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“This race started as an egg-and-spoon race about fifty years ago,” a woman tells me, smiling. “My great-grandmother wasverycompetitive.” She sticks out her hand. “Olivia.”
“Simone.” I grin. “I think she succeeded in passing down that particular gene to the rest of the clan. I can smell the fight in the air.”
Olivia laughs, nodding.
“Will the children please step up to the starting line,” the Seb look-alike calls out. “It’s time for the junior race.”
Bailey sprints toward the starting line near the porch, a little boy beside her. She’s giggling, sticking her leg out to line it up with her partner’s. Nate and Alec pair up together. Toby gets paired with a fierce-looking girl, while Katie decides to sit the race out, sitting down on a chair with her pretty dress perfectly arranged. Her mother’s daughter, evidently.
The ribbons on the porch banister are ceremoniously removed and tied around each team’s ankles.
Mia comes jogging beside us, smiling, and gives me a hug. “Thank you for coming. Seeing you all arrive…you have no idea how comforting it is to see a familiar face.”
“Girl, you couldn’t pay me to leave,” I say. Then, louder, I yell, “Go Bailey!”
Wes sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles.
“Toby! Woohoo!” Trina calls out. Mac makes her screech as he hauls her up onto his shoulders so she can see more clearly, the two of them laughing.
I lean against the banister, Wes pressed behind me with his arms on either side of mine, gripping the railing, and I hold my breath. Movement near the porch stairs to my left draws my eye. It’s Maude, being presented a laptop. A man—her grandson, maybe—points to the spacebar and holds the laptop in front of her.
“Ready!” the Seb look-alike calls out.
Silence descends. The kids arrange themselves on the starting line, serious expressions on their faces. For some reason, I start to hold my breath. The tension mounts—
And Maude presses the spacebar. The sound of a gunshot echoes from the speakers, and the kids take off.
Nate and Alec immediately fall down, screaming. Two other kids, a boy and a girl I don’t know, are the next to go, crying out in despair as they hit the grass. I shift my gaze to the frontrunners.
Two little boys are neck-and-neck with Bailey and her partner. As Toby falls behind, all of us start cheering for our last horse in the race. Bailey looks determined, her blond hair streaming behind her like a golden mane. We scream, and stomp, and cheer, urging her on faster and faster and faster. Mia stands on the bottom rung of the banister, screeching her daughter’s name as her voice cracks. Des’s booming voice echoes around the mountains.
Birds flap and cry as they fly from the surrounding trees in a mad panic to get away from the crazy humans.
I start hysterically laughing. I can’t help it. Tears and snot run down my face as Wes’s arms close around me, his whole body shaking behind me.
“Bailey! Bailey! Bailey!” I scream between laughs.
The Thomas clan is rushing on either side of the racetrack, following the race. At the finish line, one of the grandsons is holding a stopwatch in front of him, every bit of his attention on the finish line. There’s a tripod with a camera on the other side for an official instant replay. Ridiculous. Amazing.
From my angle, it’s hard to tell who’s in the lead between the two teams—until the finish line’s ribbon comes away around Bailey’s chest. She screams, arms up, and turns to hug her race partner as they jump up and down in jubilation, ankles still bound together.
Our crew on the porch is about to break through the planks of wood below us. It’s pandemonium. I’ve never heard a group of soon-to-be fifty-year-olds cheer so loudly before. Bailey turns toward us and meets her mother’s gaze.
Mia is there, sticking her hands out with thumbs-up toward her daughter, pride shining in her eyes. She glances at Des, who curls an arm around her shoulders. Cute.
Wes holds me close, his dimples in full view as he grins at me. “You think we can win that trophy, Simone?”
“I’ll die trying,” I vow, giggling.
23
MIA
My ankle is securedto Des’s. Our sides are pressed together, and he loops his arm over my shoulders. I glance down, noticing that my knee hits him somewhere just above mid-shin, well below the level of his own joint.
Georgia was right. We’re going to trip over each other. The height difference is too much.
“Ready to lose?” Vince says from the other side of me, his gaze crossing above my head to meet Des’s. Ever since he asked me to be his escort to Christmas, he’s ignored me entirely.
