A Cliché Christmas(44)

Though the drive to Nan’s was short, I was grateful for a few moments of quiet solitude. The prayer on my heart took flight the second I pulled out of Willa’s driveway. Tomorrow was a big day. Not only was it the day before dress rehearsal, it was also the day I’d be making an offer on the biggest purchase of my life, and from the sound of it, the theater was as good as mine.

I checked again for the peace I’d felt inside me when I first had the vision of making it into something more—something so much bigger than me. It was still there, calming my fear, doubt, and anxiety.

And then I thought of my mom. It was almost midnight her time, but she was headed to Disney World with her family tomorrow. Do I send an e-mail? Do I text? As I sat in the dark driveway of Nan’s cottage with the heat blasting, I reached for my phone.

I would send a text.

If she were up, she would call me.

If not, I’d wait till her trip was over to tell her. But by then, there was a good chance I’d be the new owner of Lenox Community Theater.

My phone rang thirty seconds later.

“Hey, I’m sorry it’s so late,” I said.

“It’s fine. I’ll be up for a while packing. What’s up?”

“Well, um . . . I have something I want to tell you.”

“Sounds serious. Oh my goodness! Did your agent call? You’re getting a real movie deal, aren’t you? Georgia—”

“No. That’s not it. I did talk to my agent recently, but not about that. I haven’t heard anything back on that script yet.”

“Oh.” I could feel the disappointment in her voice even from three thousand miles away.

“I don’t really know how to say this exactly, so I’ll just try my best. This trip to Lenox has changed me, given me a new perspective—a new focus. Helping out at the theater and working with these kids has made me fall in love with the arts again . . . and I haven’t felt that in a really long time. I’ve decided I want to stay here . . . to give back. I can write scripts from anywhere.” I took a deep breath of courage. “I was preapproved for a loan, Summer. I’m gonna make an offer on the community theater tomorrow. I want to reopen it for good.”

Silence.

“Mom?”

Silence.

“That is the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard, Georgia.”

My heart stopped with a hard thud. “What?”

“I did not raise you to be some small-town girl with no future. You are ambitious, determined. Meant for more than I ever was. Where is this really coming from?”

Before I could open my mouth to respond, she seemed to have an epiphany. “Is this about a man? Is it that Weston guy Nan talks about? Please tell me you are not making a life decision for a man!”

“Why not? You did!” I clapped my hand over my mouth the second it was out. Oh my gosh . . .

“Georgia! I was thirty-one years old when I married Brad.”

“And you left me for him, Mom . . . You left me.”

“Oh, good grief, you were sixteen! You were going off to college anyway.” Her voice intensified. “I stayed in that nowhere town so that you could grow up there, around Nan, what else did you expect from me? That I put my life on hold forever so you’d have someplace to come home to for Christmas? That’s not reality, Georgia.”

A sob caught in my throat as I pressed my forehead to the steering wheel.

“No, Mom, it never was my reality. You’re right. I never spent a holiday with you . . . here or elsewhere.”

“Georgia, I hadn’t the first clue what it meant to be a mom when I had you.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you were one. You still are. My mom. The only one I have.”

“Yes, well, I’m telling you that if you stay in that town, if you give up your future,” she spat the word, “it will be the biggest regret of your life.”

Tears trailed down my cheeks.

Just like I was to her.

A regret.

It took several seconds to find the courage to speak again. “Well, I’m doing it. I’m making the offer. I just wanted to let you know.”

“Well, don’t call me crying when it fails.”

Don’t worry, I won’t.

I hung up the phone and closed my eyes as my tears fell in earnest. If only my faithful Hallmark audience could see me now. Crying in my car. Alone. Five days before Christmas.

Everything I knew about holiday traditions came from TV specials and fictional families who ate ham and fruitcake and opened shiny, bright packages tied with ribbons and bows.

But the truth was as fake as my Holiday Goddess name.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

In just twenty-four hours’ time, I met with the realtor, signed an offer agreement, and ordered enough food and drinks to feed an army of hormonal teenagers. It was dress rehearsal night, and I welcomed being busy. Staying focused on the play was easier than thinking about the other things that weighed heavily on my mind.

As the students, stagehands, tech team, and makeup mafia filed in at half past four, my nerves buzzed to life. This was it. What I loved most about theater—watching a script come to life before my eyes.

“Um . . . Miss Cole? We have a problem back here!”

Uh-oh.

A handful of townsfolk sat in the audience and strained their necks, trying to get a glimpse of whatever disaster was occurring backstage.