Chapter Eighteen The Parade
Lydia
I woke before my alarm, the way people do on days that already feel too big to sleep through properly.
The inn was quiet in that early-morning way that made every sound feel louder than it should. Pipes ticked faintly. Outside, the world was pale and still, frost clinging to the edges of the windows like it was trying to see in.
I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, my stomach fluttering with a nervous energy I couldn’t quite settle. Today was parade day. The words felt unreal, like I had been saying them for weeks without fully believing they would arrive.
I rolled out of bed, went through my morning routine before I pulled on layers, one after another. Thermal shirt. Sweater. Scarf. Gloves tucked into my coat pockets so I wouldn’t forget them. I poured myself a mug of coffee in the kitchenette and took a sip that tasted more like heat than flavor.
Outside, the truck waited.
It looked different in the early light. Bigger somehow. The decorations we had worked on looked good, lights carefully wrapped with greenery, and the inn’s name painted boldly across the sign fixed to the side of the bed. It was festive without being fussy.
I stood there, keys in my hand, and let the reality of it settle.
I was driving this thing. Through Maple Ridge and in front of people.
Behind me, the inn seemed to wake up all at once.
Jane appeared first, already bundled with a steaming mug in her hand. “You’re up early.”
“I never went to sleep,” Kitty said, bouncing down the steps behind her. “This is basically like Christmas morning.”
Meri followed more quietly, wrapped in her coat, eyes sharp and assessing as she took in the float. “It’s just a parade.”
It was and it wasn’t. This was part of my chance to prove myself.
Mom came out next, scarf half-tied, cheeks pink from the cold. Dad was right behind her, carrying a folded blanket under one arm.
“Isn’t it exciting?” Mom asked, smiling like she was seeing something she hadn’t quite let herself imagine yet.
“It is,” I agreed.
Dad walked around the truck once, checking straps and knots with the seriousness of a man who trusted nothing to optimism. “It looks good to me. Are we ready to go?”
I nodded.
He nodded, satisfied. “Good.”
The town square was already buzzing by the time we arrived for the lineup.
Other floats were parked along the street, music drifting from speakers, kids darting between parents with candy canes clutched like prizes.
I eased the truck into place where I was directed to carefully, hands steady on the wheel, reminding myself that I knew how to do this.
Dad climbed into the bed of the truck first, unfolding the bench we had secured there and spreading the blanket over it. Mom followed with Dad’s help, settling on the bench, both of them bundled up and smiling like they were about to take part in something wonderfully ridiculous.
“Are you both comfortable?” I called back through the rear window of the cab that I had opened a crack.
Helen laughed. “We’re delighted.”
Jane handed up a basket of small candy canes for them to hold onto should my sisters run out.
“Don’t forget to wave,” she reminded them unnecessarily.
“We know how parades work,” William said dryly, though he was already lifting a hand in greeting to someone across the street.
Meri, Jane, Lucy, and Kitty took their places. They were going to be walking and handing out candy canes as the parade progressed.
Then it was time to start the parade.
I took my place in the driver’s seat, adjusting it just slightly, my boots finding the pedals with familiar certainty. The engine turned over smoothly when I started it, the sound grounding me more than I expected.
First gear. I pressed the clutch, shifted, and guided the truck forward into the route. We rolled forward, following the float in front of us.
People waved as they recognized the inn’s name. Someone shouted a greeting. Mom and Dad waved enthusiastically from the bench.
The truck moved at a steady, deliberate pace, the engine humming beneath my feet like it approved of the attention.
I kept my hands light on the wheel, eyes forward, aware of everything at once without feeling overwhelmed by it.
Music drifted from the float ahead of us, bells jingled somewhere behind, and the sound of cheering rose and fell as we passed clusters of people bundled up along the sidewalks.
“Snowdrop Inn!” someone called out.
I glanced toward the sound and saw Charlotte waving enthusiastically, her mittened hands raised high. I lifted one hand briefly in return before returning my focus to the road, smiling despite myself.
Mom and Dad were in their element behind me. I caught sight of them in the mirror, waving like seasoned parade veterans. Mom’s joy was so open and unselfconscious that it made my chest ache in the best possible way.
Kitty came up to the bed of the truck, getting more candy canes to give away.
“Careful,” Dad said, though he was smiling too. “You’ll run out.”
“That’s the point,” Kitty replied, tossing another handful anyway.
The truck handled beautifully through the first turn. I eased off the clutch, adjusted, and felt a quiet surge of pride that had nothing to do with anyone else’s approval.
As we moved farther into town, the crowd thickened. People pointed at the float, reading the sign, nodding to one another. Someone shouted a question about reopening dates. Lucy, walking alongside for a stretch, answered with practiced cheer, already in her element as unofficial spokesperson.
I spotted Ephram again near the next intersection, standing tall in his uniform, directing the flow with calm, efficient gestures. He glanced toward the parade as it approached, his gaze finding me almost immediately.
For a second, the noise dimmed.
He didn’t wave. He didn’t smile. He simply met my eyes and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, the kind that said, You’ve got this without making a production of it.
I nodded back, my grip on the wheel steady, my heart doing something light and quick that I refused to overanalyze.
The rest of the route blurred together in a series of bright moments. Children ran alongside until their parents called them back. A group of teenagers cheering dramatically. Someone snapping photos. The bells ringing in time to the music. The cold air was sharp in my lungs every time I laughed.
By the time we reached the end point, my cheeks ached from smiling.
I guided the truck into its final position and eased it to a stop, hands lingering on the wheel for a moment longer than necessary. When I finally shut off the engine, the sudden quiet felt almost startling.
We had done it.
Mom climbed carefully down from the bed, still laughing. “
Did you see that little boy in the red hat,” she said to no one in particular. “He waved at us like we were royalty.”
Dad followed more slowly, patting the side of the truck fondly. “That went well. It was a good idea to be in the parade, Lydia.”
“Thank you,” I said, the words meaning more than just commentary on my driving.
People began to drift over almost immediately. Familiar faces and friendly strangers. There were questions about the inn, compliments on the float, and congratulations offered with the easy warmth of a town that noticed effort.
“This looks wonderful,” someone said. “How lovely and classic with the greenery and lights.”
“That was clever using the old truck. It creates some nostalgia,” another added. “Is the inn currently open?”
I answered without hesitation, without shrinking, without deflecting. I smiled and I explained about the SnowDrop Inn being open for business. I stood there with my family and felt, unmistakably, like I belonged in the center of this moment.
Eventually the crowd thinned, people moving on to the next float, the next attraction. We began packing up slowly, hands numb from the cold but spirits high. Jane chatted animatedly with Kitty while Meri quietly adjusted a loose ribbon, her eyes thoughtful.
I stepped away for a moment, moving toward the edge of the square where things were quieter. The sounds of the parade continued around me, but softer now, like background music.
I looked back at the truck and saw my parents laughing together as they folded the blanket from the bench. It put an answering smile on my face. This was what I had intended. A happy family outing where we bonded together.
“Nice job,” Ephram said, coming up beside me.
“Thank you,” I replied, just as steady. “You’ll notice I didn’t cause a single accident or stall out even once.”
“I did notice,” he agreed.
“Perhaps it’s because I had a good teacher,” I gracefully allowed.
“Your family seems very happy,” he observed, ignoring my compliment. “Why aren’t you celebrating with them?”
“I just wanted to take a step back and commit the moment to memory,” I softly mentioned. I studied his face for a moment. “Why did you ignore my compliment? I said you were a good teacher, and I meant it.”
Startled, Ephram looked at me then looked away, shrugging. “I suppose I’m not really comfortable with compliments. I just see things as doing what’s right. I don’t really need thanks for doing something.”
I tilted my head, filing this away as part of the mystery of Ephram who I was finding out more about each day. “Well, if you stick around my family and I, expect to get the occasional compliment, even if you view it as unnecessary.”
“Does that mean you think we will be spending more time together?” he softly questioned.
“You can count on it,” I cheerily told him before heading to rejoin my family.