25

LORNA LEANS IN FOR A CLOSER LOOK. “OH, I’VE thought about bringing an alternate and deciding in the moment, but I’ve never had the guts to do it.” Lorna shakes her head. “Jane, you’re more daring than I thought. I better go set up. Good luck!”

“To you too, Lorna.” Mom forces a smile.

The whole time they talk, I feel this heaviness, like the cry-knot I’ve carried around lately is about to sink me through the floor.

As soon as Lorna is out of earshot, Mom whips around and hisses, “You better explain yourself right this instant.” I take a deep breath and get ready to spill everything, but before I have the chance Mom goes on. “Where are the rest of the hay bales? Does your grampa know you took his statue? What in the world are you trying to pull?”

“Mom, I took the hay out. I thought it was there to keep the boots from rolling around. I was going take Dr. Jon over to be appraised. Just to see what he’s worth. With the money we could keep Grampa’s house or pay for him to have a nurse or therapist or whatever.”

“Dr. Jon.” Mom scoffs, shakes her head, and puts her hands over her face. She looks up and says, “Mabel, I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

Finally, I let go of the thing that’s weighed on me the most. “I lied to Grampa that morning, and I didn’t go meet him because I was embarrassed about our hunts, and he had a stroke and was alone all because of me.” I look right at Mom until I get every last word out.

She sighs and comes to stand by me. “Grampa’s stroke was absolutely not your fault.”

“Maybe not.” I nod toward her table. “But this is.”

Mom’s mouth is pinched in an unforgiving line. “I can’t believe you would do this. Without talking to me, without asking Grampa? You know how important today is for me. How seriously I take my tables. And you know how important that”—Mom motions to Dr. Jon—“thing is to him.”

“Oh, I know.” Without meaning to, a little sarcasm sneaks into my words. “You’re always so focused on this stuff and everything being perfect.”

Mom sighs and looks at her table. “Well, it certainly isn’t perfect now.” She turns back to me. “I’m focused on my tables because winning makes me feel valued, like I’m really good at something. Perfection is what wins here.” Mom shakes her head. “I’ll get over it.” Then she lifts the boots she worked on for a month. “With time.” She starts arranging the sprigs of wheat and fake daisies. “Are you going to stand there or help?”

I wipe my cheeks and pull out the candles wrapped in wax paper. Mom already lit them at home and let them burn, tilting them so that the wax dripped down the side exactly the way she wanted. She’s even snipped off the singed part off the wick, so they looked new and old at the same time.

We step back from her table. She sighs again, pulls out her measuring tape, and uses it on the tallest candle and the centerpiece. “With the four inches gone they’re exactly the same height. Varying height is central to a cohesive table. It’s a Principles and Elements deduction for sure. And if I take the candle away and have only the two, it’ll look unbalanced. Another deduction.” She lifts her hands, palms up. “I don’t know what to do. And with Arletta Paisley here as a guest judge…”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

Mom nods. “I know you are.” She gives me a sad smile. “Well, it is what it is. Let’s take some of this stuff back to the car. Then I think I’m going to need a milkshake.”

We don’t talk as we load up the car and make our way back to the convention center. I’m carrying Dr. Jon in my backpack. He doesn’t quite fit, and I can’t zip my bag all the way. Mom sure doesn’t offer to help or to let me roll him around in one of her suitcases again. Once inside, we manage to find milkshakes and an empty table in the food court.

Mom checks her phone over and over, anxious about the judging. It’s about half an hour before we can enter the Main Hall and I’ll finally see what Dr. Jon is worth. But I’m not excited. In fact, every time I think about it, I feel like crying. Mom’s lost the competition before it’s even started. Because of me and four inches.

My backpack sits stiff and round beside my chair with the points of Dr. Jon’s wings pulling the fabric taut and his head sticking out from the top. The spider pin flashes green, and I think of my last hunt with Grampa. I think of heart finds, and how they’re like a bridge from one person’s heart to another, and how the only heart I’ve been thinking about lately is my own. And suddenly I know what to do. “Mom, about how tall would you say your centerpiece was with the hay bales?”

Mom shrugs, then says, “About exactly two feet.”

I crouch, unzip my bag, and heave Dr. Jon to the middle of our table. Mom slowly leans around to look at me, her eyes wide.

“What says farm more than a rooster? That’s why Lorna thought you’d brought an alternate. She thought Dr. Jon was one of your options. He’s perfect.” After what I’ve done lately, the lying and sneaking around and thinking the worst of her, maybe Dr. Jon might save me after all.

“But don’t you have to line up for the appraisal?” Mom asks.

“What about we pull a double switcheroo? Remember that time part of Tamela Carter’s centerpiece was stolen once the judging was over? They ruled it wasn’t grounds for disqualification because the official rules state that the table can’t be altered after the bell for setup and the judging starts. The rules don’t say anything about after the judging is complete. Once the judging ends the scores are final, right?”

“Poor Tamela has the worst luck.” Mom nods. “I don’t think I have much to lose at this point. Let’s go.”

We toss our milkshakes and make a run for it, more like an awkward jog with Dr. Jon in tow and Mom in heels.

As we get to Mom’s table, I see a group of men and women with clipboards gathering. “I think the judges are here.” One judge stands out from the rest; she has carefully curled blond hair, a little too much makeup on, and a tight denim blazer. “Is that Arletta?”

Mom nods and checks her phone. “I’ve got fifteen minutes until the bell.”

She rips the fake wheat from the old centerpiece and shoves the empty boots over to me. The stems of the stalks are actually wire so they can be bent. She arranges them in a thick sunburst shape under Dr. Jon’s base and bends each one slightly upward. Then she takes the daisies, snips their stems off, and sticks them here and there in the wheat. When she steps back, the overall height difference is perfect, and it looks like Dr. Jon has roosted in a nest made by country fairies.

I watch in awe. Grampa always says I have a feel for picking, but it seems to me Mom’s got a feel for this. The way she reimagined her centerpiece all inside a few minutes beats any restoration project Grampa and I ever did. Mom’s got a gift, and she deserves this win and to be a contestant on Top Table. She smiles and even gives me a wink as an alarm sounds and the judges gather around the first table.

The Expo works a little differently than the other competitions Mom’s done. They do the judging today, open the tables to the public, and announce scores the following morning rather than post them.

Mom and I stand outside the corded-off area with all the other tablescapers and a slowly gathering crowd of Expo attendees.

“When do you have to line up for the appraisal?” Mom asks.

Thirty minutes ago. “Soon,” I say, and try to smile so Mom doesn’t sense my lie. At least this fib might actually fix something. Mom hugs her old leather-boot centerpiece tight with one arm, smiles back, and surprises me by reaching down and holding my hand. As the judges near Mom’s table, she squeezes.

The scoring takes forever, and by the time they’ve finished the last table and opened the area to the public again, I’m over an hour late. Mom and I approach her table with the other spectators. “I’ll just slip under the ropes and switch him out for the boots.” Mom crosses her fingers. “Here’s to hoping no one notices.”

“Mom, don’t. Since this competition is different than the others and the final scores aren’t announced until tomorrow, maybe the rules are different. I don’t think we can risk it.”

“But I thought the plan was I’d swap him out, and you run over for the appraisal, and we put him right back?” Mom asks.

“I might’ve bent the truth a little. The appraisals were almost two hours ago.” I shrug. “This is something you deserve. You’ve earned a chance to win.” I nod toward Mom’s new centerpiece. “Whenever Grampa and I find something special, we try to imagine what its next purpose could be. I think this is Dr. Jon’s next purpose. Besides, heart finds are supposed to connect people, and now he connects all of us—Gramma, me, Grampa, and after today, you too.”

“I know another thing your grampa says.” Mom looks at me. “Sometimes you don’t find what you expected, but just what your heart needed.” She squeezes my hand again and stares at me the same way Grampa did when we found my Amberina basket.