor.
Charlie had been in the play for the past decade, but not his new wife.
In fact, until last year, Eleanor hadn’t gotten out of her house very much at all.
She and Charlie were good for each other.
Savannah was here too, standing near the coffeepot, showing off her diamond ring to Maria Linley.
I wish Nan was here.
The thought sent Mallory’s mood into a nosedive.
Nan wasn’t gone-gone. Mallory couldn’t grieve in a traditional sense because she still had Nan in her life, and Mallory was thankful for that.
But Nan wasn’t the same woman who’d nurtured and raised Mallory anymore.
She was different. The memories that made her who she used to be were gone.
More folks filed into the theater lobby until there were fourteen actors and two understudies for the larger roles.
Once everyone had arrived, Mallory led them all to the Reading Room, which was one large open space with a long rectangular table where everyone sat and read through the entire script aloud.
As the director, Mallory sat at the table’s head, where Nan usually sat.
The meeting essentially ran itself. Everyone here knew what to do, and Mallory was pleased that all the actors seemed to take their roles seriously, already delivering their lines with an appropriate level of emotion.
When it came time for Hollis to say his lines, he ducked his head, seeming to hide behind the hand he had raised to his forehead.
“Ho, ho, ho!” he belted.
Giggles broke out around the room.
“Now, Hollis, don’t go spoiling this play like you did that one time,” a middle-aged woman, Esther Woods, said with obvious disdain.
All the actors around the table froze, their eyes wide as they glanced at Hollis. He’d done his best to redeem himself, but it was difficult to live down anything in a small town.
Clearing his throat, he looked up and said, “I don’t intend to spoil anything. I read my line, didn’t I?”
“If you’re embarrassed to play the part, tell us now so we can find a new Santa,” Esther went on, ignoring him.
Mallory wondered if she should step in, but Hollis put on his usual charm.
“No need for that,” he assured the woman.
Esther turned to Mallory. “As the director, I’m sure you understand that it’s your job to ensure this play runs smoothly, the way Nan would have wanted it.”
Mallory’s lips parted. If she remembered correctly, Hollis had pranked Esther a few times in his rebellious youth, which probably played a role in her distaste for him. “I think Nan would approve of Hollis filling the role of Santa. She was a big believer in second chances.”
“Not as much as she believed in this theater.”
The actor seated next to Esther laid a hand on the woman’s arm and leaned to whisper something in her ear.
“Fine,” Esther finally huffed before fluttering a hand in the air. “Let’s move on with this reading.”
To Mallory’s relief, the actors continued to read.
As they did, Mallory kept a close eye on Hollis.
He wasn’t an easy man to read, but Mallory thought he looked upset as he sat through the rest of the reading.
When it was over, he pushed back from the table and stood up quickly.
Mallory wanted to talk to him, but on her way, she was stopped by several of the actors wanting to know how Nan was doing and what the plan for the rest of the rehearsals would be.
By the time Mallory was finally free, she looked around, and Hollis was gone.
The Skeleton Key Ornament
The Skeleton Key Ornament is tagged with the number 5.
Tear off the green paper. Inside the box, you’ll find a skeleton key.
The original doors to the theater required one.
Of course, years later, we installed new doors and this key was no longer needed.
Not functionally at least. So here it is, a symbol of so many things, but mostly it represented second chances.
Here’s the story.
The day my mother gave me her rainy day fund and we purchased the old mill to turn into the Bloom Community Theater was the day I realized that my great grandmother was right. Sometimes dreams can come true even if they don’t happen the way you always envisioned they would.
Running the Bloom Community Theater became my dream, and after opening the doors, I never regretted not “making it” on Broadway.
In fact, as my stomach grew, still too small for town folk to suspect, I knew I’d made the best decision for my little family.
It would just be baby girl and me, two souls against the world—even if I secretly pined for Ralph.
Another secret. Hadn’t I learned my lesson the first time?
In a small town, I couldn’t help but run into Ralph almost daily.
My foolish heart would leap every time I saw his face, and then my heart would stumble and fall when I saw the hurt flash in his eyes.
I knew I was the culprit. I put the hurt there.
I left him for something that could never make me happy.
I walked away, telling myself that it was fine because he gave me permission at the start.
He was the one who told me to leave and not even tell him good-bye.
I wanted to cling to that and put the blame on him, but I knew it was all mine. Our breakup was my fault.
The Bloom Community Theater was my second chance.
Our baby together was my second chance. It would be foolish to hope that I’d have a second chance with Ralph as well.
I have never been that lucky—and as someone who firmly believed in fate, shouldn’t love be the one place where fate is real?
If Ralph and I were meant to be, I never would have left for New York.
I would have stayed in my small hometown.
Ralph and I would have worked out the first time around.
I was starting to second-guess that thought when I saw him one day in town, holding hands with someone. I watched from a distance, my heart falling into my stomach, sharing space with the baby. He made her laugh and then he leaned in. Everything inside me screamed. No. No, no, no. He was mine.
Their kiss broke me. I’d lost him. No. I gave him away. This was my fault—no one else’s.
Laying a hand on my belly, I tried to catch my breath. I meant to turn away before they saw me, but I was frozen. I didn’t budge even as Ralph caught me watching and headed in my direction, holding her hand.
“Hi, Nan,” he said.
The woman echoed the same greeting.
It was painful as I put on a smile and stepped into the role of the woman who’d moved on. Who wasn’t bothered. Wasn’t still in love. In love?
This moment was brief, but monumental no less. I could have fought for him. I could have stopped the train and begged him to get off. Instead, I remained frozen and gave the greatest performance of my life—before my theater had even opened the doors.
Hang the old skeleton key ornament fifth down from the top of the Memory Tree, below the rustic nail, the pressed wildflowers, the butterfly barrette, and the Santa hat at the tip-top of the tree.