The Rodgers brothers were famous for their dustups. Shane once drove Frank’s truck into the creek, and Frank broke Shane’s fishing rod over his head in retaliation. After that, neither of them spoke to the other for twenty-two years. It was a Miracle they showed up at Sook Diner one day at the exact same time, both intending to call the feud quits. Ever since, each brother seemed to know what the other was thinking without saying a word. But when Rosie asked Shane and Frank why they’d each decided to forgive the other on that particular day, neither of them had a reason. They were one more Miracle Rosie couldn’t explain. In fact, all the Miracles were starting to seem more and more … random.
“Everything is going wrong. What if I can’t get this movie made?” Rosie asked, her body slumping against the door.
“You’ll make it. You’ve hit a few roadblocks. That’s all,” Mama said.
Rosie gazed down at her hands. “It’s more than that. It feels as though this whole film is cursed, like that Howard Hughes movie The Conqueror, where the cast and crew died of cancer caused by radiation poisoning.”
Mama snorted. “Sugar, I think you’re being a little dramatic.”
“I’m not,” Rosie protested. “I’ve never had so many things go wrong on a film set. Three people canceled their interviews after the town meeting, and a bunch of others won’t call me back. The festival is in eight days, and I’m no closer to proving what causes the Miracles than I was when I started. This is my worst movie ever.”
“I don’t believe that,” Mama said. “That movie you made in fifth grade was much worse than this.”
Rosie jerked her head up in surprise, and Mama’s eyes twinkled down at her.
“I’m joking.” Mama hugged Rosie’s shoulders. “The documentary will turn out fantastic. You just have to keep going. What if I call Miss Matilda and talk her into helping you? She holds a lot of sway in this town. If she agrees to help, everyone else will follow.”
“That might work.” Rosie brightened a little.
“Do you want to show me your storyboard? We could brainstorm,” Mama offered.
Rosie’s chest expanded with air, and she reached for her backpack. Maybe Mama was right and her film career wasn’t over yet. “I could use your help figuring out who else to interview. I’ve got some notes on different scenes and—”
The knock on the door startled them both.
Mama walked to the front of the house. As she opened the door, her shoulders immediately straightened. “Well, hey there.”
Rosie craned her neck to see who was behind the door. It was Sheriff Parker.
“Come on in,” Mama said.
Sheriff Parker stepped over the threshold.
Rosie held up her hands. “I know why you’re here, but I had a permit. You signed it yourself. I wasn’t doing a thing wrong filming on Magnolia Street. I didn’t start the fight, and I can’t help it if the Rodgers brothers won’t stop arguing.”
Sheriff Parker ran a hand over his hair and sighed. “In the future, I’d appreciate it if you could minimize the potential for public disturbances. The police department does have actual crimes to investigate instead of patrolling your movies.”
Rosie forced herself not to roll her eyes, but only because Mama was standing right there. Obviously, she didn’t want to cause a public disturbance; she only wanted to direct a film.
“But I’m not here about the fight.” He turned to Mama. “We’ve got to close the parking lot for the Alder building tomorrow on account of the utility company needing to do some emergency line repair. I know it’s last minute and folks get upset when we close things without telling them.” Sheriff Parker’s smile was rueful. “I wasn’t sure how to inform people in advance, and you seem to know how to handle these things best.”
Mama blushed. She actually blushed.
“I’m sorry I came by without calling,” Sheriff Parker said.
“Why didn’t you go see Mrs. Stevens, who’s in charge of the electric department?” Rosie asked, crossing her arms.
Sheriff Parker shifted back on his heels. “Um, well, your mama is better at dealing with the public.”
“We’re about to eat supper and work on my storyboard, right, Mama?” Reaching into her backpack, Rosie pulled out the folder where she kept all her documentary notes.
“Oh, I’m sure I can spare a few minutes since you came all the way over here,” Mama said. “Rosie, will you go to the kitchen and check on the sauce?”
“Right now?” Rosie asked. Her hand holding the folder deflated to her side.
“Yes, right now,” Mama said, still looking straight at Sheriff Parker. “We’re having leftover spaghetti.”
“I love leftover spaghetti,” Sheriff Parker said.
“There’s only enough for two people,” Rosie retorted.
Mama gave her a look that could have cut through steel and gripped her arm. “Sheriff Parker, will you excuse us for a quick minute?” She pulled Rosie into the kitchen.
As soon as the kitchen door swung closed behind them, Rosie flipped up her palms. “I’m sorry, but you said we would work on my documentary and he—”
“What has gotten into you?” Mama interrupted, narrowing her eyes. “Sheriff Parker is here for work, and he needs my help. We talked about this last week. I expect you to be polite and quit acting so ugly. I’m serious, Rosie.”
“Okay,” Rosie said defensively, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “But are we going to work on my storyboard?”
Mama sighed. “Yes, of course we will, but I need to deal with this first.” She turned and left the room.
Rosie could hear their voices murmuring as she stirred the red sauce simmering on the stove. Surely Sheriff Parker could solve a little road closure problem himself. Why did he need to come over to their house during suppertime and bother Mama when Rosie needed her help? She frowned down at the bubbles popping in the sauce, each one a mini volcanic explosion. After a moment, she tiptoed back to the edge of the kitchen and peered into the foyer.
Mama stood half a breath away from Sheriff Parker. Right then they weren’t saying anything. And the way they were standing so close … well, it did not look like official town business. Rosie’s stomach jumped like a shaky camera.
She took a step forward and cleared her throat. Sheriff Parker and Mama both looked over and took a small step back. There was a crackling in Rosie’s ears like frying chicken. Did Mama like him?
Sheriff Parker looked left and right as if he didn’t have a darn clue where to rest his eyes. He patted his pockets, pulling out a small notebook and pen. “So yes, I wanted to talk about closing the Alder parking lot. We’re planning to redirect traffic to Dogwood Lane, but I was trying to decide if I should call some of the business owners tonight. I don’t want to bother them in the evening.”
“It might be worth a few quick calls,” Mama said in a brisk voice, glancing back at Rosie, who was still rooted to the patch of floor outside the kitchen.
Sheriff Parker backed into the doorknob. He bent down to get a better look at the faded gold lock. “This lock couldn’t keep out a stiff breeze. If you wanted, I could send Nate Plodder over here to install a dead bolt. He does handyman work for our department and he’s reasonable. I’d feel a whole lot better if you had a real lock on this door.”
Mama smiled, and Rosie went cold. This was their home, no one else’s. Mama and Rosie could handle real locks on their own. They didn’t need Sheriff Parker’s handyman friends. They could take care of everything together.
“We don’t need a new lock,” Rosie said, squeezing her elbows against her rib cage.
“A new lock would be nice.” Mama gave Rosie a warning look.
Sheriff Parker straightened, and his head grazed the bottom of their old crystal chandelier. He was too tall for this house, for this foyer, for Mama.
A knock sounded on the front door again. Sheriff Parker opened it to reveal Henry with a worried look on his face. Rosie motioned him inside, past Mama and Sheriff
Parker, who had started talking about traffic patterns.
“I saw the police car,” Henry said, crossing the foyer to Rosie. “He’s not here to arrest you for filming without a permit, is he?”
“No, he’s here about something else,” Rosie said.
She led Henry into the family room and collapsed onto one of their squishy cream couches, her legs weak and shaky. Mama was smiling up at Sheriff Parker now and laughing in the same way she always laughed with Rosie.
“Are you all right?” Henry asked.
“Fine,” Rosie said, and lowered her voice. “At least I would be fine if Sheriff Parker would go away.”
“He doesn’t seem that bad today,” Henry said, sitting down beside her.
Mama let out another peel of laughter from the foyer. Rosie cringed.
“I think he might like her … romantically,” Rosie said, nodding to Sheriff Parker. She shivered, unable to even think about Mama liking him back.
Henry’s eyes widened. “Sheriff Parker and Miss Caroline? Are you kidding?”
“I wish I were,” Rosie grumbled.
“I’m sure he’s only here about work,” Henry said. “Sheriff Parker doesn’t like anyone. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“I guess,” Rosie said quietly, turning her head and noticing Sheriff Parker weaseling his way closer to Mama.
“Hey, what happened to you today?” Henry asked.
“What do you mean?” Rosie said, tearing her gaze from the foyer.
“You were supposed to meet me at the museum so we could check out Lonnie Garrett’s diary. Remember? I waited for a half hour.”
Rosie clapped a hand to her head. “Henry, I’m sorry! I forgot. I was upset about filming and came straight home after the Rodgers brothers got into a fight.”
“I figured,” Henry said. “It’s fine.”
Henry picked at the stitches on the couch cushion, and Rosie knew it wasn’t fine at all. Rosie slumped down, wishing she’d remembered to meet Henry. She pictured him standing by himself waiting for her and glancing at his watch every few minutes. What sort of thoughtless person forgot to meet their best friend? She couldn’t get anything right today.
“We could go over there tomorrow?” Rosie offered, and Henry looked up and started to smile.
Rosie bit her lip. “No, wait. I’m interviewing Warner Carson tomorrow afternoon. Do you know he fell off the First National Bank roof sixty years ago while trying to fix a leak? He walked the next day and eventually became an Olympic high jumper. And the day after that, I’m trying to get an appointment with Dr. Rhodes. She survived a deadly dog attack when she was little and now she’s a vet. I heard she can tell what’s wrong with any animal. I hope she returns my calls. Her interview could be really cool. Anyway, this week is so busy. Maybe next week?”
Henry stood. “It’s okay. I’ll go by myself.”
“Are you sure?” Rosie asked. A twinge of guilt made her look at him more closely.
Henry’s smile wavered but stayed in place. “I’m sure. I know you’ve got a lot to do for the documentary.”
“I really do,” Rosie said, relieved Henry wasn’t mad she’d forgotten their plans.
“I should go,” Henry said, standing up and heading for the front door.
Sheriff Parker was still staring at Mama and pretending to write down answers to his unnecessary questions. And Mama … she was staring right back at him, not making a single move to send him on his way. Couldn’t she see it was time for their spaghetti dinner and to work on the storyboard? Didn’t she know this meeting had gone on much too long? Rosie closed her eyes, not wanting to see them talking or laughing together anymore.
They were only steps apart, but at that moment Rosie had never felt farther away from Mama.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Rosie had woken up Saturday morning to the smell of sugar and strawberries. Mama had made her favorite breakfast: strawberry pecan pancakes.
They were now watching The Parent Trap (the original and far superior version) while eating pancakes over the coffee table. Mama and Rosie spent every Saturday morning together in just this way. They stayed in their pajamas until eleven o’clock, even if their house needed cleaning or Rosie had a school project or there was some event in town. Mama said it could wait until after their movie. Saturday-morning movies were sacred.
Everything was back to normal. Though they hadn’t talked about Sheriff Parker and his visit the other day, he hadn’t stopped by since. Rosie was beginning to think she’d overreacted and there was nothing romantic going on between Mama and Sheriff Parker. Thank goodness.
“You’re making a big mistake. Just because you’re identical twins and very cute, you should not switch places and try to fool your poor parents. There’s no excuse,” Mama called out. Mama liked to provide what she called “relevant commentary,” while their movies were playing.
“Sugar, promise me you will never switch places with your identical twin sister,” Mama said.
“As far as I know, I don’t have an identical twin sister.”
“Exactly. I’m glad we have our stories straight,” Mama replied, double winking at Rosie.
Rosie double winked back and settled into her favorite couch cushion, the one perfectly molded to her back. She took another bite of pancakes, the tart strawberries melding with the rich maple syrup.
When the doorbell rang a few minutes later, Mama looked over at Rosie in surprise. “Who could that be? Everyone knows its Saturday-morning movie time.”
“I’ll get it,” Rosie said, hopping out of her seat. “Press pause.”
“You’ve seen this movie twenty times. You can repeat all the lines by heart.”
“I still don’t want to miss any of them,” Rosie called back.
Cam waited on the front stoop, her hands in her pockets. “Sorry to interrupt the movie.”
Rosie opened the door wider. “Come on in. Mama made pancakes if you’re hungry.”
Just then Betsy hurried down the sidewalk, clutching a paper bag from Sook Diner and a small shovel with a red handle. She was headed in the opposite direction of her house.
Rosie waved. “You’re going the wrong way.”
Betsy held up the shovel and kept up her brisk pace. “Mr. Blandstone forgot this outside Sook Diner, and I’m returning it. But if you see Miss Matilda, don’t mention I found it right next to the new hole beside her dumpster.”
“This town has treasure fever.” Rosie laughed and turned back to Cam.
But Cam didn’t crack a smile. “I wanted to talk to you about the reenactment.”
Rosie knew all documentaries needed at least one good reenactment. She planned to re-create Tom Bolling’s Miracle save from a near drowning. Rosie pictured his head sinking beneath the surface like a waterlogged leaf until a bright yellow raft appeared from out of nowhere to save his life. According to Mama, no one could ever explain where the raft came from.
“I’ve got Perry Cabell from down the block all set to play Tom. He’s eight but pretty small for his age, so I think it will work,” Rosie said, tapping her fingers against the door.
“I was wondering if we could switch the time.”
“There’s no way you’ve got soccer practice tonight,” Rosie said.
“It’s not that. It’s … something else. Remember how I’m spending the night with Leila?” Cam asked, staring at the brick steps.
Rosie went still. She didn’t remember, and Cam hadn’t mentioned it all week.
“She invited some guys from the soccer team to come over and hang out earlier. I think we’re having pizza and watching a movie, maybe kicking the ball around in Leila’s backyard. Anyway, it starts at four.” Cam looked up and finally met Rosie’s eyes.
Rosie’s face burned hot. “That sounds fun,” she said in a weird, fake voice.
“I want to help you though,” Cam said, taking her hands out of her pockets before shoving them back in. “Could we do the reenactment earlier?”
“Perry has
peewee football, so we can’t move the time.”
“Oh,” Cam whispered.
The silence between them was thicker than Brunswick stew. Rosie didn’t know where to look or what to say. It was as if she were talking to someone she barely knew instead of her best friend.
Rosie pulled at the sleeve of her pajamas. “If you’d rather go to the party, you should go. It’s fine.”
“I’ll skip the party,” Cam said, her entire body stiff.
Cam stared at a point over Rosie’s shoulder. Though Cam had said the right thing, Rosie knew she didn’t mean it.
“I can tell you don’t want to miss it,” Rosie said.
“I didn’t say that,” Cam said, sounding angry.
Rosie pressed her nails into her palms, focusing on the pricks of pain in her hands instead of the pricks of tears behind her eyes. “You should go to Leila’s. It’s not like you believe in the Miracles anyway.”
Cam sighed. “All I said was I wanted more proof.”
“What do you think I’m trying to do with the documentary?” Rosie asked, her voice rising.
“Have you found out what causes the Miracles yet?” Cam asked.
Rosie remained silent. She wished she could edit herself out of this entire conversation.
“That’s what I thought,” Cam said. “I get why you want to make the documentary, for your dad. But face it: you’re not going to prove the Miracles are real.”
Rosie sucked in her cheeks. Cam sounded like such a know-it-all.
“I’m sorry I haven’t figured it all out yet. Maybe your new friends at Leila’s party know the answers,” Rosie said sarcastically.
“I doubt that.” Cam snorted. “I’m pretty sure none of them are thinking about the Miracles.”
Because thinking about the Miracles is immature. That was what Cam really meant. She meant Rosie was immature. Maybe she was right.
Rosie’s chin trembled. Cam was skipping the reenactment and had deserted Rosie at the town meeting last week. Rosie was losing her best friend to Leila and parties and the Lounge. Her chest ached as if something had cracked inside her. Unlike the characters in her films, she couldn’t direct Cam into wanting to hang out with her, as much as she wished she could.
Forever Glimmer Creek Page 9