Holly is about to offer Bonnie a hand up the stairs in her high heels, but from nowhere, Wyatt swoops in and sticks out the crook of his elbow. “Milady?” he says in a faux British accent. “Take you to your seat?” Bonnie stops and stares at the proffered arm. “I have another arm for the mayor,” he says, putting out his other elbow for Holly to take.
With a laugh, the women accept Wyatt’s genteel offer of assistance. The three of them ascend the steps to the chapel’s open front door, stopping to greet Cap.
“Good to see you,” Cap nods to Wyatt. “Evening, Bonnie,” he says, taking Bonnie’s hand gently in his. “And Mayor,” he says, pausing as Holly stops in front of him. “Merry Christmas to you.” In his eyes is a softened peacefulness that she hasn’t seen from him in years—if ever.
“And to you, Cap,” she says, standing on her toes and holding his forearm for balance. Holly can feel him smile as she plants a kiss high on his cheek, but she follows Bonnie and Wyatt up the aisle to their pew before she sees the blush that colors Cap’s face.
In short order, the pews are filled with rustling gowns and men in sport coats, and the air is thick with perfume and whispered holiday greetings. Fiona waves at her from across the aisle, and Holly waves back, a sad, apologetic smile on her face. “I’m sorry,” Fiona mouths at her from her spot next to Buckhunter. She forgot that Buckhunter had driven River to the dock, and so he’d certainly have told Fiona what was going on. “It’s okay,” Holly mouths back. She was never mad at Fiona anyway, only at herself for acting like an idiot and avoiding the truth. Still, it feels good to know that everything is solid between them.
Cap walks down the aisle to stand at the rustic-looking pulpit. Joe Sacamano is next to him on a stool, his favorite guitar resting on one knee, the sleeves of his black shirt pushed up to his elbows. Cap’s linen jacket and pants look like they’ve never met an iron, but he is sober and clear-eyed, just as he’d been for years before his recent battle with the bottle.
“Villagers, friends, loved ones,” he begins, looking out at all of them. “We are fortunate enough to enjoy the frills of Christmas year-round, and to never tire of the glitz and baubles and tinsel. But today is the culmination of all of those trimmings, combined with the real spirit of the holiday. Today we put aside our differences, our widely varying religious beliefs, our longings for people who live far away and for those long gone.” Cap pauses, letting everyone have a moment to reflect on the people they love and miss. Eyes around the chapel mist over with memory and melancholy, and several people reach for the hands of those sitting closest to them.
“It’s today that we get to dress up in honor of this important holiday and in honor of one another. And if I didn’t get the chance to say it to each of you as you passed me in the doorway, you all look fabulous.” Laughter ripples across the pews, and Joe chuckles on the stool next to Cap, his eyes crinkling happily as his hands move silently up and down the neck of the guitar, searching for the chords he’ll play. “We’ve had a bang-up year around here, and I know the year ahead is going to bring new…surprises,” Cap says, a wry smile on his face. “And hopefully new rewards. Now, we’ve got one new neighbor among us tonight, so let’s all welcome Bridget into the fold.” Cap gestures at the back of the church. Holly tries to glance casually over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of the newcomer, but as everyone else twists around to see Bridget, she realizes that she doesn’t need to see her now—not tonight.
“So let’s start our celebration with a song, shall we?” Cap picks up a leather-bound hymn book from the pulpit, opening to the spot he’s got marked with a blue velvet ribbon.
Joe begins to strum his guitar, the notes of ‘Silent Night’ drifting up to the high-pitched ceiling of the airy chapel. The door is still propped open, and the voices of everyone on the island knit together to fill the church with an almost unspeakable beauty. There is nothing more than this to the pared-down holiday service, but there is plenty of laughter, lots of singing, several tears, and an abundance of gratitude for another year spent together.
When it’s all over, everyone trickles out into the night, calling out warm good-byes on the sandy lane as they climb back into carts and wish one another a Merry Christmas. Plans are made to meet for meals the following day while Holly and Bonnie stay behind to blow out the candles and put the song books away.
“Are we still on for tomorrow, or would you rather just stay in bed and eat chocolate frosting out of the container?” Bonnie asks sympathetically, using a long candlelighter to extinguish the flame of a candle that sits up high on a shelf and out of her reach.
“Oh, please. If I wanted to stay in bed and eat my misery away, I’d need the frosting, a hunk of cheese, a baguette, two pizzas, an order of chicken fried rice, and some sweet potato fries,” Holly says, gathering her skirts in one arm as she bends forward to stick a book into the pocket of the pew in front of her. “I need you to come over and make sure that doesn’t happen. In fact, it’s now part of your job description at the B&B: ‘keep Holly from pigging out when she’s upset.’ Can you do that?”
“I used to help my daddy bring in the horses and cows during lightning storms, but I don’t know that I’m brave enough to come between you and a pizza, doll,” Bonnie says, setting the candlelighter in its holder by the pulpit.
“Fraidy cat,” Holly teases, one fist on her hip like a kid taunting a friend on the playground. “But are you okay with a nontraditional Christmas dinner? I’m thinking tacos.”
“Sugar, I’m okay with a bowl of popcorn and box of Milk Duds if that’s all you want to eat.”
Holly laughs. “I think we can do better than that. But we just had a big holiday dinner last night at the Ho Ho, and I’m hungry for tacos.”
“And margaritas!” Bonnie says excitedly. “Tacos and Christmas margaritas on the lanai.”
“Wow, you’re easy.” Holly turns off the lights, leaving them in the doorway to the darkened chapel.
“Maybe a little,” Bonnie says, popping a hip saucily. “But don’t tell Wyatt, you hear? A true lady never wants a man to know she’s easy.”
“My lips are sealed.”
They unplug the extension cord that connects to the lights on the palm trees, and Holly clicks off the switch that feeds the dangling icicle lights on the church, leaving them with only the light of the moon and stars to guide them.
“Where’s your cart, Holly Jean?” Bonnie asks, holding Holly’s arm as she slips her feet out of her high heels and steps onto the sand. “I’ve got to take these things off.”
“I walked,” Holly says, breathing in the night air.
“From the B&B?” Bonnie holds her heels in one hand, the other hand still gripping Holly’s arm as they walk over to her cart, which is the only one left on the road after everyone else has gone home for the night.
“No, from home.”
“Well, hop in. I’ll drive you back, sugar.” Bonnie climbs in behind the steering wheel and pats her passenger seat. Holly briefly contemplates getting a ride home, but then looks up at the night sky, pointing at an airplane’s red light as it blinks amongst the stars.
“Look, it’s Rudolph!” she says, remembering how many times she and Emily had said that same thing on Christmas Eve after singing songs together in the chapel.
“There’s no doubt in my mind,” Bonnie says, following Holly’s gaze as they look up into the heavens together.
“You know what? I think I’ll walk home, but thanks anyway, Bon.”
“Are you sure?” Bonnie asks, tipping her head as she looks up at her friend.
“I am. And don’t worry,” Holly says. “I promise I’m fine, and I’ll call you as soon as I get home. But wait—do I run straight or in a zigzag to get away from a gator?” She’s smiling, but her eyes are serious.
Bonnie looks at her but doesn’t say anything. When Holly finally nods to let her know she’s really okay, Bonnie puts her cart in gear. She crunches over sand and shells as she pulls away, rounding the be
nd that leads back to Main Street.
Instead of following her, Holly turns the other direction and cuts through the sand dunes to get to Snowflake Banks. It’s a long walk that’ll take her over the boardwalk of Pinecone Path and, eventually, all the way up to her house. But the night is bright and her heart is somehow both full and empty, and she knows that walking is exactly what she needs.
When she gets to the beach, she takes off her silver flats, the cool sand firm beneath her feet. The light of the full moon catches the glitter in the layers of her tulle skirt. She can still hear Joe Sacamano’s acoustic rendition of ‘I’ll Be Home for Christmas’ in her mind, and she pictures him, swaying slightly on his stool as the flames of the candles danced in time to the music. It had been the moment—the one moment she always waits for during the Christmas Eve service—that filled her with the unmistakable feeling of auld lange syne as only the holidays can.
With no one around to hear her now, the words to the song bubble up from within, and soon she’s singing aloud, her eyes filling with tears. Of all the Christmas songs, this one most reminds Holly of her grandparents, of the happiness and safety of family and childhood. Singing it now, she starts to run, her shoes still in one hand, the skirts of her dress bunched up in her arms.
She runs and runs—all the way to the boardwalk, the words coming not from her throat, but from her heart as they choke her with tears.
She runs and runs—away from the confusion and the answers about life and love that she doesn’t have.
She runs and runs—the light of the moon snagging on the tiny flecks of glitter like her dress is made of malachite and glass and diamonds. And as she runs, she shoots off a million sparks of radiant light.
About the Author
Stephanie Taylor is a high-school teacher who loves sushi, "The Golden Girls," Depeche Mode, orchids, and coffee. Together with her teenage daughter she writes the American Dream series—books for young girls about other young girls who move to America. On her own, Stephanie is the author of the Christmas Key books, a romantic comedy series about a fictional island off the coast of Florida.
For more information
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https://redbirdsandrabbits.com
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Also by Stephanie Taylor
There’s Always a Catch: Christmas Key Book One
Jake’s Story: A Christmas Key Novella
The Edge of Paradise: Christmas Key Book Three
Wild Tropics: Christmas Key Book Two Page 26
