Chapter Thirteen Snowsculpting In the Park
Kitty
The snow sculpting area looked like something out of a postcard when I arrived.
Large blocks of snow had already been carved into recognizable shapes, white dust hanging in the air like glitter.
The sound of tools hummed steadily as contestants shaped the hard snow how they wanted.
Spectators clustered along the rope barriers with hot drinks in their hands, already pointing and debating what each sculpture might become.
I adjusted my scarf and took a breath that stung my lungs before pulling out my clipboard.
Okay. This was happening.
The event had technically started last night, with people having a five hour window to get started on their creations.
The goal was to have the contest wrap up around lunch so that people could stroll the park in the afternoon and get pictures.
There were prizes for a few categories, and I had managed to line up four judges, three of them willing while one was reluctant but still judging.
I walked the perimeter slowly, checking the barriers, nodding to volunteers, and answering questions as they came up.
I saw three unicorns, a hippopotamus, Santa, a huge present, and other sculptures along the way. I was happy, I wasn’t the one judging them.
My timer went off, indicating it was getting close to the time for the judges to make an appearance. Looking around, I spotted them near the warming tent, and my stomach dipped.
Great Aunt Cathy stood front and center, holding her clipboard like she was about to judge something far more important than just a simple snowsculpting contest. Anne hovered just behind her shoulder, bundled in a neutral coat that made her look as if she hoped to disappear into the background.
Mom and Dad stood together, heads bent in quiet conversation, both wearing expressions that suggested they had agreed to this without fully understanding what it entailed.
Great Aunt Cathy caught sight of me immediately and lifted her chin. “There you are. We were just discussing how judging should work.”
I braced myself. “Wonderful.”
Mom smiled when she saw me, relief flickering across her face. “We were wondering if there are official criteria.”
“There are, sort of. Didn’t you read the sheet of instructions I gave each of you?” I asked.
Great Aunt Cathy sniffed. “Art is subjective.”
Dad nodded thoughtfully. “I like the one that looks like a bear.”
Anne glanced at the sculpture Dad pointed out. “That one is still a block.”
“It has potential,” William said.
I pressed my lips together and focused on breathing through my nose. “We’re looking at creativity, execution, and stability.”
Great Aunt Cathy waved a hand. “Naturally.”
That was when I noticed the rope line sagging.
A group of spectators had drifted closer to one of the sculptors, angling for better photos. One man leaned forward, phone held high, entirely too close to the edge of the work zone. The sculptor paused, a power tool still running, and glanced up with a frown.
My pulse jumped.
“Excuse me,” I said, already moving. “I need to address something.”
I crossed the snow quickly, boots crunching, and lifted my hand in a calm, clear signal.
“Hi,” I said to the group, smiling like everything was completely fine. “I’m going to ask you to step back behind the rope, please.”
One woman frowned. “We’re just taking pictures.”
“I know, and you’ll get better ones from a little farther back. This area needs to stay clear for safety until the sculptors are done,” I told them.
The man with the phone hesitated. “It’s fine.”
“It isn’t,” I said, still smiling. “But I appreciate you helping me keep it that way by stepping behind the rope.”
There was a pause, just long enough to make my heart pound harder.
“Let’s give her some space,” Mom said gently, already guiding people back with a hand on an elbow. “It’s for everyone’s safety.”
Dad stepped in beside her, suddenly authoritative. “Yes. Safety first.”
The rope was restored. The sculptor nodded at me, gratitude clear even through his goggles.
“Thank you,” he said.
I nodded back, my shoulders finally loosening. Behind me, Great Aunt Cathy made a disapproving sound.
“You should have stationed someone there,” she said.
“We have limited volunteers, the ropes should be enough for reasonable people to understand not to cross,” I muttered then smiled at Great Aunt Cathy.
Anne caught my eye then, her expression sympathetic. She leaned in slightly. “I think you handled that well.”
“Thank you,” I said, meaning it more than I probably should have. I turned back toward the main area and nearly collided with Caleb.
“Sorry,” I said automatically.
He reflexively took hold of my elbow. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good. Ready to get the announcements and judging underway?” I asked.
“Everything is set up and ready to go,” Caleb replied. His phone buzzed in his pocket.
I noticed the way his shoulders tightened, just slightly, before he pulled it out and glanced at the screen. Whatever he saw made his jaw set.
“Is everything okay with you?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said too quickly. “I just need a second.”
He stepped away, turning his back as he silenced the call.
I watched him for a moment longer than I meant to.
When he came back, he was smiling again, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Do you need anything else right now?” he asked.
I glanced back at the sculptors, the judges regrouping, the crowd once again contained.
“I think we’re okay,” I said. “For the moment.”
“Here’s the microphone. Just switch it on or off as needed. It’s wireless and will work as long as you are within the roped off area. It will extend a little further than that, but I can’t guarantee how far,” Caleb explained.
“Thank you,” I said as I took the mic from him. I gathered the judges near the first sculpture and reminded myself that my role was not to control them. My role was to keep them moving and prevent open arguments with power tools involved. I gathered up the judges and headed into the roped off area.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the time to stop sculpting has arrived. Our judges are going to take a walk through together, take notes, and then narrow it down to the top contenders.” I clicked the mic off and gestured toward the row of sculptures. “Shall we?”
Great Aunt Cathy adjusted her gloves. “I would have thought the event would draw a bigger crowd. Anne, have you met Caleb Green?”
Anne looked startled. “Kitty’s boyfriend?”
“Oh, no, I’m not…” I tried to protest but someone stepped in my way, taking a photo of me with their phone. “Excuse me?”
“Caleb Green doesn’t have a girlfriend, if he did, I would know about it,” Great Aunt Cathy stated as the person moved away.
“I like Caleb. We are good friends,” I firmly replied.
“Then Anne wouldn’t have any trouble introducing herself to him,” Great Aunt Cathy suggested.
“Grandma, I’m judging the contest right now. Maybe later, okay?” Anne tried to divert Great Aunt Cathy’s attention.
“Right, let’s get judging,” I insisted, trying to steer the conversation back to what we were supposed to be doing.
Dad squinted at the nearest sculpture, which had evolved into something that could generously be described as an owl. “Is it supposed to look like that?”
The sculptor smiled patiently as he stood beside his creation. “Yes.”
Dad nodded. “Excellent.”
Anne leaned closer, studying the carving. “The wings are very well balanced.”
Great Aunt Cathy sniffed. “It lacks refinement.”
I gave the sculptor a tight smile. “Judges, please make your notes and let’s keep moving.”
The next sculpture inspired a debate about whether abstract art counted if no one could identify it.
Great Aunt Cathy thought it was bold. Mom worried the public would be confused.
Dad liked that it reminded him of a chair.
Anne asked about technique and received a detailed explanation that no one else listened to.
I intervened gently, redirecting, summarizing, and encouraging them forward whenever the conversation threatened to root itself in one spot for too long.
We were halfway through when I noticed the crowd looking elsewhere.
Toward Caleb who was casually standing near the sound equipment, hands in his jacket pockets, posture relaxed in a way that was increasingly rare for him. He was watching the sculptors, half-smiling at something Abby was saying nearby as she pointed to one of the sculptures.
A woman slowed as she passed him, head tilting, eyes narrowing in recognition. She stopped walking entirely, turning back for a second look.
“Oh my,” she said, not quietly.
Caleb immediately stiffened.
She stepped closer, tentative at first. “I am so sorry, but are you the singer Caleb Green?”
Caleb hesitated just long enough for the answer to be obvious. “Yes.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “I knew it. I knew it. I saw you at Red Rocks years ago. You were incredible.”
“I appreciate that,” he said, polite but careful.
She was already pulling out her phone. “Can I get a picture?”
Before he could answer, she waved someone over. “Tara. Tara! It’s him.”
Caleb glanced toward me, something apologetic in his expression, and I felt a jolt of understanding click into place.
This was what he had been avoiding.
People began to gather, curiosity rippling outward. Someone asked for an autograph. Someone else recognized his name and gasped. A third person started listing songs with the kind of enthusiasm that made retreat impossible without being rude.
Great Aunt Cathy noticed immediately. “See? He’s here and now is your chance Anne. A famous musician with real talent in the family. I always liked music. If I had been able to play music, I would have been quite proficient.”
“Grandma, I’m not interested in Caleb,” Anne softly protested.
“Nonsense. Get in there with the rest of the girls. He’s sure to see you as a catch,” Great Aunt Cathy shoved Anne towards Caleb.
I stepped in before the situation tipped fully sideways.
“All right,” I said, raising my voice just enough to carry. “Judges, if we could finish scoring, please.”
Mom blinked. “Oh. Yes. Of course.”
Dad hesitated, then followed Mom, though he continued glancing back. “He does look familiar.”
“Great Aunt Cathy and Anne? You both have an obligation that you signed up for here,” I sternly reminded them.
Great Aunt Cathy lingered a moment, her gaze flicking between Caleb and the growing crowd. Her expression soured. “I do fulfill my obligations.”
Anne chased after Mom and Dad.
I caught Great Aunt Cathy’s eye and tilted my head toward the sculptures.
She nodded and joined the others.
I moved through the crowd and closer to Caleb, keeping my voice low. “Do you want an out ?”
He let out a breath. “If you have one.”
I stood as tall as I could, which really wasn’t very tall at all. Putting the microphone on, I spoke into it. “I’m sorry everyone but we really need to go. We have obligations elsewhere. Thank you for your time.”
There were some protests as I grabbed Caleb by the elbow and marched him towards the warming tent. “They’ll think I’m the bad guy for taking you away. At the back of the warming tent, there is a gap in the tarp. You can slip through there and no one should notice.”
We entered the tent and I showed him the gap at the back. Caleb slipped away toward the trees bordering the park, head down, hands buried in his pockets.
I watched him for a moment before going back to find the judges.
As the final scores were tallied and announcements made, I felt the adrenaline drain from my system in uneven waves.
My hands were cold. My coffee was gone. My list had acquired several new notes written in increasingly cramped handwriting.
After some arguing, we finally came to a consensus of who our winners were and awarded the prizes.
When it was over, applause echoed through the park, and people drifted away, buzzing with conversation. I took down the ropes, allowing people to get close to study the sculptures and take better pictures.
I scanned the edge of the crowd, half-expecting to see Caleb reappear.
He didn’t.