I don’t hear a single full sentence of Chuck’s sermon. Mostly, I’m staring at the back of Lexie’s spiky hair and Victoria’s silky straight mane. The longer I stare, the more Victoria starts to look like a storm cloud, filled with winds strong enough to knock a friendship down.
At the end of the sermon, right when I’m expecting everyone to stand, Chuck points to the man sitting next to Victoria and announces, “Mr. Cole has asked if he could have a moment of your time.”
Chuck steps aside, and lets Victoria’s dad stand in front of us all. He’s wearing a suit, but he looks comfortable in it, like maybe he’s the kind of guy who wears suits all the time—even to the Fill ’N Sip for a bag of ice.
“As some of you are probably aware,” Mr. Cole begins, “Reverend Taylor has already begun the task of seeking funds to renovate the Hopewell Community Church. In appealing for funds, he and I came into contact with each other. I’m on the city council, after all. As an extension of the city council—and as a result of the recent storm—I’ve helped form a new committee. The House Beautification Committee. And that’s why I came to introduce myself today.”
I glance at Weird Harold. I can practically feel him bristle on the other side of the all-purpose room. He crosses his arms over his chest, and shakes his head beneath a ball cap that says I’M NOT WHO YOU THINK I AM. He’s suspicious. Already.
“Following our recent storm, the House Beautification Committee would like to make sure that the sections of Willow Grove that were hit the hardest are rebuilt in a way that preserves the charm of our city. We want Willow Grove to continue to be the beautiful city it’s always been.
“My daughter, Victoria, a junior member of the committee, has a few handouts,” Mr. Cole goes on. Chair legs squeak as Victoria jumps to her feet, as though she’s been waiting all morning for this very moment. “We simply want to remind everyone of some of the existing ordinances of Willow Grove as we all rebuild those structures hit by the storm,” Mr. Cole says, grinning at us as Victoria passes out the papers like a teacher’s pet.
My heart is as scraped and hot as a rug burn as she heads toward the section where I’m sitting. I try to seem completely unfazed when she hands me a printed sheet. But the truth is, I can barely even read the handout through my tears:
ATTENTION
RESIDENTS OF SERENDIPITY PLACE
A Neighborhood in Willow Grove, Missouri
A property is in violation of city codes if:
1. Any structure present on the property (including, but not limited to, a house or outbuilding) is not being adequately maintained or is deemed to be a fire hazard.
2. Any land within property boundaries (including, but not limited to, lawns, gardens, or undeveloped lots) is shown to have a significant overgrowth of brush or weeds, or grass measuring more than ten (10) inches.
3. Any land within property boundaries contains items or materials deemed to be a threat to public safety.
4. Any structure or land within property boundaries is found to be in violation of city health codes.
The owner of an offending property will receive one (1) warning notice, and a forty-five (45) day conditional grace period, during which the owner will be required to improve the condition(s) of their property.
If a property owner fails to comply, the grace period will be deemed null and void; said owner shall be fined $10–$100 a day for each of the prior forty-five (45) days and every day that it remains in violation thereafter.
The amount of the fine will be based on the severity of the offense(s).
Thank you,
The House Beautification Committee
(Making our city beautiful, one house at a time.)
“But Serendipity Place didn’t get hit by the storm,” Weird Harold shouts, even as his dad tries to shush him. “Not like our church did. Our neighborhood looks exactly like it did before. And what’s this about yards being overgrown? What does that have to do with storm damage?”
“You’re worried the committee will make you clean up your room,” Irma Jean teases.
Laughter spreads, loud enough to cover anything else Weird Harold tries to say. Chairs screech, too, as everyone stands and starts to leave, off to a Sunday brunch and the ambrosia salad or the fried chicken leg they’ve started to daydream about.
I finally get up, start saying my good-byes and helping Ms. Dillbeck out of her chair. I catch sight of Victoria—even though I don’t see Lexie, I can see the red spikes of her hair sticking up above Victoria’s head, the way a shark fin sticks up out of the ocean. Lexie and Victoria are walking side by side toward the exit. I decide, right then, to only miss three things about Lexie:
1. Her long red hair that she could twist into a million never-before-seen hairdos.
2. The way our laughter used to sound like it needed each other, the way piano notes need each other to form a chord.
3. The way she liked to wish with me as we stared up at my mom, the brightest star in the sky.