Page 89 of The Holiday Fakers
A smartly dressed young woman with bobbed black hair and a lanyard around her neck identifying her as a librarian comes forward to say hello.
“Mr King, welcome,” she says warmly as she shakes my hand. “I’m Alice.”
“Great to meet you. I haven’t been here since I was a kid, reading every adventure story I could get my hands on.”
“And do you still read them now?”
“I’m ashamed to say it’s been a long time since I picked up a book.”
“Nothing to be ashamed of. However, if you want, I can recommend some titles that might interest you.”
“Thanks, I’d like that,” I say, meaning it. Being back in Hideaway Harbor, even if just for a short time, has shown me there’s more to life than work, and I like the idea of reading for pleasure rather than trying to memorize lines.
Alice bounces on the balls of her feet. “Awesome! This is one of the best parts of my job, so thank you for the opportunity.”
She walks us through the library to a corner area at the back, where low bookshelves surround a carpeted section filled with bean bags and child-sized sofas. Two walls are coveredin paintings of Christmas trees, snowmen, and Santa, with children’s names at the bottom. The space is filled with kids, their parents standing around the edges, proudly watching their offspring.
Nerves prickle in my stomach. With more adults than children in the audience, it suddenly feels like a higher-stakes performance.
As a young couple, introduced as Lucy and Enzo, read a story together, I stand at the back and open the yeti book, reading it through for the first time. It’s a cute little tale, and like most kids’ books, has a message of love and acceptance that most adults seem to have forgotten.
Piper stays near me, watching people reading the stories. The kids seem enthralled with the whole experience, although I think the hot chocolate was the biggest selling point.
All too soon, it’s my time, and I step forward to loud applause from the adults and muted claps from the kids who don’t have a clue who I am.
The seat they’ve left for me is one of those small plastic ones designed for people half my height. I gingerly lower myself onto it as everyone goes silent.
It gives a loud creak that sounds suspiciously like a fart, and I say, “Pardon me,” to the kids, who burst out laughing.
Okay, good start.
“Hi, everyone,” I begin. “I’m Brody, and I’m going to be reading to youThe Yeti Who Got Stuck in the Chimney.”
I show them the cover of the book. “Do any of you know this story?”
I’m met with blank stares and a few shaking heads.
“Okay, well, I hope the title doesn’t give any of the story away.”
A little boy with a chocolate mustache pipes up, “Is it about a yeti who gets stuck in a chimney?”
I act like I’m shocked. “How did you know?!”
“It’s in the title!” he says, like I’m a dummy, and a few kids giggle.
“Ah, but do you know how it begins?” I ask.
He scrunches up his face. “Once upon a time?”
I open the book. “Once upon a time?—”
“No way!” the little boy cries, as a few of the other children gasp like we’ve just performed a magic trick.
“Yes way.” I show them the first page so they can see I’m not making it up. “You were right.”
I begin reading again. “Once upon a time, in a cold, snowy cave high on a mountain, lived a yeti. He was all alone and always had been, staying hidden and watching the little village of Hideaway Harbor down in the valley below.”
“Does it really say Hideaway Harbor?” the boy pipes up again.
