Chapter Twenty-Two #2
His eyes scanned the dimly lit room, looking for something. He wasn’t exactly sure what, but there was a tension in the air wrapped in the faint smell of blood.
And then Hollis heard a tiny whimper.
“Duke?… Buster?”
Another low whimper answered him, coming from the mud room near the back door where he kept the two dog crates. Hollis rushed in that direction, his breath catching as he took in the scene. Duke lay on his side, just in front of his crate, his golden fur matted with dark blood.
“Duke!” Hollis’s knees buckled in front of his dog. In response to Hollis’s gentle stroke on his forehead, Duke’s tail gave a weak thump against the tiled floor.
What had happened here tonight? Hollis looked in the direction of Buster’s crate—it was empty. He scanned the room, but Buster was nowhere in sight.
He was positive he’d left both dogs crated.
The crate doors were open, however. Hollis’s gaze jumped to the doggie door that led to the fenced area in the backyard.
Bloody paw prints made a path from the doggie door to the spot where Duke was lying.
Hollis looked at Duke again. “Did you two get out somehow?” He quickly got up, hesitant to leave Duke’s side, but what if Buster was injured as well?
Stepping onto the back porch, Hollis looked around.
“Buster!” he called. “Buster, come!” He waited for a long beat, but there was no sign of the lab mix.
The gate was closed, but it was possible that Buster might have gotten on the roof of the outdoor kennel and jumped the fence.
“Buster!” he called again. He couldn’t search right now. Duke’s condition seemed serious. He’d been Hollis’s constant over the past five years, his anchor in a world that always seemed ready to cast him adrift—just like it’d done tonight.
“Come on, buddy.” With gentle hands, he scooped Duke into his arms, wincing at the dog’s painful yelp. “It’s okay, boy,” he murmured, blinking away the sting of tears. “I’m gonna get you help.”
He cast one last look at the doggie door, hoping Buster would bust through. He hated to leave, knowing that Buster was out there. Was he injured too? Or was he responsible for Duke’s condition?
“I’m sorry, Duke,” Hollis whispered. There was too much blood matted on the dog’s fur to see if the injuries were punctures or gashes. What was the extent of his injuries?
The drive to the emergency vet was a blur of red lights and frantic prayers while Duke whimpered and panted softly in the passenger seat.
Hollis’s mind raced, replaying the events of the day in an endless, torturous loop.
Matt’s rejection, Duke’s injuries, Buster missing—it all swirled together into a maelstrom of pain and doubt.
He’d had that familiar feeling of everything being too good to be true a lot this season.
He should have known that life would backhand him and knock him to the ground.
“Hollis,” Dr. Lynch said ten minutes later when Hollis walked into the veterinarian’s office. “Follow me.” She led him to an examining room and motioned for Hollis to lay Duke on the metal table.
Stepping back, Hollis watched, feeling helpless as the doctor gave Duke a sedative to calm him. Then she took her time cleaning and assessing every wound.
“No sugarcoating. Just say it,” Hollis said after ten minutes of holding his breath and floating up prayers.
“His condition is serious,” she said gently. “I think he’s stable for now, but I’ll need to keep him here. I need to sew up some of the deeper gashes, and with all these wounds, there’s a risk of infection.”
Hollis nodded numbly.
“He was definitely attacked by something,” Dr. Lynch continued. “Where’s…” She hesitated.
“Buster didn’t do this,” Hollis said, even though the thought had crossed his mind. He was ready to insist that Buster was a good dog. Buster hadn’t shown any aggressive tendencies since coming home with Hollis.
“I’m not saying he did,” Dr. Lynch said. “I’m still assessing the nature of the injuries. I’ve got this though, Hollis. Duke is in good hands with me. You know that.”
He nodded. “I do know that.”
She forced him to meet her eyes. “You need to go find Buster right now. Because something happened while you were gone. If Buster isn’t responsible for Duke’s condition, he could be injured too. Or…” She trailed off again.
Or worse. Yeah.
Hollis nodded. “Right. I need to find him.” He didn’t move though. Not until Dr. Lynch reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll call you as soon as I have more information on Duke. Trust me.”
He did trust Dr. Lynch. He’d been working with her for years through the rescue and with his dog training clients. “Thank you,” he said quietly. Then he turned and forced himself to leave the vet’s office when all he really wanted was to stay by Duke’s side.
The Star Ornament
The Star Ornament is in the box labeled with a 12.
Inside, yes, you’ll see a sparkly, glittery star.
Usually, the star goes on top of a tree, but not this one.
This one is hung twelfth down. It was a gift from the Bloom mayor, if you can believe it.
An honor and a treasure, and the reason my play became a Bloom holiday staple.
Here’s the story.
That first year of motherhood with my baby girl, I felt like I was stumbling through a thick fog, never quite sure if I was doing anything right. Every cry, every sleepless night, every moment of uncertainty chipped away at my confidence.
I remember standing in the nursery one night, my daughter wailing in my arms, and feeling completely overwhelmed.
The theater, my pride and joy, felt like a distant memory.
My dreams of Broadway stardom seemed laughable now.
In that dark moment, I considered running away from it all—my husband, my child, the theater. Everything.
That feeling lingered for days until my mother, bless her heart, took me aside.
She must have sensed the exhaustion and seen the doubt in my eyes.
“Nannette,” she said, using my full name, like she always did when she was being serious, “good mothers always feel like they’re doing things wrong.
It’s a sign that you care and that you want the best for your baby girl. ”
Those words were like a lifeline. They didn’t magically make everything easier, but they gave me the strength to keep going.
Mickey, my dear sweet husband, was a rock through it all.
He’d get up in the middle of the night to tend to the baby, insisting that I needed my rest. “You’ve got a theater to run, darling,” he’d say with a wink.
“And you’re doing it with a baby on your hip, literally carrying the load all day. Let me handle the midnight feedings.”
Not all women are as lucky to have a spouse who understands how hard it is.
I’d direct rehearsals while bouncing Daisy in my arm and rewriting scripts one-handed while she napped on my chest. The actors and crew were wonderfully understanding, cooing over her between scenes and offering to watch her when I needed a moment.
It certainly wasn’t the life I’d envisioned when I’d set off for New York with stars in my eyes and Broadway dreams in my heart.
But as the months went by, I realized it was so much more.
The theater became not just my passion, but also a second home for my little family.
My daughter’s first steps were on that stage, her giggles echoing in the wings as she watched rehearsals from her playpen.
Being a mother changed me in ways I never could have foreseen. It softened my edges, making me more patient, more understanding. It gave me a new perspective on the stories we told onstage, a deeper appreciation for the complexities of human emotion.
That first year flew by in a blur of sleepless nights, baby giggles, and theater productions.
Before I knew it, my little girl was toddling around, babbling her first words—many of which, I’m proud to say, were theater terms she’d picked up from all the time spent there.
As the next Christmas approached, and the one after that, the town folk asked about our annual production of Santa, Baby.
They didn’t just ask—they practically demanded it.
The mayor came to me personally because Santa, Baby had been the topic of a town meeting.
The town wanted the play to continue. As if I might say no, the mayor brought me a gift.
A beautiful brass star to represent what he said I was to Bloom—a shining star.
Who needed Broadway when they had the entire town of Bloom as their fan base?
I think it was more the play that had struck a chord than me, actually.
Santa and Mrs. Claus having a “real” marriage?
The kind that all married couples knew. The well-kept secret that kept hopeless romantics believing the fairy tales they’d grown up believing.
My debut play had become such a beloved tradition in such a short time that it drew people from neighboring towns every year, more and more as word of mouth spread.
The rest, as they say, is history. Bloom history. Santa, Baby became an annual tradition, one that would shape our little town for years to come. It was more than a play; it was a piece of who we were, a testament to the power of family, community, and the magic of theater.
Looking back now, I wouldn’t change a thing.
My daughter grew up in that theater that was our wonderland.
And then my granddaughters too—but that’s a different story.
More plays came along, some that stuck and some that didn’t.
But Santa, Baby continued. The magic captured in that script was what got me through the darkest moments.
That magical feeling spoke to the town as well.
It brought the community together for a shared experience each year, to laugh and cry and catch that glimmer of hope that shimmers brightest during the holidays. And, if you ask me, that’s the real magic, the kind that lasts long after the curtain falls.
Truthfully, I think the reason that play resonated was because of the leading man—the one in my head when I’d written the story. It was this imaginary story of me and my first love. The only place we ever got to exist after that whirlwind romance in high school.