Mia Ross - Sugar Plum Season

What would she think of this one? Amy wondered. With her daughter in the wings, adjusting costumes and fetching props instead of twirling her way through the footlights? They hadn’t been able to get together for Thanksgiving this year, so she hadn’t mentioned the show to her mother yet. Still, anyone with half a brain would be able to figure out Amy would be staging this, her favorite ballet, to open her new studio.

And Connie Morgan had much more than half a brain, Amy thought as she speed-dialed Mom’s number.

“Hello!” Mom answered, a little out of breath. “How’s my girl today?”

“Fine. Are you on the treadmill?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” she answered with a laugh. “If I keep running, maybe old age won’t be able to catch up with me.”

Amy laughed in response, wishing for the umpteenth time that she’d inherited her mother’s breezy attitude toward things in general. “I won’t keep you, then. I just wanted to let you know we’re putting on The Nutcracker on the eighteenth, here in Barrett’s Mill.”

She would have loved for Mom to attend, but not wanting to pressure her, she stopped short of putting that desire into words. The delighted gasp she got put her worries to rest.

“Your directing debut—of course I’ll be there! I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Then we can have a nice family Christmas with Helen and that big brother of mine.”

More relieved than she’d anticipated, Amy relaxed enough to tease, “It’s been a while. Do you remember how to get here?”

She humphed at that. “My new car has one of those fancy navigation systems.”

“Sure, but do you know how to use it?”

“Such a comedian. Are you doing stand-up in your spare time now?”

“There’s not much call for that down here.” Amy chuckled. “Besides, that’s the extent of my material. You gave me an opening the size of an 18-wheeler, and I took it.”

“That’s my girl, making the most of her opportunities,” Mom praised her warmly. “It’s so good to hear the old spunk back in your voice. It’s been a long time coming.”

That was a colossal understatement, but fortunately her break was over, so she didn’t have time to brood about it. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to get back to the kids now. See you soon.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Love you, sweetie.”

“Love you, too, Mom.”

Ending the call, Amy sipped her water while studying the photos that chronicled her promising ballet career, which had been her only goal for as long as she could remember. When the kids started thundering back up the wooden steps and took their places onstage, her eyes drifted away from her past to focus on them.

Chattering to each other in hushed voices, they giggled while practicing the new steps she’d shown them earlier. With his soldiers trailing behind, Brad bounded up to take his spot, fresh enthusiasm glowing on his freckled face.

Apparently, the solution she’d come up with worked for him, she mused with a smile of her own as she went up the stairs to join her dancers for the second act. Maybe she was starting to get the hang of this teaching gig, after all.

* * *

“These look great, Fred,” Jason commented while he assessed the older man’s carpentry skills on some of the smaller set pieces. Not only had he finished cutting all of them out in detail, he’d painted them, too. His efforts would save Jason a ton of time. “I only dropped them off a couple days ago. How’d you get ’em done so fast?”

“Bored outta my mind,” Fred grumped, but the smile on his face said he appreciated Jason’s praise. “You can only watch so much of the History Channel.”

“I hear that. I’d rather be doing something than watching TV any day. Has the doctor said when you can get back to work?”

The town’s most talented mechanic groaned. “Another week, if I follow orders. ’Course, Helen won’t let me do otherwise,” he added with a mock glare over at his wife.

“You don’t want to miss out on Christmas, do you?” she challenged with a glare of her own. “Especially with Amy here now and Connie coming in for a visit. We haven’t all been together in years, and I’m not about to let you spoil it by being stubborn.”

“Besides,” Jason added with a grin, “with all the work you’re putting in, you’re gonna want to see The Nutcracker . It’d be a shame to have to make do with a recording when you could see it in person.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. Just bring me some more to do,” he pleaded. “I’m going bonkers cooped up here at the house.”

“It’s no picnic from where I’m sitting, either,” his wife informed him testily.

They’d been married for longer than Jason had been alive, and he’d always been amused by their good-natured bickering. Done with fond smiles and a light touch, their back-and-forth was evidence of a solid relationship that had probably started before the two Barrett’s Mill natives entered junior high.

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