Page 5 of Moonlight Over Mistletoe
Vivian tapped Eleanor’s leg reassuringly, then stood. “Mayor Evergreen, if I may?”
The mayor nodded.
“I think having a suggestion box where people could submit their ideas would be helpful. That way, everyone can contribute without feeling put on the spot. It will also give us all a few days to develop sound proposals.”
Mayor Evergreen stroked his beard thoughtfully. “An excellent idea, Ms. Miller. We'll set up boxes around town and give everyone a week to submit their suggestions. Then we'll review them and decide on the best course of action.”
As the meeting adjourned, Eleanor gave Vivian's hand a grateful squeeze. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Vivian smiled. “That's what friends are for, El. Just promise me you'll write up your proposal.”
Eleanor hesitated. She didn't want to make a promise that she might not keep, but then she remembered how she and Carl had exchanged vows in the town hall, and Eleanor silently swore she'd do everything she could to save the building that contained so many memories. “I promise.”
5
Eleanorsatatherdesk, a hot cup of tea steaming beside her. She wiggled her fingers, stretching them out, before placing her hands on the keyboard and typing.
Ballroom Dancing Competition Proposal
She stared at the screen. Blink. Blink. Blink. The cursor pulsed rhythmically, like a digital heartbeat summoning memories of Carl. “Silly woman,” she said, yet the ache grew as thoughts of Carl threatened to overwhelm her. How she would give anything to once again brush her lips against his, stare into his dark brown eyes, run her fingers through his thick, wavy hair, and feel the heat from his hand on her back as they glided across a polished dance floor.
But that would never happen. They’d shared their last dance. “You’re so beautiful,” he’d told her when they'd won the Starlight Swing Competition. He'd squeezed her hand, his shoulders back, so proud. Then he'd collapsed, and all their hopes, dreams, and love had died along with him on the floor that terrible, terrible night.
“I can't do this,” Eleanor said, pushing her chair away from her desk. She entered the kitchen, her hands shaking as she filled the kettle for another cup of tea, even though her old one remained untouched. It was something to do, something to occupy her mind. As long as she kept busy, no matter how trivial the task, she could keep her grief at bay.
Still, years and years of suppressed emotions had lodged an enormous ball of anger deep into her heart. It wasn't fair that Carl was taken from her so long ago. How could someone so full of energy, light, and love just die? A brain aneurism, that's how.
A sob escaped her. Time didn't heal her wounded heart. She'd been without Carl for twenty-five years, and yet her grief felt so fresh, so raw. Indulging her melancholy, she pulled out the photo album she kept in the side table drawer, the edges worn from the countless times she'd thumbed through its pages. With a shaky hand, she opened it to a brighter time.
“Oh, Carl,” she whispered, tracing his face with a wrinkled finger, “Look at us on the dance floor, we were wonderful, weren't we?” In the photo, Eleanor's younger self beamed, her sequined dress catching the light as Carl held her close. “That was the first competition we won, remember?”
Then she flipped to the next page. She and Carl stood in front of a large studio window. Above them, a sign read: Frost Dance Studio. They were smiling as they cut a ribbon for the grand opening. Nothing could dampen their spirits that day, not even the cold Seattle rain. A tear hit the page, and she quickly wiped it away.
She'd call Vivian and tell her she'd tried to write the proposal but that it was too hard. Vivian would understand.
Eleanor turned another page, and there they were, at the town hall, having said their vows in front of a justice of the peace. Vivian and a small group of their friends were throwing rice over them as they walked out. “I miss you, Carl,” Eleanor said, “Every single day.”
But staring at the picture gave her strength. Their dance studio was long gone, as was their Seattle apartment, but the town hall? She could hold on to that.
Eleanor stood determinedly, made her cup of tea, and sat back at the computer. She began typing. “This is for you, Carl.”
***
Two weeks later, Eleanor found herself back at the school gymnasium. It was hot and stuffy as she waded through the aisle, wedging between Mildred King, the librarian, and Vivian.
“My word,” Mildred said, “I haven't seen this many people in one place since last year's chili cook-off disaster.”
Eleanor sniffed. “Well, let's hope this gathering doesn't end with the fire department being called.” Vivian let out a small laugh and gave Eleanor a friendly pat on the arm. “Eleanor, be nice.”
Eleanor nodded at her friend, but she had been trying to be funny.
She turned in her seat, glancing around the gym. She caught Stanley Boone's eye behind her. He moved forward in his seat, smelling of cheap cologne. “What do you think, Eleanor? I bet there's been a bunch of wacky ideas.”
Eleanor bristled, her spine stiffening. “Did you propose anything?”
“Well, no.”
“Then don't be so quick to judge, Stanley.”
