I look up at him. “Have you signed the petition?”
He shakes his head.
“But you agree with it?”
Moonlight makes his eyes hard to read. “Do I want the name change? No. Do I think it’s inevitable if we’re going to survive as a town? Yes.”
Deep down I knew that was how he felt.
He takes my hand. “I need to explain—”
I don’t pull away, but I tug him toward the elevator. “You know what? Let’s don’t talk about this anymore tonight. I think I just need a break. And right now I’m freezing.”
We ride almost all the way home in silence, though not an uncomfortable one. I guess both of us are thinking about the night. I glance over at him. At least I’m thinking about the night. He could be thinking about the ducks for all I know. Wish I could figure out exactly what’s standing between us.
“Thank you for going with me,” I say softly. “I feel like I should apologize again for my mother.”
“You don’t owe me an apology. She’s a strong woman with strong opinions.”
“If you say, just like her daughter, I’m getting out of the car. Without waiting for you to stop.”
He laughs. “You’re not like her in many ways, but you both have a determination and grit that shouldn’t be underestimated.”
I can’t argue with that. “How’s your mom and sister?”
“Mom’s happy. Tim’s been good for her and he treats Beth just like she’s his own. She’s as content as a sixteen-year-old can be, I think.”
“Oh, I remember those years. You feel like you’re completely grown, but the rules say you’re still not.”
He raises an eyebrow. “It never set well with you for someone to tell you what to do, did it?”
“I guess not. I respected Gran enough that I minded her no matter what I thought, though.”
“We all did. She was the wisest woman I knew.”
I swallow against the lump in my throat. “Me, too.”
He pulls his SUV into a spot behind my car and kills the motor.
My knees shake as we walk to the front door. Makes it hard to walk in these spindly heels. A siren wails in the distance, as I find my keys in my clutch bag and turn to face him. “This was really fun.”
He nods. “I enjoyed it.”
Okay, I think we’ve talked that to death. “Well, I’m tired. I’d better go up.”
“Your hair is beautiful like that.”
I put my hand up to it. “After the wind on the roof of the Peabody, it probably looks like a rat’s nest.”
He shakes his head. “Makes you look like a princess.”
“Princess of Power, that’s me.”
He laughs. “I remember that.” He reaches out to wrap a ringlet around his finger then releases it. “Sorry. I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”
“No problem.”
“Good.” His voice is husky. He puts his arm around my waist and leans closer. Before our lips can touch, a fire truck roars around the corner, sirens wailing, horns blaring. I jump back against the door as the red truck screeches to a stop beside us.
“Busted,” Garrett whispers.
I never giggle unless I’m nervous, but I do now. “I guess Mr. Pletka smelled smoke.”
Two firemen jump out. One goes in to the laundry, but the other one stays out on the sidewalk and sniffs.
Garrett nods toward the man, then turns back to me. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sport.”
“You, too.”
He watches from his vehicle, while I let myself in the door. I give him a feeble wave and take the yellow roses up to my apartment.
~~~~~
Ami’s a Google expert. Thanks to the popular search engine, she knows everything in the world.
The drawback to that is when you’re in the middle of a phone conversation, and she’s at home on her computer, she’ll start googling things you’re saying. So I’m telling her about my date with Garrett, but I haven’t gotten very far when she interrupts.
“According to this, yellow roses mean ‘I love you, but I’m unworthy of your love.’”
“Really?” That makes no sense.
“Yeah, or they could mean ‘My love for you is waning.’”
“Great.”
She ignores my sarcasm. “Or indicate jealousy.”
I snort. “Or they could indicate the Stewarts were out of everything else.” Or that he didn’t want me to get the wrong idea by giving me red roses, which no one would ever have to look up the meaning of.
“Fine.” She fakes an injured tone. “If you don’t want me to share my knowledge with you, I won’t.”
“Too late. You already did.”
“Oh yeah. So tell me about the rest of the date.”
“He handled my parents very well.” I tell her how he got us out of the banquet early without lying. “And even when my mother called to read me the riot act for leaving early, she couldn’t really find anything bad to say about him.”
“That gives him bonus points.”
I gasp. “Are you scoring him?” We used to do that in high school—score our dates on things like whether they picked us up at the door or honked for us to come out. Bonus points for every time they acted like they really cared what we thought.
“Just in my mind. No worries. He’s scoring high.”
I laugh. “He’d be so glad to know.”
“Actually as many times as he heard us do it back then, he probably has an unfair advantage.”
“Is this too weird? Me dating Garrett?”
“Not at all. Mark and I are best friends, too. We just didn’t know it until after we started dating. What difference does it make what order you do it in?”
“Thanks.” I hang up relieved.
But two weeks later, when Garrett hasn’t called to ask me out again, I’m kicking myself for my assumptions. I’ve seen him at church and at the town meeting, but always with a group. Since bowling hasn’t started back yet, it’s not too hard for him to avoid me.
“He’s just shy,” Ami assures me.
“Oh? Did you google that?” I ask, sarcastically.
Her sympathetic understanding just makes me feel worse.
Chapter Twenty-One
As February melts into March, I throw myself into the “Save the Town” campaign. We try to ignore the rumors that are blooming out faster than the trees, even though Ruby got it from “a good source” that Shawn has almost all the signatures he needs to put the name change on the ballot. At the March town meeting, I’m tired of playing ostrich, so I ask Uncle Gus.
His smug smile makes my stomach churn. “When the petition is full, I’ll notify the town council members. Unless. . .” He gives Scott and me a pointed look. “. . .you think we can have a unanimous vote right now and save time and money.”
I shrug. “Not unless John and Dottie have changed their minds.”
I glance over at them, but they don’t look my way. Dottie is another one who avoids me these days. I sent her a little card telling her I didn’t blame her, but I guess she feels guilty. I try to catch her on the way out the door but she’s gone before I reach her.
A week later, as I start preparations for the Spring Festival, I pick up the phone and call her.
“Jingle Bells Library.”
“Dottie, hi, it’s Kristianna.”
“Oh. Kristianna.” I hate the fear in her voice. Am I so fanatical that she thinks I’m going to yell at her? Probably.
“I’m planning my basket for the box auction. Are you putting some together?”
She laughs, a little half-heartedly, but at least a laugh. “I’ve been making baskets for this thing for as long as I can remember. I think everyone would faint if I didn’t.”
“They probably would. Your baskets always go the highest.”
“Well, maybe so, but we both know it’s not because those men are craving my company. More like they’ve had a taste of my fried chicken and are willing to put up with me to
have it.”
I laugh. “Don’t sell yourself short.”
“Usually I do several and let the married ones share with their wives. Then if there’s a widower or two in the bunch, I’ll split my time among them.”
“That sounds fair. But I need to ask you something. What could I put in mine that would make it stand out?” Years ago, the baskets were closed, to make it more of a game, but now they’re open, with cellophane over the top.
“Hmm. . .let me see. Homemade lemonade is always a big hit. And like I said fried chicken. But honey, as young and pretty as you are, you could put bread and water in yours and it would sell.”
I smile. I want it to sell high enough to help me show people that we can raise money for the things we need in Jingle Bells without selling out to Summer Valley. I don’t think my charm’s going to work for that.
“Thanks, Dottie.”
“Oh, your gran always made those Chicken Florentine sandwiches for the auction. They melt in your mouth and smell mighty good too.”
“That sounds perfect.” And easy. “I think that’s what I’ll do.”
“Okay, see you there. And Kristianna?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry about switching sides. And I’m afraid I’ve handled it poorly too.”
I glance at the flyer she made the first night we had the meeting, secured to my refrigerator door with a magnet. “I’ll admit it kind of surprised me.”
“I know. That’s why I haven’t wanted to face you. I’m ashamed I guess. But I just feel like I have to vote what I think is best for the people.”
“That’s what each one of us has to do, Dottie. Don’t be ashamed of that.”
“Thanks, sweetie, for letting an old lady off the hook so easy. Friends?”
“Yes, ma’am. Always.”
I smile as we hang up and look over at the wilted yellow rose I saved when I threw out the Valentine’s bouquet. If only all my relationship problems were so easily resolved.
~~~~~
“While they’re getting ready to start the auction, let’s go hit Uncle Gus in the face with a pie,” Ami says, as we weave through the booths.
Mark laughs. “You sound entirely too enthusiastic.”
If he only knew how much I’d like to smack the mayor with more than a pie. Especially after the way he’s manipulated people like Dottie. “Hey, I think it’s a great idea. Plus it’s for a good cause. Let’s go.” I turn my face toward the sun, soaking in the glorious warm sunshine. Arkansas’s March weather is iffy, but today is beautiful. Maybe things are looking up.
“You girls are bad influences on each other. Where’s Garrett?” Mark looks around. “I’m feeling outnumbered.”
He would have to bring Garrett into it, just when I’m relaxing a little.
Ami’s shoots him a warning look that he doesn’t see at all, but I intercept.
I force a smile. “He’s been real busy lately, Mark. So you’ll just have to learn to stand up to us on your own.”
“In that case, I’d better forget feeding pie to the mayor and save my money to buy Ami’s basket. I’d hate to have to watch her eat lunch with someone else.”
Ami tucks her arm in his. “We’re a package deal, big guy. If someone else wins my basket, they’ll have to take you, too.”
“I’m not worried about that. But there’s just enough food for two and I know who’d have to do without.”
She slaps him playfully on the shoulder.
I snatch a yellow daisy from the nearest lamppost and sniff it. Oops. Silk. I carefully put it back. It looks real at least. No tacky plastic flowers here. “Nobody else does a Spring Festival like Jingle Bells.”
Mark shakes his head. “Nope. They sure don’t. No one else would be crazy enough to put candy canes and daisies in the same decorative scheme.”
Ami snorts. “Decorative scheme? I thought I told you to stop watching Trading Spaces.”
Mark sticks his bottom lip out in a mock pout. “Hey, if it’s good enough for Frank and Doug, it’s good enough for me.”
Ami raises her eyebrows at me. “See? He knows them by name. All of them. It’s an addiction, I tell you.”
I shrug. “He’s ready for you to buy a fixer-upper.”
“Maybe we can if—”
Uh-oh. When someone stops in mid-sentence, it usually means they just remembered their audience. I spear her with a look that says, I’m getting to the bottom of this. No need to try to get out of telling me. “If? If what?” Like I don’t already know.
She waves away my question with her hand. “If nothing.”
“If the name change goes through,” I say the words flatly, because I can’t say them any other way. I feel like a little girl who built a fortress only to discover that the walls are trick props that close in on her when she least expects it.
“Hey.” Ami grabs my hand. “We’re against the name change. On general principles. But if it goes through, we’ll probably be better off financially. That’s just a consolation prize. It’s not something we want to happen. You understand that, don’t you?”
I pull my hand away. Not really. I don’t understand. Not one little bit. What is wrong with these people? Jingle Bells is my childhood sanctuary. My shelter in a rough storm, my. . . you know, it’s mine! And they can’t change the name at all. They just can’t. Not while I have breath in my body. Suddenly I feel like Scarlett O’Hara. I want to throw my fist in the air and declare, “As God is my witness!” And we know how that story ends.
The clang of a bell ends the conversation and my inner drama.
“Folks, come on over for the Forty-eighth Annual Jingle Bells Box Auction.” The auctioneer’s voice booms out over the loudspeaker. “We’ll begin the bidding in five minutes.”
We walk, without talking, to the rows of folding chairs arranged in front of the stage. I just don’t know what to say and I guess Ami feels the same way. I realize that she’s not changed sides. But if she can accept it, and even profit from it, will she still fight as hard?
I don’t know where he comes from, but as soon as we sit down, Garrett slides in next to Mark.
“Long time, no see.” Mark gives him a quick hand clasp.
“Sorry, man.” Garrett leans around and waves to Ami and me. “Been real busy.”
Yeah. Right. Busy avoiding me.
Albert, the local auctioneer, rings the bell again.“Let the bidding begin. First basket up is . . .”
His descriptions are poetical, but long. And the first basket still just starts out at five dollars. Behind me I hear someone call, “Couldn’t get a bag of KFC for that.”
Spurred on by the heckler, I guess, bidders jump in right and left and soon the first basket is gone for nine dollars.
“Oh, mine’s next,” Ami whispers and elbows Mark.
He opens the bid at ten dollars and she frowns at him.
“What?” he hisses.
“Do you know how far I drove to get that?”
"Yes, and now I'm having to pay for it twice." He raises his hand. “Fifteen,” he hollers.
Albert stops and looks at him, then shakes his head. “The newlywed over there just raised himself.”
Everyone laughs and Ami and Mark both have sheepish grins.
“Fifteen, do I hear twenty?”
Garrett raises his hand. “Twenty.”
Mark whips his head around to look at him.
Garrett shrugs. “I like take-out. And I don’t mind eating with the two of you.”
I give him an incredulous look. Hello? Newlyweds on a picnic? Third wheel? You know what? Maybe he’s just dense. Probably I’m just somebody for him to kill time with and I’m blowing everything out of proportion.
“Twenty-five,” Mark yells, with a mock glare at Garrett.
When no one else bids, Albert congratulates Mark and moves on to the next basket.
“So, I guess I’ll have to share this with you?” Mark grumbles to Garrett.
I can’t hear Garrett’s rep
ly, but Mark laughs.
My basket ends up being one of the last ones. I’m not worried about who buys it. Unlike a lot of the single girls, I gave no hints to a certain someone about the identity of my basket. It will sell strictly on its contents and my presentation, and if I have to eat lunch with toothless Mr. Rivers, I will. I’m just hoping it brings in a decent amount for the town.
Albert holds it up for the group to see. “Oh, my, what a delicious-smelling lunch here. We’ve got some fancy chicken sandwiches, homemade lemonade, and a freshly baked apple pie.” He shakes his head. “It’s a wonderful thing that no matter how much things change, they stay the same. I’ve seen many a basket come through with this exact meal over the years. And I was afraid it would be missing this year.” He gives me a broad wink. “It’s enough to make you believe in forever Christmas.”
Oh, great. Every head turns to look at me, and I scrunch down in my chair.
“Wonder whose basket that is?” Mark whispers facetiously.
I shrug. But I know my red face and the fact that I’m half as tall as I was a minute before, confirms Albert’s hints.
“Do I hear an opening bid?” Albert goes into his auctioneer rattle.
Garrett raises his hand. “Twenty dollars.”
Same as he bid for Ami’s. But he’d better be careful. He might end up having to eat lunch with me.
“I’ve got twenty—”
“Thirty,” a voice yells from the opposite aisle.
Shawn.
“Forty,” Garrett shoots back, without hesitating.
“Fifty.”
“Sixty.”
My face is burning so badly, it feels like I fell asleep in the sun. This is not what I had in mind, but on the bidding goes.
“One hundred fifty,” Shawn calls.
“Two hundred,” Garrett says, not even glancing my way.
Chapter Twenty-Two
What is Garrett thinking? I know he can’t possibly afford this. Plus, if he wanted to eat with me so badly, why hasn’t he called me?
“Two hundred,” Albert echoes, but before he can go into his auctioneer call, Shawn raises his bid to two hundred fifty.
Forever Christmas Page 16