Chapter 32
CHAPTER 32
NATALIE
“Just a bit louder with the ‘Be mine,’” I call across the ice to Matteo. “And maybe add more of a flourish.” I fling my arms out, just in case Matteo doesn’t know what a flourish is.
“This is a good reminder for everyone,” I announce to the kids who’re on the ice and the others gathered at the side of the pond awaiting their entrance. “You have to speak up even more out here than you would in the theater because your voice gets lost a little in the open air.”
“What’s that, Miss Natalie?” Grayson says, cupping his hand around his ear.
“I said, your voices can get lost in the?—”
They all fall over laughing.
“Got me. Yes, nice one.”
Shit, I’m going to miss this lot.
“Let’s just run through the bit where all the townsfolk gather around to hear what the messenger’s come to say.” I look over my shoulder to see if there’s any sign Gabe might catch at least the end of the rehearsal. “It was a bit messy earlier with everyone too spread out, so let’s give it one more shot before we wrap up and go home for lunch.”
All the kids playing the townsfolk get back onto the ice and gather in the area we’ve designated the town square. During the performance there’ll be a fake fountain there that one of the parents has made from white plastic planters stacked on top of each other and spray-painted gray to resemble stone.
Man, I love this community.
“Okay, everybody ready to start pretending to be gossiping?” There are a few yesses, so I’ll go with that. “Aaand, away you go.”
Bless their hearts, they all silently chat with each other looking puzzled and pretending to be asking each other what on earth is all this business with Sir Percival and the mayor’s daughter.
“Do do-do-do!” Prema hops onto the pond, pretending to blow a bugle, and skates a perfect arc around the townsfolk. Her feet stay in contact with the ice as she corners, exactly like Gabe coached her.
Why isn’t he here? It’s so odd that he was eager to see me last night but then said nothing about meeting me here today. I didn’t like to text him again though. Didn’t want to be the naggy woman asking for too much of his attention when he’s busy.
I look toward the road again. Still no sign of his SUV.
Oh, but that is Victor and someone in a long billowing coat next to him—has to be Divina—heading toward us.
My heart shrivels to the size of a dried prune.
Divina must want to meet the children. At least they’ve arrived just as we’re wrapping up. It would have been off-putting for the kids to have her here earlier. Plus I’m not sure if any of them knows who Al Pacino or Laurence Olivier is. Though I wouldn’t put it past Abigail.
“Hear ye, hear ye,” Prema cries, while unfurling an imaginary scroll.
Shit, yes. The scroll. Have to put that on the list of last-minute things I still need to make. But it’s okay. Today’s Saturday and we have until Thursday. It’s fine. Everything will be fine.
“We hear ye,” the townsfolk reply in unison—well, apart from Andreas who’s a bit behind and sounds more like an echo.
“Natalie,” Victor says, arriving by my side dressed as if he’s about to head to the North Pole. It’s not even that cold today, but you wouldn’t know it from the fur knee-high boots, bright white knee-length down-filled parka, and padded hat with ear flaps tied under his chin. “We’d hoped to catch you here.”
“Oh, this is so quaint!” Divina’s velvet coat would have fit right in with the medieval era I set the play in three years ago. It’s all royal blue velvet and crystal buttons, fitted to the waist and flaring below.
And is that…? Oh, dear God, it is. A feather attached to her orange hat. A large brown striped feather. Pheasant, maybe. And the hat is more beret than beanie, so more decorative than head-warming.
This pair looks like they’ve dressed for two entirely different weather patterns. And centuries.
“Oh, and the children,” Divina gushes, turning toward the pond and clapping her gloved hands together. The gloves are black and satin and appear to be completely bereft of any insulating qualities.
She looks like a cartoon villain who wants to eat the kids more than educate them.
The thought of this woman taking over my job makes my insides crawl. Either the children will hate her, or the older ones will make relentless fun of her. But whatever happens she won’t give them the fun experience they need, I’m sure of it.
“Good morning,” I say, balling my hands into tight fists inside my pockets, and return my attention immediately to the action on the pond where Prema is addressing the locals.
“So meet tonight, back here in the town square,” she reads loudly from her imaginary scroll. “And witness Sir Percival’s third and final attempt to win Wendolyn’s heart.”
“Ooo,” the townsfolk cry with eager anticipation as Prema mimes rerolling the scroll before gliding offstage to the side of the pond.
“Nice job, guys,” I call out, and give them a round of applause.
“Oh yes,” Victor says as he and Divina join in the clapping.
“Did you want to meet the children while you’re here, Divina?” I ask.
She waves her hand in front of her face as if swatting a fly. “Oh, that can wait,” she says, like the kids are a mere inconvenience in her job as opposed to actually being her job.
I turn back to the children. “Okay, folks, you can go. See you back here same time tomorrow and we’ll do it again, but with the scenery this time.”
I need to find Gabe and get him to help me bring all that over tomorrow. Last year, Polly from the produce store was kind enough to lend me her adorable VW bus to transport some large props I’d picked up at a garage sale, so I’ll ask her if I can borrow it again.
“And don’t forget to pick up your things from the bandstand.” I point to the pretty white-painted structure around the curve of the pond, where I had them leave their shoes, bags, drinks and snacks before we started.
“Well, we’re done for the day,” I tell Victor and Divina. “If you’d like to come back tomorrow you can see it looking a bit more put together.”
Divina’s grin widens but she says nothing.
“Divina will definitely be here tomorrow,” Victor says. “In fact, she’ll be taking over.”
My fingers suddenly go freezing cold despite being wrapped in thick gloves and inside my coat pockets.
Does he mean what it sounds like he means? “Taking over?”
“Yes,” Victor says. “Since you’re leaving in the new year anyway, Divina is ready to dive right in.” He takes a step toward me and lowers his voice. “She has another opportunity to take if she can’t get going here right away.”
Fuck me. She’s blackmailed him into laying me off so she can get her satin-gloved hands all over everything. And he’s said yes. Said yes to a complete stranger over his loyalty to me, who’s worked hard and loved these kids for six goddamn years.
What kind of heartless bullshittery is this?
Or is it my fault? Have I not done enough? Not worked hard enough? Not made everyone happy enough for them to allow me to see out my final Christmas play?
And why hasn’t Gabe shown up? And why is that bothering me so fucking much?
I so badly wish he was here to witness this injustice, to see how ridiculous it is, so we can talk about it later.
“Yes,” she says, “Nothing like jumping straight into a production to get you into the swing of things.”
“And you’ll still be paid, of course.” Victor places a patronizing hand on my arm. “Just think of it as extra vacation. Wallow in the holidays. Get some extra quality time with your aunt before you move off to your exciting new adventure.”
“New Orleans, I hear,” Divina says. “I was in a production set there once. The sets were so atmospheric. I played a fortune teller.” She leans forward as if what she’s about to tell me is top secret. “My predictions were crucial to the main character’s development.”
An image of her in a silk headscarf and caftan, long-nailed hands circling around a crystal ball, flashes across my mind. How fitting since I did not see this coming at all.
“Bye, Miss Natalie.” Three of the kids smile and wave as they head toward where all the parents are parked by the sidewalk.
Divina is going to ruin it for them.
I might feel sick to my stomach, but a hardness grows in my chest.
No, no. I can’t let this happen. They can’t snatch this away from me at the last minute.
“Surely I can at least see the play through?” The tremor in my chest is obvious in my voice. “It’s only five more days to Christmas Eve.”
“It’s a vital part of my craft that I?—”
“We think it’s best.” Victor cuts off Divina and wins himself a withering look. “ Divina believes it’s best for her creative juices that she jumps right in now.”
“See you tomorrow,” Grayson says. He and Kristopher pass by, slinging their skates over their shoulders .
“See you…” my words tail off and my heart breaks as I realize I can’t say “tomorrow.”
Has this morning really been the last time I’ll work with them?
Divina looks sideways at Victor. “As I was saying.” She turns to me. “I need to get under the skin of the theater company. And that’s so much more effective when you dive into the middle of a production.”
“Well, it’s not so much the middle, more right at the end.” My blood is pumping now, knees trembling, part in shock, part in fury, part in wanting to run off and tell Gabe all about diabolical Divina and her terrible plans.
“Byeee,” the gang of five girls who always hang out together call out in their sing-song voices as they pick their way down the icy steps from the bandstand and head toward Main Street. I wave, knowing for certain they’ll be going straight to the Bearded Bean for hot cocoa topped with a mound of whipped cream and the sprinkles of the day.
“So.” Divina holds her hands in a prayer position under her chin. “All I need?—”
“Did a bird have to die for that?” And there’s Abigail by my side pointing at the feather in Divina’s hat.
I cover my surprised giggle with a cough. I love this kid so fucking much my rattled heart might explode right this second.
“I’m not sure that’s the best of manners, young lady,” Victor says, like he’s never spoken to anyone under the age of fifty-seven before.
“Oh, it’s totally fine.” Divina’s smile is sickly sweet. “Young inquiring minds are what I’m here for.”
She bends her knees and leans forward, thrusting her hat so close to Abigail’s face that the little girl is forced to step back.
“Touch it if you like,” Divina says, shaking her head so the feather jiggles.
“Uh, no thanks,” Abigail says, moving back way more than is necessary to get out of feather-touching range.
“Maybe another time.” Divina straightens, her face flushed from bending over. “It’s vintage.” She reaches up and runs her gloved hand over the feather. “An Italian designer.” Like that’s something that might impress a third-grader.
“Okay,” Abigail says, and looks up at me under her beanie that has penguins around the edge. She raises her brows, the expression behind her eyes asking who the fuck is this weirdo? , like she actually is a fifty-seven-year-old trapped in a kid’s body.
“I think your dad’s waiting over there.” I put my hand on her shoulder and point to the silver truck parked by the curb.
“See you tomorrow, Miss Natalie,” she says, ignoring the other two, and toddles off along the path, her backpack hiding most of her.
My throat constricts at the thought that no, she won’t see me tomorrow.
“I know these children mean the world to you,” Victor says.
“But you’re moving away and leaving them anyway.” Divina shrugs.
You’d think as an actress she might be a student of human emotions and have a little more empathy.
I knew that walking away from this job, these kids, this town was going to be hard, but that I have to make myself do it to experience something new, see a bit more of the world, and not be the small-town girl with the small-town attitude or the young girl who’s too scared to head into Manhattan to a Broadway show so sticks to her neighborhood theater.
My mom’s traveled the world, and my dad drives to every corner of New England with his sales job, so it’s beyond time I widened my horizons too.
“Anyway,” Divina says, taking charge of the situation. “I’m going to need the script.”
“Oh, okay, yes, sure.” And apparently I’m going along with this. Folding. Giving in to their cold-hearted plan to essentially lay me off during my notice period. “I have a copy in my bag. It’s in the bandstand.”
I turn and head toward it, grateful for the opportunity to not have to look at them.
A hollow hurt rises inside me and burns my chest.
All I want to do is tell Gabe, pour my heart out to him, cry on his shoulder. Have him kiss the top of my head and tell me she’s been appointed by a bunch of fucking idiots who don’t deserve me, but they do deserve whatever shit show Divina is going to create.
It’s laughable that my all-consuming urge is to talk to him about everything. He’s just some guy I’ve known for little more than a week. There’s no reason for him to want to snuggle me and reassure me. And no reason I should want him to. Unless I’m a fool. Which maybe I am.
I climb the steps to the bandstand, unzip my backpack and pull out my dog-eared copy of the script.
As I turn to head back, something on a bench on the other side catches my eye. No matter how many times I tell the kids to remember to take everything with them, at least one of them always leaves something behind.
I cross the creaky old platform and pick up the blue gloves with the blasting rocket ships on the back. Gabe’s gloves. The ones he gave to Grayson.
Even amid the heartbreak of having the Christmas play ripped from me at the last moment and put in the worst possible hands, the kind, caring, generous spirit that lives under Gabe’s bristly exterior brings a smile to my lips. Thank God I’m lucky enough to experience knowing him.
I put the gloves into my backpack, close the zipper, and hike it up onto my shoulder.
My stride’s more purposeful now as I make my way back down the steps and toward the terribly dressed winter twins—Divina flinging her arms this way and that, like she’s explaining fanciful ideas for the play greater than anything lowly little me could ever have thought of. Victor nods like he couldn’t be more impressed.
“Here you go.” I hand her the script at arm’s length. “The kids under six can’t skate, so you’ll have to lay mats out on the ice for them to perform on. Dwayne has a bit of a stammer, so be patient with him. Bianca suffers from stage fright, so she’ll probably have a breakdown on the day and refuse to go on, but if you can coax her out there, she’s brilliant. Katie’s mom makes most of the costumes. She’s very generous with her time and you need her on your side. Abigail knows everyone’s lines and could probably run the whole thing herself. And please”—my voice cracks and I have to pause to swallow—“for the love of God, please take care of them.”
I focus my eyes on the ground and step away toward the path.
“We’ll see you on Christmas Eve, Thursday, at the play,” Victor says. “You are coming, aren’t you?”
“Of course,” I snap without turning around.
But not for them. For the kids.
And I head toward my trusty old Jeep and the strong comforting arms of the hockey player on Fool’s Hill.