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part of dance recital night.”
    My sister Catherine stared at him aghast. “This wasn’t a recital,
Dad.”
    “Oh, Jessica knows what I meant.”
    I gave him a weak smile. “Don’t worry about it, Dad. Let’s just go. I’m exhausted and want to get off my feet.”
    That’s when I remembered that James Douglas, Pastor Dude, was still
standing behind me. Watching our embarrassing family conversation.
    My mother quickly introduced Catherine to him.
    “Welcome to the world of Snow Valley, Mr. Douglas.”
    “You can all call me James.”
    “No Jim?” Catherine said with a teasing tone.
    “My parents had this thing about calling me James, but I’ll answer
to anything, actually. So just lay it on me.”
    “You’re quickly becoming Pastor Dude in my head,” Sam said with a
teenage boy laugh.
    “You know, guys,” I said, trying not to grit my teeth. “I’m too
tired to drive anywhere for food or ice cream if the weather is so bad and
there was an accident . . . besides, it’s already so late . . .”
    “I agree,” Catherine piped up. “I gotta get the girls from the babysitter
and get them in bed so we don’t miss church in the morning.”
    “But I’m starving!” Sam protested.
    “You’re always starving,” Catherine
teased. “I’ll make you some of my grilled cheese and ham sandwiches when we get
back to the house. I also brought a plate of brownies from home.”
    Sam groaned in ecstasy as though he
hadn’t eaten in a week. “Can I drive?” he asked Dad, taking off for the doors.
    “Not in this weather,” was the
abrupt answer.
    “Aww man, how will I ever learn how to drive with snow tires if
you don’t let me practice?”
    The theater was emptying, lights going off. Saturday evening performances
were always a scatter-and-run afterward.
    Even the foyer had only a few people left standing in small groups,
and then waving goodbye, crying “Merry Christmas!” as they exited the glass
doors. On the far end, a janitor was already beginning to sweep.
    I heard a slight cough and glanced up to see James Douglas, not
looking uncomfortable one iota at our Mason Family dynamics.
    “Aren’t we just a typical family?” I asked tightly.
    “Perhaps I should take a rain check. I’m sure you’re tired, and
you need to put your foot up.”
    Suddenly, I felt a wave of disappointment and relief at not going
out for hot cocoa. A puzzling reaction, actually. I would have thought relief
would be my dominating emotion, and I’d spend the next two weeks of Christmas
break avoiding the guy.
    Part of me wanted to debate him on the merits of dance and
religion and hot cocoa.
    “My foot will be fine,” I said airily. “So, okay. See you around.”
    “Church tomorrow morning?” His dark hair fell forward as he tipped
his head toward mine.
    “Don’t hold your breath, Pastor.”
    “I take the official final exam in January.”
    “Then I won’t hold my breath either.”
    “You’re not a Sugar Plum Fairy, you
know that?”
    “Check your forehead for
temperature.” I waved a hand through the air in the Obi Wan Kenobi mind-bending
move. “It was all a fantasy.”
    “Touché.”
     

Chapter Six
    Since I’d
driven early to the theater for warm-up, makeup, and costume dressing, I drove
myself home.
    Mom fretted, of course. “I should have driven you instead of
helping Marianne Cook set up for the quilting booth at the craft show.”
    “There was no way to know I was going to fall, but I can walk just
fine. I’m fine.”
    It was so difficult not to become testy with my family, especially
my mother. I’d lived away for too long. Been too independent.
    “Are you sure your ankle is okay to
drive?” James Douglas had asked as he walked out with my family, the theater
lights extinguishing behind us.
    “I’m fine!” I repeated, biting my tongue at my snappish
tone. Instantly, I apologized. “I’m sorry. I’m just—there’s no reason for
me to be irritated.”
    He gave me an understanding smile.