“A rude person barged into me and dislocated my shoulder on Saturday,” I said. “It’s still a little bruised.”

“Ah,” she said. “You might want to get a new sling for the performance. This one has red stains on it.”

She turned her attention back to her list and then darted over to the spice cabinet.

She was right. The sling had red stains. Red wine or marinara sauce? In either case, not suitable for wearing on Michael’s big night.

I went out to the library and hunted around until I found a scrap of the black lining fabric that was the right size for a replacement sling. Might as well look a little elegant for tonight’s performance, and I was sure the sewing circle wouldn’t mind. Then I took a deep breath and went upstairs to face the task of getting the boys ready for A Christmas Carol.

At least I didn’t have to stuff them into little suits and ties again.

We’d left the boys home last year, and probably should have this year, but hearing Michael practice had stirred them up, and the prospect of being left behind provoked tempests of misery.

So we’d agreed to bring them. After the last two late nights, we’d come up with a new plan. Tonight they would wear pajamas under their snowsuits. And we’d cautioned them that if they got tired of listening to Daddy, they should tell me quietly so I could take them home to bed. Rose Noire and I were driving separately, so if the boys faded at different times we could each ferry one home.

To my delight, the idea of dressing up in pajamas and then going outside in them had just enough flavor of forbidden fruit to delight the boys, so they cooperated unusually well. Then I left them and Rob to continue watching It’s a SpongeBob Christmas and went upstairs to get cleaned up and dressed myself.

I was wearing a long black dress, and the black sling was almost invisible against the fabric. Was that a bad thing? Should I perhaps go back and borrow a scrap of red velvet, so people could see the sling and perhaps avoid jostling me? No, I decided on elegance. If I got jostled a bit—well, we all have to suffer for beauty.

We all had a quick supper—ham-and-cheese sandwiches and Rose Noire’s potato-leek soup. Well, all of us but Michael, who preferred not to eat too close to a performance. But Rob, Grandfather, Caroline, and the boys more than made up for any self-restraint on Michael’s part.

“So you do this Christmas Carol thing every year?” Caroline asked.

“Every year for five years now,” Michael said.