We pass by the silent auction tables. There is some artwork from local artists, baskets of fruit from a vendor, a basket of ground coffee, mugs, a french press, and a milk frother from Violet’s café, some handmade jewelry, some movie passes, plus some more items from local businesses in town.
“I think these are going to go fast,” I say. “People love supporting something they feel invested in.”
She nods. “They are going to love it. You’ve done a great job putting this together.”
I smile, catching her gaze. “We’ve done a good job. You have been helping me a lot.”
She smirks. “Fine, fine, I’ll accept partial credit.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Partial is better than nothing. I’ll take it.”
“I noticed you had some visitors,” she says as she looks up at me.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The music from the band drifted across the square while the kids ran past them toward the petting zoo.
“How did it feel talking to them?” she asks.
I let out a quiet breath. “Honestly, it felt strange,” I reply, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Strange good or strange bad?” Violet asks.
“A little of both,” I admit. “My dad looked around for a while before he said anything. Like he was trying to figure out what he thought of the whole thing.”
“What did he say?” she asks.
“He said I was doing something good for the town,” I reply, looking down at her.
Violet’s eyebrows lift. “That’s big, Everett.”
I nod. “Yeah, it is.”
I glance out at the crowd again, “For a long time, I think he thought leaving meant I didn’t care about this place anymore.”
“And you did,” Violet says quietly.
“Always,” I say back.
“Well, for what it’s worth,” she says, “I think he’d have to be pretty blind not to see how proud he should be of you.”
I chuckle. “Careful, Violet, compliments like that might go to my head.”
By the time we walk back toward the café, the sun is lower, casting long shadows across the square. Families linger, kids still running around, and the band starts playing a slower tune. Violet hands out pastries and smiles at a couple of kids.
“I can’t believe how busy it is. Word seems to have spread because there are people I have never seen before, so they must be from towns over,” she says, wiping a hand across her forehead.
“Small towns love a good excuse to gather and have fun, this is the perfect excuse to do that,” I say.
As it gets later in the afternoon, people start to head home, leaving behind empty tables and a few stray balloons. I look around at the fundraiser, at the joy on everyone’s faces, and at Violet. She is kneeling to help a little boy tie his shoe, and I realize, this is what it’s all about. Not just the theater, not just the money, but the memories, the laughter, the connection.
I think again about the theater, about the fundraiser, about her. Dreaming of what this place could mean to others, filled with memories for them, and hopefully, someday memories for us.
She glances up at me, catching my gaze. Her lips curved in that soft, familiar smile, and I felt a warmth spread through me. I want to freeze this moment, hold it in my chest, keep it just as it is.
The sky started turning that soft golden color that only showers up right before sunset. The band packed up their instruments, the last few kids wandered away clutching sticky cotton candy, and the petting zoo animals were being loaded back into the trailer from Brooks farm.
I stand near the silent auction table, scanning the sheets one more time, when people gather their things and slowly drift toward home. A few balloons bounce lazily against the string lights overhead, and the scent of popcorn still lingers in the air.
I let out a slow breath. It worked. Not just a little, it had really worked.
