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I closed my eyes, recognizing the voice behind me even before I saw his face. “Everything, Heath. Everything’s wrong.”
“Anything I can help with?” He stood before me with his hands on his hips in front of the merry-go-round as the ride workers assembled the last horse.
I was tempted to respond with something sassy, like telling him to stay out of my way. Instead, I sighed, admitting, “Yeah, can you give these tickets to Lori?”
“Sure.” He took the roll of tickets from me, but he didn’t leave my side. I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy to get rid of him. “By the way, I keep forgetting to ask you something.”
I could tell from Heath’s cautious tone and the way he wiped his palm on his jeans I wasn’t going to like this question. “Ask me what?”
“Do you have a date to Owen and Sarah’s wedding?”
“Yes,” I lied, looking him directly in the eyes. He blinked a few times and nodded, turning to look up at the Ferris wheel, which was finally starting to turn. I studied Heath’s face, struggling to remember what it was that made me fall for him in the first place.
“Figured you probably did,” he muttered. “I’ve got a date, too—I was just making sure you had someone. Didn’t want to leave you hanging.”
Right. “Just—go give those to Lori at the ticket booth, okay?” I was glad to get away from him. I’d be happy to never speak with him again, but I knew I wouldn’t be that lucky. I spent the rest of the set-up time hiding from him, avoiding his questions. I almost felt guilty about the way he followed Sarah like a lost puppy, but she seemed to be handling it fine.
As the food vendors started arriving and setting up, the air filled with a decadent combination of smells—funnel cakes, cotton candy, and popcorn. All of these foods, combined with the exhaust fumes from the carnival rides, were making me nostalgic for all the summers my dad took Jamie and me to the county fair when we were little. Our mom couldn’t stand the July heat, so he took us alone, letting us ride the Tornado until we were both ready to barf up all the fried treats he’d splurged on.
I wondered if he ever took his new daughters to the fair.
The smell of caramel distracted me from my daydreaming. I turned around to see a petite woman with short blonde hair arranging trays of caramel apples on a flimsy card table. I would have recognized her as Mason’s mom even if I hadn’t stalked her online—the resemblance was uncanny.
“Excuse me,” I said, walking right up to her. “I don’t think we’ve met—I’m Finley’s teacher, Ms. Devin.”
She put her tray down and smiled, extending her hand to shake mine. “Christine Reed. I have heard all about you,” she said with a laugh. She had kind eyes, just like her son. “Finley just thinks the world of you.”
“It’s mutual.”
“I hope she behaves for you. She can get hyperactive at times. That little girl talks my ear off.”
I smiled warmly. “She’s definitely a little chatterbox.”
“Her dad was, too—he gave all his teachers a run for their money. And I guess my son’s pestering you twice a week now, huh?”
“It’s easy to see where Finley gets her antics,” I joked. “Anyway, I need to check on the other vendors, but I just wanted to thank you for jumping in at the last minute. Mason could tell how devastated I was when the other vendor backed out, and I’m so glad you guys made this possible.”
When I said this, Christine gave me a funny look, and I swore she looked me up and down for a second—like she was trying to figure something out. There was a hint of amusement in her voice when she said, “Well, it’s my pleasure to be able to help out, hon. What’d you say your first name was?”
I hadn’t. “Kendall.”
“Kendall,” she repeated as we shook hands again. “It was wonderful to finally meet you.”
“You too.” Christine had a warm, welcoming presence about her—very mom-like. I felt like I could have stayed and chatted with her longer, but we were twenty minutes from the official start time, and families were beginning to arrive, from the looks of it. There was just something about a Ferris wheel popping up in the middle of town that caught everyone’s attention. I felt my anxiety building as the festival filled up with people—were we ready for this? Were all the vendors here? Why was the DJ I’d hired playing “Thriller” on repeat? Had I thought of everything?
I had to push my panicked thoughts aside to talk to Meghan from the Woodvale Times in front of the merry-go-round. That was one task I would have loved to have delegated to Sarah—she was much better at this kind of thing—but she was nowhere to be found. I had no choice but to do the interview myself.
“Feel free to paraphrase my awkward ramblings,” I told Meghan.
She sighed as she put her recorder away, muttering, “Don’t worry. Nobody reads the fucking paper, anyway.”
I barely had time to react to this frank declaration before Jillian Taylor from WWTV approached me for an interview for the seven o’clock news. It felt like meeting a celebrity—she was on all the billboards around town, and her make-up and blonde bob were just as flawless in person. I hadn’t even reached out to WWTV, but the festival must have caught their attention.
“I’m not really sure what to say,” I admitted to Jillian, trying to comb my hair with my fingers.
“You’ll do fine. Just pretend the camera isn’t there and talk to me. We’ll keep it casual—it’ll be like talking to a friend.” Jillian did have a comforting presence about her, and I felt some of my anxiety melt away. When the camera started rolling, we talked about everything from the fundraising aspect of the festival to what kind of food was being served in the food trucks behind us. “If only you could smell through your TV screens, folks,” Jillian said to the camera, and I mustered up my best fake laugh. It didn’t sound as believable as hers—but then again, she was a pro at this.
Throughout our talk, I imagined I was Sarah—I said all the things I assumed she would probably say. Whatever I could to make Grissom look good. “We’re just hoping everyone in the community can come out and have a good time while supporting a good cause,” I said. The second those words left my mouth, I heard the unmistakable sound of the bouncy castle deflating once again—and this time it was followed by the shrieks of horrified kids. The camera was still pointed at me, so I did my best to keep a smile plastered on my face and pretended like there wasn’t chaos unfolding thirty feet from us.
