by Jaime Berry
Abby’s dad had the banner rushed, and it stretched across Main Street advertising the festival. I could see the bottom through the front windows of the Fabric Barn, and catching little glimpses of it settled my thoughts. Like the feeling my bike gave me, the banner reminded me of what I had now and all the people I cared about in Hope Springs.
Holly cleared her throat, “Well, guess I better let them in.”
“You’ll do great,” I said. “And I’m here to do whatever you need.” She stood straight, threw back her shoulders, and walked up front.
I greeted people and showed them to the back room. As much as I tried to focus on Holly’s class, the maps lurked in the back of my mind. For Nan those maps meant fresh possibilities. But the more I thought about it, the more I thought there were plenty of possibilities right here in Hope Springs.
I just had to find the courage to tell Nan that. To persuade her to stay.
Then who should limp in but Nan herself. I almost felt like I’d summoned her and wouldn’t have been any more surprised if she’d appeared in a puff of smoke like a genie from a lamp. There wasn’t a single person I expected to see less at a quilting class than Nan.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“If that’s your standard greeting, it needs work,” she joked.
“Sorry, just surprised, that’s all.”
“Well, I feel like I hardly see you. You’re either at Abby’s or here. So I figured I’d come to you and see what you’ve been up to.” She looked around. “This place is transformed. Did you do all this?”
“Some of it,” I said.
Nan pointed to the signs I’d made. “Looks like more than some.” She scanned the displays and racks. “I see your touch everywhere. You’ve made this a real home away from home.” She smiled, but her voice was heavy, sad almost.
“Come, I’ll help you into your seat.”
“I can manage,” she said. “But you may have to give me a hand when it comes to the actual crafting.”
The class was for beginners, and Holly introduced the supplies and went over what she’d teach. She held up a tool that looked sort of like a round-bladed pizza slicer. “This is your rotary cutter. You’ll use it, your quilting mat, and your quilter’s ruler tonight to measure and cut the pieces for your first square. I’ll also share some simple square patterns for you to choose from. Why don’t you all take a minute to sort through the remnants on your table and chose about a half dozen that grab your eye.”
I stood by Nan and was surprised by how much she chatted with the ladies next to her. She smiled up at me. “I’ve been cooped up for so long, I forgot what it was like to talk to anyone but Wynn. I can’t tell you how happy I am to have him around again.” She switched to a whisper. “But that man sings far too loud.” I laughed, but we hushed when Holly cleared her throat.
Holly held up a seam ripper. “Now, we all know what this is. This little tool is magical and can alter the past and erase your mistakes.” That got a laugh, and Holly settled into teaching. “But the thing is, a mistake can teach you a lot more than a perfect seam.”
Nan nodded in agreement, and I wished I’d brought my notebook to jot down some Holly Paine quotes. Nan’s selection of remnants was a little flashy for my tastes, but I figured she hadn’t come to hear my advice. Just as I was about to break and suggest maybe not pairing purple with orange, the phone rang. I nodded at Holly and ran to the front.
“Fabric Barn. Jubilee speaking.”
“What took you so long?” Abby asked.
“I was in the back.”
“Arletta’s people called Mom this morning.”
I almost dropped the phone.
“Dad’s been asked to cater the show, and they want me to ask a question during something called the Audience Inclusion Segment.” Abby said. “Get this. They gave me the question. Told me to memorize it before the show. Hardly live if it’s scripted.” She paused. “Jubilee?”
“Yes?”
“Did you hear me?” she asked
“Are you saying you get to talk to Arletta Paisley? Do you get to go up on stage with her?”
“No, I just ask—and I quote—‘Fall is my favorite season, so I was wondering if you had some fun ideas for autumn-inspired crafts?’ Who talks like that? They just want the mayor’s kid on camera; the lady even said so. You can ask it, if you want.”
My brain almost froze at the possibility of talking to Arletta. “Well, maybe they give kids the questions in case of nerves. They don’t want you to stumble on live TV.”
“It didn’t seem that way to me. But either way, you can ask it.”
“Oh. Okay. If you insist.” I set the phone down to dance around and quietly squeal, realizing too late that I’d accidentally hung up without saying goodbye. I was going to ask Arletta Paisley a question! I did another dance, and then I called Abby back.
“Sorry,” I said. “I got too excited. You sure?”
“Yep. You should do it. Besides, I’ve got to prepare for the Family Pairs tournament tomorrow. And I don’t even like her. You do.” Abby was quiet, and so was I.
“Well, okay. I’ll talk to you later.” I hung up, wishing I hadn’t called back at all. Suspecting someone didn’t like your TV momma was a lot different than hearing it said out loud.
LOCAL KIDS MAKE A BIG IMPACT
Three eleven-year-olds are responsible for expanding the annual Main Street Fest parade into a full-blown festival. The young activists are Hope Springs natives Colton Griggs and Abby Standridge, daughter of the mayor, and newcomer Jubilee Johnson. The kids have been hard at work promoting the event in hopes of rallying support for local businesses as the opening of the SmartMart Superstore nears.
“It was really Abby’s idea, and we couldn’t have done it without Colton and his dad offering up a venue. I just made some posters and the rallypops,” Johnson said. The rallypops she refers to are treats free with a purchase at many Hope Springs local shops.
Yet, Standridge begs to differ. “The idea was totally Jubilee’s. She thought a way to make everybody feel good would be to do something together,” she said.
Though the girls can’t agree on whose idea launched their efforts, they do agree on one thing: “Hope Springs is the best place I’ve ever lived,” Johnson said.
“Me too,” added Standridge.
They have the support of Mayor Myrna Standridge. “The kids are hoping to return Main Street Fest to what it once was—a celebration of our community. Following the annual parade, there’ll be a rally at Griggs’ Rigs Racing. The chamber of commerce is also sponsoring a quilt competition with a grand prize of five hundred dollars contributed by local businesses. The winner will be announced at the rally. I personally couldn’t be more impressed by all the support and interest we’ve had so far. More events seem to be developing daily,” Mayor Standridge added. “Just goes to show what even a small community such as ours can do when we unite behind a common cause.”
The parade is scheduled to begin at 1 p.m. with the rally starting shortly after at 3 p.m. There will be booths selling goods from local stores and restaurants. A small stage is under construction for bands, and the quilting contest winner will be announced at 6 p.m.
Go Fish
Wynn helped Nan into the passenger seat and even tried to fasten her seat belt, which earned him a smack on the hand.
“I’m not a child, Wynn,” Nan said.
“All right, all right,” Wynn said. “I know you only went to this class to get away from me.”
Nan laughed. “I enjoyed it. It was fun to see Jubilee at work. You wouldn’t believe what she’s done in that store.”
“I do believe it.” Wynn smiled at me.
“Jubliee, you know I had my doubts about this rally and you getting tangled up with all these people we hardly know. Worried you’d be disappointed or hurt.” Nan cleared her throat just as we passed under the banner. “But now I think it might hurt worse not to see it through.”
Nan
hardly ever admitted she was wrong. I didn’t know what to say but was saved when a huge tour bus pulled out in front of us making its way toward the library.
“Would you look at that?” Wynn said. “I’ve seen a lot of buses in my time, and that’s a nice one.”
Arletta’s show was filming in the community center by the library in a few days, and the thought of it made me dizzy. Trucks and vans already covered the parking lot to set up the stage and equipment. We passed the tour bus as it turned into the community center. What if Arletta was in there? I felt light, almost weightless, like floating on water. Then I thought of my phone call with Abby and sank.
Nan caught my eye in the rearview mirror. “You’re awfully quiet.”
Given Nan’s tendency to move us at the first sign of trouble, I didn’t want to tell her anything was wrong, but that conversation with Abby kept replaying in my head. I was willing to lose Hope Springs before I lost Abby. I needed advice, and I couldn’t wait until I saw Holly again. So Nan and Wynn would have to do.
I told them the whole conversation word for word. “Maybe I made her mad. Or maybe she’s nervous about the tournament.” I said. Then I sat back and waited for Nan to quote one of our Relocation Rules or some artist.
But instead she said, “Someone once told me hard times are easier with support. You’ll have to go to this fishing tournament and cheer her on, show her you care about her more than Arletta and that show.”
“Dang, Nan,” Wynn said. “That’s good advice.”
“Well, don’t sound so shocked,” Nan grumbled.
“The tournament is at Lake Trenton,” Wynn said. “It starts at five o’clock in the morning, but the weigh-in is at three.”
Nan and I both stared at Wynn.
“What? Frank and I chatted a bit at the One Stop the other night,” he said with a shrug.
I worked the whole next morning on three signs—one for each of us—and handed them out right before we all piled into Nan’s car that afternoon. Lake Trenton was a twenty-minute drive filled with Wynn’s singing and Nan and I exchanging eye rolls until we were both giggling. The more we laughed, the louder Wynn sang.
We pulled into an almost-full parking lot in front of a marina. People milled about between stands selling fishing gear and food. Nan, Wynn, and I wandered around until boats started to come in from the lake and people began to move toward a covered grandstand. I noticed signs advertising Main Street Fest and our rally posted all over. Abby must have come early and worked hard before the tournament started. I hadn’t even thought to offer my help, and she hadn’t asked for it.
The crowd cheered when a man with a bullhorn took the stage. After he welcomed everyone and thanked a long list of sponsors and volunteers, he announced the first team. Each catch was weighed, and names were posted on a leaderboard. We had to wait quite a while before Abby and her dad were called up to have their catches measured. As soon as their names were announced, Wynn and I whooped and hollered and waved our signs high. Nan did her best too. We caused such a fuss that people stared.
Abby’s poof of hair was smashed under a ballcap and when she saw us, she buried her face in her hands. At first, I thought she was only embarrassed, but then she looked up, smiled, shook her head, and covered her face again.
They weighed Abby’s catches. Five in all. The last fish drew some oohs and aahs. Seven pounds and nine ounces didn’t sound like a lot to me, but what did I know? Abby and her dad were written up on the leaderboard.
We had to wait more than an hour for twenty-two teams to weigh in, but no one knocked Abby out of the top spot.
After the cash prizes and trophies were handed out, the announcer addressed the crowd and said, “Now, everybody here fished their hardest today. But only one fish can be the biggest, which is why every year we give out the Lake Trenton Hawg Award.” He held up a shiny trophy, and the crowd broke out in rowdy applause.
“This year it was close, but Abby Standridge, come on up and collect this trophy and maybe the biggest prize of the tournament—bragging rights!”
Abby grabbed her hat with both hands and did a little jump. I smiled for her until my face ached. After she walked out and accepted the trophy, she took a minute to look it over before she held it up above her head. The crowd clapped, but Wynn, Nan, and I went wild. I noticed Abby’s mom in the front row taking pictures.
When the excitement died down, Abby skipped over to me carrying her trophy. “Hey, I didn’t know you guys were coming. I liked your sign.”
I handed over the poster I’d spent the most time on, a big bass with red lips, eyelashes, and a crown covered in glitter and stick-on jewels. “Keep it.” I nodded to Nan and Wynn. “And consider us your first fan club.”
Abby’s dad shook hands with Wynn and thanked Nan for coming while Abby gave me a hug. “I caught the biggest fish,” she whispered. “It wasn’t quite a lunker but it was close.”
“I don’t know what a lunker is,” I whispered back, “but I’m proud of you.”
Abby laughed. “Hey, want to go get a candy apple and a funnel cake and help me celebrate? Colton and his dad are around here somewhere. Mom’s searching for a free table.”
“A place to sit sounds like heaven,” Nan said.
“We’ll find Myrna and the boys, and you two meet us there,” Abby’s dad suggested.
Abby and I found a food truck, got in line, and she launched into a heated retelling of all her catches. “There’s a five-catch limit. So, every time you get a bigger fish you cull your live well, meaning you throw the smallest fish back and let the bigger one take its place. By ten o’clock we still hadn’t had much luck. Then dad snagged a hefty four-pounder. But we only caught peanuts after that, and by noon the fish get lazy and hunker down. I was desperate. So, I did the only thing I could think of.”
“Used your stink bait?” I asked.
Abby nodded. “Dip bait, but yes. It works best on catfish, but I thought why not give it a try. I took a jig and coated it in the stuff. Dad thought it’d just dissolve in the water. But I managed to hit a mat, and I mean, as soon as that jig touched water, I got a bite. I could tell right away she was a whopper by the way she pulled.”
I smiled and nodded along.
“Know what I mean?” she asked.
“Sort of,” I said. “Not really.”
She laughed and gently kicked the pavement with her sneaker. “I’m surprised you came.”
“I know. I’ve been too wrapped up in Arletta and the live show. But I wanted to tell you something.” I paused, so used to telling half lies that I could hardly get the truth to come out. “My dad passed when I was little. Wynn isn’t just a family friend. I mean, he is, but he was my dad’s best friend and is still close with my mom. She sent him to stay with us when Nan got hurt because she couldn’t be bothered to stay herself. My mom isn’t all that… involved. Usually. I guess what I’m saying is, I’m not used to having a lot of people I can count on.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was as much as I could manage.
“I’m sorry, Jubilee.” Abby bumped me with her shoulder. “But thank you for telling me and thank you for coming today.”
“That’s what friends are for, right?” I asked.
“Right.” Abby put an arm over my shoulder. “We can count on each other.”
Abby and I got our food then headed to the picnic area. The first person I saw was Colton standing and waving both arms next to two tables where everyone else sat.
I could tell Abby the rest, about Momma wanting me back, another time. For now, I’d enjoy the hot sun, a freshly fried funnel cake, and the warm feeling of having a friend and a whole lot of people to count on.
Needing to Know
The next morning, I planned and changed outfits at least a dozen times. Suddenly nothing I owned seemed right for Arletta Paisley’s live show. No matter what I put on, it felt backward, inside out, and two sizes too small. Abby’s mom pulled up in their minivan, and I fought the urge to dash back to my room an
d change one last time.
“You look perfect,” Nan said.
“Just remember, everyone’s watching her, not you. Even though you’re much more interesting in my opinion,” Wynn said. “Also, people always say to picture everyone naked when you’re nervous. But that’s a terrible idea, makes your whole face curl up. I say picture everyone wearing clown wigs and fanny packs.”
Nan shook her head, stood, looked me over, and put her hands on my shoulders. “Courage is ‘grace under pressure.’ Ernest Hemingway.” I wasn’t so sure what that one meant, but then she gave me one of her rare hugs. “You’ve got nothing to be nervous about. You are all grace.” She walked me to the door, and they both watched and waved longer than necessary.
Abby sat up front and Colton slid the door open for me from the back seat. He looked like he always did, which was perfect.
My nerves jittered so much it felt like my skin was giving off electricity. It would be a wonder if my hair wasn’t standing on end by the time we got there. Everyone chatted for the short drive, except me. I didn’t say a single word, like if I sat quiet and still enough, I wouldn’t explode.
Inside the community center, Hearth & Home people shuffled back and forth everywhere. Some wore headsets, but others sat in the audience with earpieces like the undercover secret service. Our seats were three rows from the front, and I scanned the audience, only noticing a few familiar faces, the Queen of Neat theme song playing quietly in the background.
Abby leaned into me and whispered, “I don’t think half these people even live in Hope Springs.”
I hardly heard her; that theme song synced up with my pounding heartbeat. It was my national anthem, and I was about to meet the queen.
Arletta Paisley appeared at the very last minute; signs flashed for applause. I clapped until my hands stung. She wore cowboy boots with a long white ruffled skirt and a denim shirt and waved like a beauty queen—a perfect combination of folksy and classy. A cameraman held his hand high and counted down from three.