Chapter Twenty-Four The Talent Show
Kitty
The town square looked different at night.
The snow had been packed down by hundreds of boots, the stage lights throwing pale halos across the ground and turning familiar storefronts into something almost theatrical.
Folding chairs filled the open space in neat rows, and a low hum of voices drifted through the cold air as people settled in, stamped their feet, and leaned close to one another for warmth.
I stood just offstage with my clipboard pressed to my chest, breathing carefully through my nose to not aggravate my throat. I was bundled up so much it was hard to move and my scarf kept getting in my way.
The cookie exchange and cocoa crawl were done. The vendor market was over. What remained was the talent show, the thing everyone would remember if it went well and blame me for if it didn’t.
I checked the lineup again, even though I knew it by heart.
The first act was ready, gathered backstage and looking through the curtains at the crowd.
The second act was pacing in a tight circle just beside the stage.
The third act argued quietly amongst themselves and I hoped it was nothing serious because at this point, the show was happening.
Everything was exactly as prepared as it was going to be.
Caleb was already at the sound board, already having run through his sound checks he was ready to go. Caleb caught my eye and lifted a hand briefly with a smile. I nodded back with a smile of my own.
People were still trickling in, finding seats in the square. Kids darting between chairs until corralled by adults. Performers hovering near the side of the stage, clutching props and instruments like talismans.
I moved through them, checking names, offering quiet reassurance, redirecting where necessary.
“You’re on after the dance trio with the blue costumes,” I told a nervous boy holding a violin. “Just follow Mr. Humphrey when he points. You are going to do great.”
He nodded solemnly, eyes wide.
Mr. Humphrey stood near the microphone, already beaming like a man about to deliver a keynote address. I gently touched his elbow.
“Not yet,” I said. “We want to wait for the top of the hour.”
“Yes,” he agreed enthusiastically.
I wasn’t convinced we were on the same page.
Behind the judges’ table, Dad and Mom arrived together, bundled in scarves and smiling as they took their seats. Dad leaned over the list of acts taped to their table, scanning the names with interest. Mom caught my eye and gave me an encouraging nod with two mittened thumbs up.
I exhaled slowly.
Then Great Aunt Cathy arrived.
She entered the square as if the evening had been waiting for her approval, her coat immaculate, her expression already critical. She paused at the edge of the seating area, surveyed the stage, the lighting, the chairs, and finally me.
Her gaze lingered, her expression unimpressed. Great Aunt Cathy made her way to the judges’ table and took a seat without comment. Anne followed, polite and subdued, offering me a quick, apologetic smile as she sat beside her grandmother. I returned it, grateful for the quiet solidarity.
Great Aunt Cathy leaned forward, peering at the handwritten schedule taped to the side of the stage. “There’s no printed programs for the audience?”
“We posted the order online,” I replied evenly.
“That seems cheap. You should have at least printed programs for the evening,” she said disapprovingly.
“It’s accessible online. The Winter Carnival has a tight budget. Perhaps next year you would like to donate to the event and we can have printed programs then,” I said sweetly with a smile.
Her face soured further and she sniffed.
Mr. Humphrey cleared his throat loudly. I turned around to find him reaching for the microphone.
“Mr. Humphreys! We have two minutes yet,” I stepped in front of him just in time.
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “Two.”
He immediately tapped the microphone and a sharp squeal echoed across the square.
I winced, then raised both hands in a calming gesture to the crowd, smiling as if this were charming instead of mildly alarming. Laughter rippled through the front rows.
Caleb adjusted something at the board so the feedback stopped.
I mouthed thank you to him.
The first act gathered at the side of the stage, whispering last-minute reminders to each other. I went briefly to speak with them, keeping my voice low and steady. “Take your time. If you happen to forget something, keep going. Everyone here wants you to succeed.”
They nodded, breathing a little easier.
As I stood, a woman I didn’t recognize appeared at my elbow, phone held casually in one hand.
“Hi,” she said brightly. “I’m with North County Now .”
My stomach tightened. “I’m actually in the middle of something. If you want a comment about the talent show it will have to wait for intermission or afterward.”
“It’ll be quick,” she said. “People are curious about Caleb Green. Any chance he’s performing tonight?"
“No. Celeb is simply helping out with the sound,” I said.
She smiled like this was interesting information. “So he’s staying out of the spotlight.”
Before I could respond, Caleb was suddenly there, calm and unhurried.
“Kitty is coordinating the show,” he said pleasantly. “If you’d like to talk, it’ll have to wait until after.”
“Are you sure you can give us a comment? How does it feel to be back in the spotlight?” she pressed.
“I’m sorry, tonight is Kitty’s night with the talent show. If you aren’t here to talk about that then we have no comment,” Caleb firmly replied.
The blogger hesitated, recalibrating, then laughed lightly. “Of course. Break a leg.”
She drifted away.
“Thanks,” I murmured.
He nodded once and returned to the sound board as if nothing had happened.
The crowd quieted as the lights shifted, letting them know that the show was about to begin. Mr. Humphrey stepped forward again, this time waiting for my nod.
I gave it.
“Welcome,” he boomed, voice echoing through the square. “To the Maple Ridge Talent Show. I hope you all enjoy tonight as local talent steps onto the stage. Please remember that each member of the show is at a different level of their talent journey so be kind and liberal with your applause.”
Applause erupted, warm and enthusiastic.
The first act stepped onto the stage.
A young girl sang with earnest confidence, missing a note but never her momentum. The crowd applauded loudly, generous and proud. Dad leaned forward, delightedly clapping as Mom smiled.
Great Aunt Cathy tapped her pen sharply against her clipboard.
The second act was a dance routine that started late and ended early when one dancer slipped and dragged the others with her. The recovery earned even louder applause than the performance itself.
I checked my clipboard, smiled at the performers as they exited, and motioned for the next act.
The evening was moving along. It wasn’t perfect but people were happy and entertained which I felt was a personal victory.
The young boy with the violin ended to thunderous applause, his smile wide now that his part of the show was complete.
I smiled as he hurried offstage, ushered the next group forward, and made a quick note on my clipboard to adjust the timing.
We were running a few minutes behind, but nothing irreparable.
We could make the intermission a little shorter if necessary.
The next act involved three boys, one acoustic guitar, and a shared microphone. They launched into their song with enthusiasm and very little agreement on tempo. The guitar sped up. The singing lagged. One boy panicked and skipped an entire verse.
I caught Caleb’s eye.
He adjusted the sound just enough to soften the edges, turning chaos into something almost charming. The audience clapped along, amused rather than critical. When the boys finished, breathless and grinning, the applause was loud and genuine.
Dad scribbled notes enthusiastically. Mom leaned toward Anne, talking about the act.
Cathy crossed her arms, frowning. As the next performer took the stage, Cathy rose from her seat.
“I still don’t understand,” she said sharply, her voice carrying farther than she likely intended, “why the evening is proceeding without any professional element.”
A ripple of murmurs passed through the front rows.
I quickly stepped forward to the judges table.
“This is a community talent show,” I said, keeping my tone calm. “Everyone here is a professional at being brave enough to get on stage. It’s not meant to be for top acts but for people starting out. I think they are doing a great job.”
A beat of silence followed.
Then someone clapped. Another joined in. Applause spread outward, not thunderous, but firm.
Cathy sat back down, lips pressed thin.
Anne stared straight ahead, cheeks flushed.
The next act was announced by Mr. Humphrey, and the moment passed.
I moved through the side of the stage, checking in with performers, offering a quiet word here, a steadying smile there. My throat felt rough now, each word scraping slightly, but I ignored it. I could deal with that later.
A dancer froze mid-routine when her music skipped. For half a second, she looked terrified.
Her mom stepped closer to the stage and caught her eye, exaggerating the next movement just enough to jog her memory. She recovered, laughing softly, and finished strong. The applause was immediate and warm.
Backstage, a prop went missing. I pointed, redirected, handed someone else a substitute, and made a mental note to check the lost and found later in hopes of getting the item back to the owner.
Between acts, Mr. Humphrey leaned into the microphone again.
“And now,” he announced confidently, “we welcome—”
I hurried forward and whispered the correct name.
He nodded and announced the wrong one anyway.
Laughter rippled through the crowd. The performers rolled with it, bowing dramatically before beginning. What could have been awkward became a running joke.
I laughed too, though the sound came out thinner than I expected.
I cleared my throat and kept moving. I took a sip of water, swallowed carefully, and ignored the way it didn’t help.
We were almost to the intermission.
Another act finished. I stepped toward the microphone to cue the next performer since Mr. Humphreys had disappeared at some point during the last act.
“And next- ” I said.
My voice cracked, brittle and unreliable. I paused, inhaled slowly, and tried again. “And next…
Behind the judges’ table, Great Aunt Cathy leaned toward Anne, speaking loud enough to be heard by everyone. “This would be the perfect moment for someone with actual experience to step in.”
Anne stiffened.
Before I could respond, Caleb straightened from the sound board and met Cathy’s gaze calmly.
“This evening is running exactly as planned,” he said evenly, not into the microphone, but clearly enough to be heard by those nearest.
The murmurs that followed were approving.
Great Aunt Cathy looked at him sharply. “You could elevate this by performing.”
Caleb did not raise his voice. “That isn’t the goal. Tonight is everyone else’s night to be a star, even if it’s just here in Maple Ridge.”
The crowd applauded. I felt something tighten behind my eyes, a mix of gratitude and relief that made me look away for a moment.
“Please welcome Triple Threat,” I managed to squeak out into the microphone and three girls tumbled onto the stage, doing a gymnastics routine.
As the first half of the show wound toward its close, the square seemed to lean in closer, the cold forgotten in favor of warmth and shared laughter. Mistakes became features. Recoveries earned cheers. Parents beamed and took photos as children waved from the stage.
I checked the clipboard again, swallowing against the steady burn in my throat. Just one more transition before intermission. I could manage that.
I stepped up to the microphone.
“We’ll take a short break,” I began, but nothing came out.
I blinked, startled more than alarmed, and tried again. My lips moved, my throat ached, but there was no sound.
The silence stretched, magnified by the microphone. The audience shifted, confused but patient.
Heat flooded my face. I swallowed hard and tried once more to force the words. The ache in my throat sharpened into something unmistakable. I stepped back instinctively, heart pounding as the realization settled fully.
I had lost my voice..
The stage lights glared back at me. The crowd waited. The show was only halfway through.
And for the first time all night, I had no way to move it forward.