Letting Go
Page 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sarah
A GROUP OF individuals awaited Sarah as she entered the kitchen. At least, she thought they were waiting for her, but upon further inspection, she realized the people were surrounding her mother. Balloons floated into space and a large cake was plastered on the rustic dining room table.
“Is this some sort of party?” Sarah asked as she entered.
“Darn it!” Helena screamed, standing up. Then, as if all of these random people hadn’t already seen her, they sang in a chorus, “Surprise!”
“Oh, Sarah! You came home too early.” Her mother rushed over and pulled her into her chest.
As she was suffocated, Sarah breathed, “What? What is this?”
When they drew apart, Sarah realized that these random people were actually past teachers, or fellow church members, or whatever. It was a gaggle of older women, mostly in their middle years, who held little party favors and hats that read WELCOME HOME!
“What is this?” Sarah asked, flabbergasted. This was nothing like she expected.
Her mother pulled her into the center of the crowd, so all these random ladies could fawn over her and reach out to touch her briny hair. “We’re throwing you a party, Sarah! Obviously. To celebrate your return from California.”
“I got back a month ago.”
“Any party is better than no party at all,” drawled Mrs. Abbigail Spruce, who was the epitome of a party girl turned devout Christian housewife. Legend had it that her yearbook quote was THIS MAY HAVE BEEN THE HIVE, BUT I’M THE ONE AND ONLY QUEEN BEE. Of course, if interrogated now, Mrs. Abbigail Spruce would dismiss all notions of those words. “Impossible!”
The overwhelming scent of perfume and licorice filled Sarah’s nostrils so she was drowning in womanly smell, and she stood as various women hugged her and reintroduced themselves. Sarah didn’t know a handful, and the others—well, she had left Breezewater for a reason.
“We’re celebrating your return!” called out Sarah’s old, crippled Grandma Esther, the first wife of Grandpa Rob. Rob Fielder had a history with women longer than the Jews.
Sarah smiled as the woman pulled her into a hug, as always smelling of an unknown candle scent. Esther Shaw was known to all as the town’s own chandler who operated a very lucrative business coupled with customers from Savannah and the surrounding counties.
The thing about Esther Shaw was that she and her daughter Helena had a tumultuous relationship. Esther was as liberal as the sky was blue, and Helena had a strict social code to follow. Everyone excused dear Helena Towson’s crazy mother, but Sarah knew from experience that Esther Shaw was one of the most honest people in the entire world, and even if they might disagree on certain topics, they loved each other—and that’s what mattered.
Mother Elsie popped up in the crowd of middle aged individuals like a sore thumb. She was closer to Sarah than most of the people in the gaggle combined, so Sarah reached out to pull the old lady into an embrace. “So, did you heed my advice?”
“Advice?” asked popular Miss Taya Gunney, who was surrounded by her social circle of single, fortysomething divorcees. Miss Taya, however, had never married and many assumed she was either a spinster or asexual. Sarah didn’t think any of these were true, because Miss Taya simply devoted her life to volunteerism and her job as a sixth grade teacher/softball coach.
Sarah felt a stab of guilt. Miss Taya was Brie’s aunt, and the two were thicker than thieves. “Oh, nothing…”
“Nothing! Sarah Towson’s got a lover, you all!” Mother Elsie called out, her skin sallower than usual.
“A lover?” screeched Helena.
“No, I don’t!” Sarah cried out, turning red.
“Does this explain your glow?” called out a woman from church, Mrs. Elizabeth Keeper.
“Absolutely not,” Sarah said, though she knew her voice lacked truth. Anyone who knew her well could read through her like she was an open book. She glanced at Mother Elsie in frustration, and the old woman shrugged. Of course she didn’t know that Helena had placed restrictions on any relationships, or maybe she didn’t remember Miss Taya Gunney was also Joel’s ex-girlfriend’s aunt.
Gosh, how much Sarah hated small towns.
“So, can we take a wild guess as to who your little loverboy is?” Erica Pritcher, a buxom woman who stuck a strawberry into her mouth, was infamous for gossiping.
Another woman—one Sarah didn’t even recognize—chorused this opinion. “I bet Sarah here would go after a guy like Jake Lewis!”
This elicited a united laugh from the women, except for Helena’s pained expression, as if Sarah had excluded her from wedding planning. Sarah was tempted to run away, back across town again, but she knew this would ruin her relationship with Helena even more.
She stood rooted in place, awaiting the gossip storm that would knock her down.
Where was Zach when she needed him most?
“Nah, give Sarah some credit. She’s from California now, and I bet she’s super picky with who she chooses.”
“Well, what about Tom Boomington? Wouldn’t you like a pastor’s wife for a daughter?”
“No, I think she’d like a guy like Alex McFarland. You know, that sorta church boy?”
“Well, if we’re going to talk about boys at church…”
“Obviously…”
They started repeating each other, salt and pepper, bickering back and forth, until a few yipped, “Joel Sealet!” and then all of them started to call out his name, so that it came to sharp focus, and Sarah felt she would faint, like some stereotypical damsel in distress. She felt like one in this moment though.
“Joel Sealet?” called out one lone opposition. Of course Hinsley Newton would disagree. “Joel Sealet’s dating your niece, right, Taya?”
Miss Taya shook her head, unusually silent for these social events. Of course she would be. “He broke up with her in the most senseless way possible. Went for another girl even.” At this, she stared at her feet, and Sarah innately knew that Miss Taya knew. And fortunately, she was keeping it a secret.
“Enough,” Mother Elsie cried out, her voice straining. “I started this, and I should be the one to apologize. Sarah, I’m sorry. It’ll be on your time to tell anybody who wants to know, but if she doesn’t want anyone to know, don’t bug her. She’s only nineteen-years-old, and by golly, she’s going to make her choice whether we like it or not.”
“So, it is Joel Sealet?” chirped brave Abbigail Spruce.
Sarah buried her head in her hands and when she looked up, a lot of eyes stared unblinkingly back at her. She felt like she was in some kind of an inescapable horror dream. Thankfully, at that precise moment, Juliet Sealet entered, holding a large balloon that read WELCOME HOME.
Beautiful Juliet looked at the crowd and knew something was wrong. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing at all,” chirped the chorus.
Twenty minutes later, Sarah slipped out to the backyard and found her way down to Lanceling Creek.