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It Really IS a Wonderful Life

By Linda Wood Rondeau

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Prologue
Dorie threw the letter and shrugged as it landed on top of
the leftover peanut butter sandwiches. Maybe she should
finish reading it, just in case she’d misunderstood the opening
paragraph. She picked up the memo again and flicked off the
residue along its edges, skimming the next few lines. When done,
she subdued the urge to scream. The kids were asleep—finally.
As she read, she mouthed the words with clenched jaws.
“Thank you for your interest in Bargains Galore. I am sorry to
inform you that the position for which you applied has been
filled… Blah, Blah, Blah. Sincerely, James Paul Sullivan…”
Regardless of the perfumed words, they still stung.
“What is it with this town?” She ripped the rejection into
pieces and tossed it into the trash. “I can’t even get a job at the
local dollar store. Somebody, somewhere, must need a computer
programmer.”
Focus on the positive Dorie. Mom’s voice echoed in her
memory. She’d spent a great night with the children, her favorite
people, a read-a-thon and Fern Gully, and bedtimes with no
rebuttals from Josh or squalls from Emma, all huge positives.
When the kids went to sleep, the nights became a desert
crossing, interminably long and arid. She settled into the recliner—
Devon’s chair—and flipped through the television
channels. Nothing of interest. Just news, reruns, or cartoons.
She clicked off the television and picked up the newspaper.
With a discordant sigh, she skipped over the first seven pages
and turned to the classifieds. Scanning the five employment
ads, she screeched an entire sonnet of Midville condemnations
then threw the paper at the wall.
Now her tirades beamed toward her late husband. “Devon,
you had no right to get yourself blown up fighting a war
nobody cares about anymore. How do you expect me to raise
these kids on my own when I can’t even get a job?”
Boomer’s bark brought her back from the edge of uncontrolled
rage, a precipice she teetered on all too often these days.
He nudged the crumpled newsprint in her direction. Some
people believed Irish setters could read minds, but the last she
knew, they couldn’t read newspapers. Maybe he sensed something
there—something good.
A breeze from the open window stirred its pages.
She bent over to pick it up. A jelly smudge brought her
attention to the announcement: Midville Players casting call.
Who would have thought a puny town like Midville would
have a drama group?
Curiosity numbed her anger. “Midville Players will hold
auditions for their upcoming Christmas production of It’s a
Wonderful Life—”
Did she dare? She’d played an angel in a Christmas pageant
once. That was a lot of fun and her teacher said she was the
best angel. This would be different though. Still, what was the
worst that could happen?
You’d look like a fool and find new depths of rejection.
Discretion warned her to avoid any more opportunities for
failure.
“Now don’t let your mind go there Dorie.”
Devon had always encouraged her to try new things. Besides,
didn’t Daddy say the best way to find a job was to circulate?
Since moving to Midville four months ago her only
networking had been with her parents’ retired church friends.
Time to find a new circle of friends closer to her age.
She picked up the phone and hit the first number on her
speed dial. “Mom, will you watch the kids for me tomorrow
night?”

Chapter One


What a day!
Jamey Sullivan engaged the security system then
stepped outside Bargains Galore.
He took out his Android and called Sherrie, his store manager.
“Hello, Mr. Sullivan.”
“Glad to hear your laryngitis is gone.” He’d hate to face
another day of ledgers, carbon copies and miles of cash-register
receipts. Sullivan Enterprises operated in the dark ages of
business machines.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be back to train the new cashier tomorrow.”
“Glad to hear it. I hate the system we’re using. We need an
overhaul.”
Sherrie huffed her defense. “Not a day goes by without
your saying so, Mr. Sullivan. Our current system worked fine
until we added the new stores. Maybe we do need a new way
of doing things, but you know how I feel about change.”
Sherrie had been with Sullivan Enterprises since Jamey’s
father opened the first store. Who better to lead the company
into a new age? However, she’d refused every training offer
he’d made. Not even Pop could change her mind.
“How’s Mr. Sullivan senior tonight?”
He sensed her empathy. “Thanks for asking. He keeps
losing ground every day. He’s fading away before my eyes. I’d
give anything to go fishing with him one more time.”
There weren’t many in Midville Jamey would miss when
he left, this time. Except for Sherrie and his high school buddy
Gabe Wellington. Sherrie was like his second mother, sure to
pin his ears back when he needed it and even quicker with an
offer of encouragement when faced with disappointment.
“Not many sons would have done what you did, Mr. Sullivan,
giving up a promising career to help an ailing parent.
Midville’s proud of you.”
Midville might be proud of him, but any good deed wears
thin after a while. Wasn’t four years enough of a sacrifice?
“By the way, aren’t you late for auditions?”
“On my way. Take care of yourself… see you tomorrow.”
He checked his watch, pocketed his Android and hopped
into his Nissan. Jamey missed his Audi. Even his old Mini
Cooper had more class than this gray sedan. He’d grown to
accept it though, since Pop gave it to him. How could he refuse
a dying man?
Jamey sighed as he turned onto the main road. Community Theater
could hardly match the thrill of Broadway, but for the moment,
Pop needed him more than The Great White Way needed another
self-deluded actor.
Yet, the unknown lingered in his soul. For all sad words of
tongue or pen, the saddest are these ‘it might have been’.
He’d wanted to take over the business from Pop, to do this
one last thing for him. Love demanded it, not duty. Yet, Jamey
doubted his motives. Was he still the little boy trying to win
Pop’s approval?
When Pop got so sick he’d stopped coming into the store,
Jamey had suggested Pop sell the business since Junior Harwood
wanted it badly enough. But Pop wouldn’t hear of it.
Every time Jamey brought up the possibility Pop gave the same
well-rehearsed monologue. “Son, Sullivan Enterprises prevents
Harwood Industries from monopolizing Midville’s economy.
Having two horses in town gives folks options.”
Jamey squeezed the steering wheel, his frustration intensifying
with each thought. He’d have to tell Pop sooner or later
about signing with an agent, but if he left now he’d feel like a
traitor, deserting Pop when he needed help the most.
Jamey pulled into the Little Red Hen Preschool and surfed
for a parking place. His usual spot next to Aunt Gillian had
been taken by the owner of a red Cavalier with nearly bald
tires and a scratched bumper. No one in the theater group
drove that model. Someone new? Good. Midville Community
Theater needed a few fresh faces.
He found an empty spot and let the Nissan idle while he
convinced himself he should go through with the audition.
What if his agent called? If he landed a role, would dropping
out be fair to the cast?
Zeke The Parrot Fournier would make a good understudy.
He never put his own slant on a role, but he could mimic
anyone. Danny Riley was directing this play. If no one else
understood Jamey’s hasty departure, Danny would.
But the question was, would Pop?
* * *
Dorie scanned the large play room of the Little Red Hen
Preschool and took two deep breaths to calm her nerves.
This seemed an odd place to hold auditions, then again,
nothing about Midville fitted her expectations. While the
crowd mingled, Dorie stood against the wall and trained her
eyes on the carpet. If she kept still enough, maybe no one
would notice her.
How silly. That would defeat her whole purpose in coming.
She glanced over the assembly of hopefuls for a familiar
face. An older woman across the room looked like someone
from Mom’s church.
Mom’s church.
Dorie shook her head with the thought. After four months,
shouldn’t she think of Midville Community Church as her
own? It’d be nice to feel more connected, but how?
Dorie strained to remember the woman’s name but blanked.
She caught a glimpse of a young man, mid to late twenties,
coming toward her, not surprised she didn’t know him.
Except for her parents, their pastor, and their friends, everyone
in Midville was a stranger.
“Is this your first audition?” he asked.
At first glance, the obese giant of a man resembled Emma’s
roly-poly doll and Dorie half-expected him to rock back and
forth when he talked. Zeke’s smudged work pants hung embarrassingly
low off his waist. At least she guessed his name
was Zeke since that what was the name on his greasy shirt. She
should be courteous. So far, he was the only one who seemed
to notice her. And she had come here to make friends. Zeke
looked like a mechanic and a mechanic might be a good friend
to have since Devon’s seven-year-old Cavalier rattled a bit here
and there.
Daddy harped daily that the car needed new tires and a
battery. He even went so far as to insist Dorie buy an SUV.
“Four-wheel drive is better for North Country winters.” Daddy
was probably right. A life-long car dealership owner, he could
probably wrangle her a good deal, but no way could she part
with Devon’s car and not feel like a traitor.
Gargantuan Man offered a handshake. “Hi, I’m Zeke
Fournier.”
There was something likeable in the man’s friendliness.
Guilt flushed through her soul because of her snobbery. “I’m
Dorie Fitzgerald. I’m a little nervous. How does this thing go?”
“Have you filled out your audition form yet?” Zeke pointed
toward a rail-thin woman whose child-sized knit top hung
on her body like a shawl. She handed out forms with all the
efficiency of a vaccination clinic. “You need to see Evie. And
don’t be nervous. This theater group is pretty casual. I guarantee
there’s not a wild animal in the bunch.”
“Everyone I’ve met in Midville seems nice. I’m relatively
new in town. My folks retired here a few years ago. I joined
them in June.”
Zeke smiled. “Welcome to Midville.”
“Have you done much theater, Zeke?”
“I’m in just about every play. Midville Players doesn’t have
that many men, so I always get a part.”
Dorie smiled. For all his size, Zeke’s friendliness was
a balm she desperately needed. He pointed to the far right
corner. “That’s Danny Riley, the director. Evie’s the properties
manager, but she often promotes herself as assistant director.
Danny likes getting new people involved so you’re practically
guaranteed some kind of part…”
Zeke droned on about the Midville Players while Dorie’s
eyes zoomed in on Danny, whose near-black hair and yellow
Oxford shirt set him apart from the flannel-clad men skirting
nervously back and forth. An aura of confidence surrounded
him as he sorted through a stack of papers. Even his diction
demanded attention, his consonants accentuated as precisely
as a Shakespearean actor.
“He’s a real asset to our theater group. He’s a playwright
as well as a professional actor. Even played Hamlet on Broadway.”
Dorie glanced back toward Danny who owned a self-assured
gait—not pompous, but rather purposeful. A picture-perfect,
model-handsome man in Midville? She thought men like
that existed only in fairy tales. She blushed at his allure.
“Danny’s not from Midville?”
“He was born here and came back two years ago with his
wife and kids. Our version of Welcome Back, Kotter.”
Wife and kids? Dorie’s cheeks heated. Though Danny might
be out of circulation, she’d noticed him, even held a vague romantic
fantasy for a brief moment, the first since Devon had
died; there was hope in that. Hope she might be ready to date
again. As quickly as she held the hope, guilt squashed it. How
could she think of a romance? It’d only been a year.
Dorie breathed fresh resolve. “Thanks for the intell’, Zeke.
I’d better get one of those forms before it’s too late.”
Gestapo Woman rose from her chair as Dorie approached,
her vaporous demeanor a wall of resistance. Dorie’s five-footfour-
with-pumps frame shadowed beneath Evie’s five-ten-withflats.
The woman hadn’t looked that tall from the other room.
She glared at Dorie as if she were a plate of lima beans. Would
Evie spit her out or swallow her whole?
“You’re late.”
Great! Rejected before she’d even had the chance to make
a fool of herself. Mom always said the best way to deter a sour
spirit was to offer a smile and a compliment.
“Evie, right?”
She nodded.
“I see you’re very efficient. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.
I arrived early, but I didn’t know I had to fill out an audition
form. May I please have one?”

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