Page 127 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

The crowd was called to order by Cecil, who then conducted the retirement village choir in a rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” before Abigail skated out in her iceberg lettuce costume and gave the opening speech, setting the scene for the play.

It’s all gone perfectly—just one minor hiccup when Matteo spilled the pot of “gold” coins Sir Percival was to offer Wendolyn and they skidded and rolled in all directions. But Prema scurried after them, ad-libbing a joke about the women always having to clean up after the men that got a good laugh.

Now we’re heading for the final scene of Sir Percival’s third and last chance to win Wendolyn’s heart.

Mrs. Bentley, sitting in her walker beside me, nudges my hip with her elbow.

I look down to see her beaming up at me from under her sparkly pink hat. “I love seeing how you do this differently every year,” she says with delight-filled anticipation.

The warm glow she sets off inside me is like no other. Mrs. B., my aunt who’s on the other side of me, all the people gathered around the pond and, of course, the kids bring me indescribable joy.

But this year there’s a large hole in that joy—a dark, Gabe-sized hole.

Even if I’d lived several lifetimes, I’d never have imagined that someone I’d known for such a short time would have such a massive impact on me.

But I have to shove that hollowness aside for the next little while, because this is the kids’ night.

“Hail, good lady,” comes the plaintive cry of Matteo asSir Percival as he glides onto the ice on his broomstick horse to face his heart’s desire.

Wendolyn, played by Katie, is outside the mayor’s house, surrounded by townspeople dressed as icicles. Beside her is her father, the mayor—Grayson in his full Katie’s-mom-made regalia. It’s topped off with the actual Warm Springs mayoral sash that Aunt Lou generously lent on the basis we take very good care of it otherwise she’ll be in trouble.

Wendolyn and the town icicles turn, surprised to see Sir Percival wholly unequipped for a third extravagant gesture of love. All he has with him is something wrapped in sackcloth tucked under his arm.

Sir Percival leans his broom horse against the house and Wendolyn skates toward him.

“Good evening, sir.” She rolls her eyes and gives him a half-assed curtsy, having had quite enough of his nonsense from his first two lavish attempts to seduce her. First with gold and jewels, then a grandiose evening of dance, juggling, magic, and a feast.

The juggling went down particularly well—Kristopher had practiced long and hard, and boy did it pay off. He got his own round of applause and Mrs. B. rose from her walker to give him a standing ovation.

The crowd chuckles at Wendolyn’s indifference and the icicles behind her nudging each other and raising their eyebrows as if to say,This’ll be good.

The mayor, who wants her to marry Sir Percival because of the wealth and status he would bring to the family, pushes her across the ice so she slides closer to Sir Percival without moving a muscle.

That one little thing might be my favorite bit of the whole play. And it came from Grayson doing itspontaneously in rehearsal the day Gabe was here to watch. Gabe and I doubled over laughing so hard that I decided to keep it in.

Oh, dear God, Gabe. And there’s that hollow ache thing in my chest again.

“My dear, Wendolyn,” Sir Percival proclaims, “I am so enraptured by your beauty, your heart, your drive and your passion, that I beseech you to grant me the third and final attempt to win your hand.”

“Granted,” Wendolyn snips and folds her arms. “But it would behoove you to get a move on because there’s a pig roast to be had.”

The icicle townsfolk rub their bellies and nod at each other.

“Apigroast?” Sir Percival peeks under the sackcloth around the bundle he’s holding and gives the audience a worried look.

The crowd titters again.

“Wendolyn,” he says with a dramatic flap of his cloak. “I know you are my one true love. I knew it the first moment our eyes met across the frozen town square fountain.”

He nods at the spray-painted patio planters and their cardboard spouts of “water” behind her.

“And yet you have not succeeded in convincing me likewise,” Wendolyn says, and pushes off, gliding slightly farther away.

Her father catches her arm just in time and slides her right back.

Apart from seeing the kids have so much fun, there are few things more rewarding than hearing the audience’s laughter.

“Tonight, I shall change all that.” Sir Percival sinks toone knee, prompting the icicle townsfolk tooohandahand the mayor to rub his hands together with glee.

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