The Right Thing

Nan, Wynn, and I went to the parade while Momma, Brent, and his crew went to do a sound check and set up. On the drive to town, I kept replaying my conversation with Momma. I hadn’t given her the answer I meant to. In fact, I’d said I didn’t know, which wasn’t a bit right.

We pulled into a parking spot and got out. Nan hooked her arm through mine, and Wynn did the exact same thing on the other side. It was dorky, but just what I needed. I knew exactly where I wanted to be and who I wanted to be with. We walked like that all the way to the front of the Fabric Barn.

Kids ran toward Main Street, shrieking with laughter while their parents chased after them. Wynn carried three folded lawn chairs with his free arm and set them up on the sidewalk in front of the Fabric Barn. Abby’s family would settle in front of the One Stop, and I made myself not look over.

Holly came out to say hi. Wynn stood. “Have a seat,” he said, offering his chair.

“I wish I could,” she said. “Believe it or not, I’ve got a few customers. I’ll help them, lock the door, and then join you.”

When she returned, she gave me quick kiss on the head. The shock of her greetings and farewells had worn off. I’d gotten used to hugs and pecks.

As the parade music began, I hardly talked and no one seemed to notice. Over the past few days, I’d been growing this small bit of hope, letting it build up little by little like yarn wrapped from a skein. Now with Abby mad at me, I felt it unraveling. I’d made such a mess of the whole living with Momma situation. How could I possibly fix things?

A few families lined the street in front of us with a herd of children who attacked thrown candy like a pack of wolves. The floats were mostly flatbeds full of metal folding chairs holding people from different clubs—except the Springer Swingers, square dancers who used their flatbed to put on a show, and the Kiwanis club, whose members dressed like clowns and rode around on four-wheelers. A clown zoomed by and waved right at me, his big rainbow wig blowing in the wind, and then he reached into a fanny pack, pulled out a handful of candy, and threw it.

“Look.” I nudged Wynn and Nan. “They’re actually wearing clown wigs and fanny packs.”

They laughed, but I couldn’t bring myself back to happy. I went ahead and looked over at the One Stop. Harrison and Garfield both waved. Abby didn’t. But I remembered what she’d said on our first trip to the pond, about the people of Hope Springs being what made the place special. As I waved back to her little brothers, I had an idea that would take all the courage I could muster.

When I got back home, I collected my supplies for the rally. Wynn knocked on my doorframe and stuck his head in. “I think your momma will come around. But you’re going to have to put all your cards on the table,” he said. “If you don’t come right out and say it, she’ll be able to tell herself she didn’t know how you really felt.” He gave me a sad smile. “Believe me, I know.”

I nodded. If he never told Momma how he felt, she could move on like it didn’t matter, like he didn’t matter. I guess Momma was pretty good at moving on too. If ever there was a time for working up the courage to tell the whole truth, it was now.

So much hovered over me that, by the time we got to Griggs’ Rigs Racing, I was almost sorry I’d ever thought up the rally to begin with. But then I saw the tracks all decorated with colorful pennant banners and a motor revved, nearly matching the speed of my heartbeat. We’d done it.

The booths Colton and his brothers built lined the fairway, already drawing a crowd. And things weren’t supposed to start for another half hour. Even the Springer Swingers were there, still in their dancing outfits.

I left Wynn and Nan and searched for Abby’s mom. I found her shaking hands by Miss Esther’s homemade jams and jellies booth.

“Mrs. Standridge, can I talk to you for a second?” I asked.

“Call me Myrna.” She stepped to the back of the booth and I followed. “Listen, honey, I know you and Abby had some kind of argument. You two will work it out. I don’t want to get in the middle.”

“I’ll try to talk to Abby, but I wanted to ask you something else. I want to talk before the concert, right before Arletta, but I want to make sure what I have to say is okay with you.” I outlined my speech, she listened, nodded, and rubbed her chin in true mayoral style.

“Let me think about it for a bit, and I’ll come find you at your craft table,” she said when I’d finished explaining.

The kids’ craft table had been a good idea for three reasons: It kept me busy and distracted, I got to spend some time with Garfield and Harrison, and Holly was at the Fabric Barn booth right next to me. My pint-sized group made monster faces on tennis balls. I cut the balls halfway across the middle for the mouth, and then with a squeeze, they opened up to hold coins. All the kids hoped they’d win the wishing penny raffle after making their very own monster coin purses. When Abby’s mom came to pick up the twins she said, “Go ahead. It’s worth it.”

Abby’s booth was across the fairway from mine. She didn’t have to try to avoid me; she was too busy. The line for her lures and dip bait was never fewer than twenty people deep. Even though we were both swamped, I caught her looking my way a few times.

As I packed away my supplies before the concert started, Colton walked over with a boy about a foot taller. Most people had cleared out, drifting to the stage. The tall boy gave Colton a push in my direction, while I tried to act like I wasn’t watching.

“That’s one of my brothers. Truitt, the tall one,” Colton said.

I smiled, but all I could think of was what I planned to say in front of a crowd of people and if Abby would ever forgive me. Asking Arletta Paisley a question on her show was big, like jumping over a deep ravine to get to the other side, but what I was about to do was like leaping off a cliff with no other side in sight.

“So, your mom and Brent are setting up,” he said. “She said my stage was ‘cute as a bug’s ear,’ but they needed a ‘smidgen’ more space.” He used finger quotes. “Also said you might be moving soon.”

How could she tell Colton? I slammed my boxes on the table. Beads and sequins scattered, and tennis balls bounced in all directions. A hot, tight feeling crept up my throat. I knelt down and crawled under my table, pretending to pick up supplies, just in time to hide the first tears that sneaked down my cheeks. As I wiped at my face, Colton’s head leaned down and then he crouched beside me, quietly picking googly eyes out of the dirt.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should’ve told Abby and you too. But it’s not for sure. My mom… she doesn’t even really know me. But I’m about to do something that might help, if it doesn’t scare me to death first.” I started to stand but stopped when I noticed Colton smiling at me.

“What are you smiling at?” I picked up a few tennis balls and stuffed them into my bag.

“Not knowing you—it’s her loss.” He handed me a tennis ball. Colton might be stingy with words sometimes, but he sure chose the right ones when it counted. We walked over to the stage together, his hand holding mine.

“I’m nervous,” I admitted.

“You can do it,” he said without even knowing my plan. “Whatever it is. You can do it.” He smiled so big that I believed him—for three of the five steps up to the stage, I totally believed him.

There were hundreds of people by now, a sea of hats and hairdos. Momma and Brent were to the side of the stage, and Arletta Paisley stood right next to my mom. Abby’s mom shook each of their hands before walking out to the mic stand, and instead of adjusting the microphone to a lower setting, she used the step stool Abby and I painted.

“I know Brent Chisholm and Lexie Kirk are about to play, but let’s be honest, the real reason we’re all here is to see who wins this quilt contest. Am I right?” A few laughs and hoots answered her. “Despite the short notice, we had more than fifty entries. And the winner is… owner of the Fabric Barn, Holly Paine!”

Holly took the stage with Rayburn trotting close behind wearing a red bandanna, and my hands burned from clapping so hard. The quilt was rolled out on a display rack used for hanging clothes. Stitched in the center was the well from the town’s square; above it, Holly had embroidered the words Hope Springs Eternal and below, A treasure worth more than gold. Around the edge were the squares we’d made together from scraps left by the people of Hope Springs—every print and color imaginable, a real mismatched jumble that together looked perfect.

Holly accepted an envelope from Abby’s mom and handed it right back.

“Thank you, Mayor. Now I’d like to take my winnings and donate them to the Downtown Revitalization Fund. And I’d like to thank my business partner, Jubilee Johnson, for all her help and inspiring ideas.” The applause and yelling went on for a few minutes, and I smiled as my cheeks warmed from the unexpected attention.

“The judges felt that Holly’s quilt embodied the spirit of Hope Springs. And I personally think this gesture”—Abby’s mom held up the envelope—“does as well. We are a community that rallies together, that supports each other. All of you being here shows we can do a lot more than hope, when we work together.” The crowd erupted, and my voice joined the shouts. “Before we start, we have a special guest who would like to say a few words.”

Arletta took a few steps forward, but Abby’s mom stopped her with a hand and motioned for me. I walked past Arletta, making sure not to meet her eyes. One misstep and I might lose my nerve. It wasn’t until I got close to the microphone that I realized I was humming “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.”

My insides felt like they’d up and turned into fireflies. I took a deep breath and smelled fresh hay bales and the pine planks used for the stage, and I thought I even caught a whiff of the pond—scents that alone wouldn’t have been anything special, but together were “just right” perfect.