They’d done this before, I realized. Watched the parade together, stepping along with the Rockettes, while I was off with Daddy feeding the homeless.

Amy stumbled. Laughed. “We need Meg.”

I jumped in at the end of the line, wrapping my arm around Beth, matching my steps with my sisters’, doing my best to support Mom in the middle. We giggled and kicked our way to the end of the song, hopping and breathless.

“Ooph!” Amy collapsed into a chair. “That’s it. I’m done.”

“That was so fun,” Beth said.

Our mother eased herself onto the couch, smiling. “I always wanted to visit Radio City Music Hall. See the Rockettes in person.”

Which was news to me. She’d never said anything. Never taken a day off in her life. “Maybe you should come for a visit,” I suggested.

But she wasn’t listening to me. “Have you heard anything yet from Branson?” she asked Beth.

Beth shook her head.

“Who?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Beth said.

“Branson, Missouri.” Our mother’s voice warmed with pride. “Your sister tried out for one of the Christmas shows there.”

“My voice teacher thought the audition would be good practice.”

“Mouse! Good for you! That’s awesome.”

Beth smiled wistfully. “Remember when you used to write those plays for us?”

I nodded. “On the parsonage porch. Meg charged all the neighborhood kids a quarter to watch.”

“You and Meg always got to be the heroes,” Amy said.

“Or the villains,” I said. “Because we were tallest.”

“And I was the golden-haired princess.”

“Because you were too young to remember your lines.”

“Only a year younger than Beth.”

“I was the prince once,” Beth said.

Our Bethie had never sought the family spotlight. I smiled at her affectionately. “You played a selection of kindly retainers.”

“And the prince’s horse,” said Amy.

“And now you’re going to be a star!” I hugged Beth. She was so talented, a voice major at UNC Greensboro. She deserved a chance to shine. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Beth’s cheeks turned pink. “I didn’t think I’d get a part.”

“But you did. She’s an angel,” Mom said to me. “In the chorus.”

“Typecasting,” Amy said.

“It’s not a real part,” Beth said. “I’m only an alternate. They’re not going to call me unless somebody drops out of the cast.”

“It’s all good experience,” our mother said. “Colt Henderson is one of the headliners.”

Country music was one of those things I swore I’d left behind when I fled home, like sweet tea and church homecomings. But even in New York I’d heard Colt Henderson’s music, heartland rock with a country core.

“I’m impressed.” I was, too. And a little hurt I was the last to know. In spite of the four-year gap between us, Beth and I had always been close. She was my baby, the way Amy was Meg’s. “I thought Branson just did big family acts. The Trapp Family Singers. The Osmonds.”

“He has a new Christmas album,” Beth said.

“Nice,” Amy said.