Page 38 of All in for Christmas

The festive lights of the holiday market are ahead of me, and I keep my eye on the large tent as I approach.

I pass the person popping popcorn and the vendor selling French hot chocolate, peering through the crowd.

Mary Christmas’s table should be straight ahead of me, right at the point where this larger tent joins one of the smaller ones in the U-shape.

But funny. I don’t see her, or her trademark advent calendars, anywhere.

My boots scurry beneath me as I start walking faster.

I felt so sure I knew where her booth was, but I must be remembering wrong.

I stare around the vibrant space but still don’t spot her. Where is she?

I stop by the table of the artist who sold me the tin earrings I purchased for Mom. “Excuse me?” I ask her. “Have you seen the lady who sells the advent calendars?”

“I’m sorry, who?” Her face is blank, and my panic spikes.

I know I saw Mary Christmas here only a few days ago. I didn’t dream her, even if I’m dreaming this! She was in this dream . “Mary Christmas?”

The artist smiles warmly. “Merry Christmas to you. Hey, didn’t I sell you a pair of earrings last week?”

“Yes, yes. And they’re so pretty. Thanks so much. My mom loved them. But I was here on Sunday, too.”

“This past Sunday?” She narrows her eyes, searching her memory. “Hmm.”

That was only three days ago, but I suppose her booth stays busy with lots of customers. I attempt to jog her memory. “I asked you about the advent calendar lady. You said her name was Mary Christmas, spelled M-A-R-Y.”

She adjusts her colorful scarf with gold threads woven through it. “I’m not really sure—”

I’m starting to feel desperate. “She was dressed like Mrs. Claus?”

“Oh!” She glances at the other side of the tent. “You mean the woman who helps Santa?”

“Er, yes. Maybe?” I nervously shift my weight from one foot to the other. “That could be her.”

The artist points to a person dressed as Santa Claus sitting in an area set up to look like the North Pole. Kids gather with adults to get their photos taken with the jolly old elf. “You might want to check down that way?” she says.

“Okay. Thank you.” I sidestep through the crowd, my heart pounding.

Where is Mary Christmas and that booth of hers?

The one with all the advent calendars? I reach a younger woman in an elf hat.

She looks like a teenager taking a winter-break job.

She’s busy organizing photos and sliding them into envelopes.

They’re of Santa with various children. “I’m sorry to bother you,” I say.

She looks up. “I’m afraid the line to take photos with Santa is over there.

” She gestures to an area by a velvet rope where guardians and kids wait patiently for their turn with Santa.

Another worker, also in an elf hat, helps guide them along.

A third wields a digital camera, maximizing photo ops with each new child.

“Uh, no. You don’t understand.” I loosen my wool scarf. “I’m looking for Mrs. Claus.”

The teenager laughs. “You’ll have to ask Santa about her.”

“Haha, yes.” Normally I wouldn’t mind this light banter, but at the moment it’s making me antsy, like I’m wasting my time, when what I need to be doing is finding Mary Christmas. I glance over at Santa. “Do you think it would be okay if I ask him a question?”

The teen checks her watch. “If you don’t take long. We don’t want to hold up the line.”

“Great, thanks!”

I bustle to the head of the line, inviting scowls from a few kids and more than one mom. “Oh no! I’m not butting in,” I tell them. “I just have a quick question for—” I turn, and Santa’s stood from his chair, hands on his hips.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he says. “You’ll need to wait in line like the others.” He doesn’t seem very Santa-like. He doesn’t even give me a ho, ho, ho . I can tell the beard is fake. So is his snowy white hair. My spirit sinks. He’s an actor.

“I just wanted to ask you a quick question, Santa .” My heart deflates like a balloon with all the air going out of it, because I know I’m grasping at straws. What would a paid actor know about real holiday magic, or time splits? Likely nothing at all.

“You’re taking time away from the kids,” he whispers behind his glove. “Will you please move aside?”

“But!” Two elves walk toward me like sports bar bouncers. “I just want to know about Mary Christmas!” I realize how loony that sounds. “The lady who sells the advent calendars?”

Santa gives me a steely look like I’ve landed on his naughty list. Gee. I hold up my hands and back away. “I’m sorry. I’ve made a mistake.”

Santa holds his round middle and smiles at the child behind me. “Ho, ho, ho! Who’s next?” he asks as I retreat.

Tears brim in my eyes. I’m at such a loss. This can’t be the end of things. It can’t.

Someone taps my shoulder. “You’re looking for Mary Christmas?”

I turn and it’s her.

“Yes! Thank goodness!” I say with a grateful sigh of relief.

Her eyes twinkle merrily behind her wire-rimmed glasses. “What can I do for you, Paige?”

“I—don’t want to go back! Please, not yet,” I say, the truth pouring out of me. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Day, and I want to stay here.”

“ Here here?” she asks.

“With all my heart. Mrs. Christmas,” I gush out, “I thought I had a good life, a life I worked for. I had important responsibilities too, but there are things here I can’t let go.

I’ve fallen in love with all of them. With Dean.

With Eleanor. With Henry. And Scout. With this wonderfully happy version of Mom, and Gammy and Poppi.

For goodness’ sake, even this new version of myself!

” I’m babbling so hurriedly, I’m tripping over my words.

“I don’t know exactly how your special advent calendar changed my life.

But whatever kind of miracle it was that brought me here, I don’t want it to end. ”

“So you believe you’ve earned your chance for this Christmas?”

“Yes.”

“All right!” she says and my spirit soars. I can’t believe it was that easy.

I throw my arms around her in a hug and stumble forward through thin air.

What? I blink and stare around the tent. “I’m sorry,” the teenage elf says, ”you’re blocking traffic. You’ll need to clear out of the way.”

“But—but, Mary Christmas,” I inform her. “She was right—”

The girl scrunches up her face and eyes me dubiously. “No. It was just you.”

“What?” Impossible. I gawk at Santa in his chair and the line of parents and kids. No one pays me any mind, almost like I’m not here myself. I pat down my arms and the front of my coat to make sure I am. I feel real enough to me. But where is Mary Christmas?

“Ma’am?” the teen elf says.

I step aside numbly, not knowing what’s happened.

Did it work?

Have I claimed my new life?