by Ashton Lee
But Renette had taken a stand against the control she had been wanting to buck all her life. “Both of you always see the worst in everything and everybody. People are a whole lot nicer than you think they are. When I interviewed for the library job, Miz Mayhew couldn’t have been sweeter to me. She said I was just the sort of person she was looking for, and I know I will learn a lot working for her. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to make your own way in the world.”
Her father had continued his cautionary tone. “But you have no idea what the world is really like, Renette. We just want to protect you from it. What kind of parents would we be if we didn’t?”
“But I want to try to manage things on my own for a while. Don’t you understand that?”
“What I understand is, that librarian you work for is bad news,” Lula said, ganging up on her daughter. “She trades in all those scandalous books that are not fit for decent people to read. It was shameful what we found on her shelves, and when we went to her and asked her politely to remove some of them, she refused. She was right proud about that as I recall. I think that was downright irresponsible. She took no responsibility for the effects they would have on innocent children just like yourself. Witches and vampires and such as that—just to name a few—displayed just right out in the open, brazen as you please. What is the world coming to?”
“I am not a little child anymore, Mother. And I’m not nearly as innocent as you think.”
Lula gasped and drew back in horror. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying, young lady?”
Renette was up to the challenge and even managed a smile. “How am I supposed to know what you’re saying when you don’t know the difference between condoms and condiments?”
A vein in Hardy Posey’s dome-like forehead with its receding hairline became more prominent as he raised his voice. “Don’t you dare go and sass your mother that-a-way, young lady!”
“I wasn’t sassing. I just wanted to say that Miz Mayhew takes everything into consideration when she buys every book for the library. She listens to everyone’s opinion, but she doesn’t believe in censorship. She doesn’t think that’s a library’s role in the community. She says it’s a slippery slope, and she wants to stay away from it under all circumstances.”
“That I can certainly believe. I’m sure she justifies everything she does so she can keep her job,” her father said, calming down only slightly. “People like that do not accept a greater authority in their lives the way we do.”
“What good does she really do in that library, Renette?” Lula asked. “Seems to me she sits around all day thinkin’ up speeches to yap at her patrons when they come in with legitimate complaints, and then she buys whatever she wants with the taxpayers’ money. She’s just a dictator is what she is. So I have to ask you again what she accomplishes with that.”
“Among other things, she encourages people to read the classics. I remember not liking one bit having to read a couple of them in high school. But Miz Maura Beth has changed my thinking completely on the subject. For instance, have you ever read The Scarlet Letter?”
Lula looked like her daughter was speaking in a foreign language. “Read what kind of letter?”
“Never mind. The point is, I’ve started reading the classics since I went to work at the library. The Scarlet Letter is about a woman who has to wear an A on her clothing in public because she has committed adultery. But you end up feeling that she is the one who is being wronged and persecuted. I think it sends a very powerful message about not judging people and allowing them to live their lives the way they want.”
“You don’t even know what you’re saying. Decent people wouldn’t write about such things.”
“Nathaniel Hawthorne did.”
“Who’s he?”
“The author.”
“Never heard of him. Must be one of those trashy romance novelists. They encourage people to do as they please and become the slaves of lust. Why, they even have half-naked people on the covers.”
Renette laughed. “How would you even know about that, Mama? Do you read them?”
“I most certainly do not. I would never even touch such trash. I just happen to see them at the checkout counter at The Cherico Market. I’ve always thought James Hannigan should be ashamed of himself selling those things where even innocent little children can see ’em plain as day. Really, I think your father and I oughta go down there and ask him to remove ’em just like we asked Miz McShay to remove those books at the library. If people like your father and I don’t start standin’ up for decency in this country, I’d like to know who will.”
“No one forces anyone to buy those novels at the grocery store, and no one forces anyone to check out certain books at the library, either. It’s still a free country, you know. That’s what seems to have escaped both of you.”
Lula quickly covered her ears with her hands. “I will not hear any more of this, Renette. You’re naïve about the ways of the world, and someday you’ll find out that I was telling you the truth. I hate to see you going against all your father and I and the church have taught you. If you keep this up, you are bound to bring shame upon this family. Don’t expect us to be here for you if you turn your back on your training. That’s fair warning.”
As Renette continued to stand before the mirror and reminisce about the numerous tilts with her parents, her mother’s words seemed like a slap in the face on this Fourth of July evening. Here she was, made up to the hilt as she had never even attempted before, and it was all for a country singer she had only met once and might not ever meet again. She had gone through Maura Beth to try to wangle an invitation to something—anything—that might allow her to see and talk to him again. A meeting at City Hall with Councilman Sparks and Waddell Mack? Was that in the offing? If so, could she somehow be included in that? Was Waddell Mack coming to the Grand Opening, and could she be the one to show him the ins and outs of the new library as her special guest? Or would the security guards surrounding him because of the concert prevent her from any sort of access at all this time around?
As it happened, the latter turned out to be the working reality for her, and she was left with only the overwrought fantasies that had been playing in her head for months now, keeping her awake at nights. So when the words came out of her mouth before the mirror where she was preening and posing around six o’clock, she was not particularly shocked to hear them.
“You are one wicked little girl, Renette Elaina Posey, and it’s high time you showed up and made your mark at something other than helping people check books out of the library.” Then she winked at herself several times, again admiring her newly made-up face. “Now get out there, have a little gumption, be brave, and stop putting your life on hold,” she said out loud.
* * *
Most of the members of The Cherry Cola Book Club were sitting out on the deck of the new library in the random collection of chairs they themselves had rounded up and installed for the Grand Opening in a frenetic display of energy. As a reward for their loyalty, Maura Beth had reserved the best seats for them so they could view the fireworks display that would be taking place in a little under fifteen minutes. The bleachers that had been set up for Waddell Mack’s concert were also packed with many of the same people who had patronized the food tents and attended the awards ceremony in the library’s mini-auditorium. But first the sun had to give up completely on the long day and allow the required backdrop of darkness. No need to dilute the pyrotechnics to come with too much light.
“I can’t believe what you just told all of us,” Connie McShay was saying to Maura Beth, who was seated next to her near the deck railing. “I halfway expect those two to fall into the lake at some point. Good thing we all know how to swim in case we need to rescue them. I know I don’t much look the part now since I’ve allowed myself to become so pleasingly plump over the years, but I was a right good lifeguard during summer vacations when I was in high school. I could blow a whistle and yell at peop
le to stop splashing each other and horsing around with the best of them.”
What Maura Beth had just shared with the group was the shocking revelation that Councilman Sparks had put “Chunky” Badham and “Gopher” Joe Martin in charge of the fireworks display on his very own yacht in the middle of Lake Cherico. Their reputation as his consummate lackeys definitely preceded them, and the deck was rife with speculation about whether they could actually pull it off without looking like an episode of The Three Stooges.
“Give Durden credit, though. I nearly fell out when he told me that he was going to be out there at the wheel, keeping an eye on them,” Maura Beth said, barely able to make out the yacht in the rapidly fading light.
Connie couldn’t hold back her laughter. “I certainly wouldn’t have expected him to be so hands-on where explosives were concerned.”
“Hey, his last name isn’t Sparks for nothing,” Jeremy added, sitting on the other side of Maura Beth.
“He’s been a good sport in general today,” Maura Beth said. “I think it’s finally dawned on him that our new library is truly something he can show off and be proud of. Their names on these buildings is what gets these politicians’ juices flowing every time, and in spite of himself, our councilman has an accomplishment for the ages under his belt.”
“You’re so modest not to have insisted that your name be on the building, too,” Connie said.
“You sound like my mother now. But don’t worry, I’m on the plaque inside. That’s more than enough for me,” Maura Beth said. “Besides, The Charles Durden Sparks, Crumpton, Duddney, and McShay Public Library wouldn’t have fit across the front. We would have had to continue all those letters on the side.”
“You’ve always seen the humor in every situation, Maura Beth,” Connie added. “That first time we met down at The Twinkle and you told me Councilman Sparks was going to shut down your old library unless you did something drastic, I sensed you were going to bear down and find a way out. What laughs and good times we’ve had since you created The Cherry Cola Book Club and saved the day. Cherico turned a corner when you came up with that idea.”
“You make me sound like a superhero or something. I’m anything but. I just do my job.”
“No, I’m just giving credit where it’s due.”
“We all owe you a huge debt of thanks,” Becca Brachle said, a couple of chairs away. “My signing was a huge success, but I’m certain the setting had a lot to do with my sales. I don’t think we would have gotten nearly that many people coming out to the old library on Shadow Alley.”
“It was a combination of things, Becca,” Voncille Linwood pointed out, sitting next to her. “Don’t be too modest. You have so many fans who swear by your recipes. Locke and I would’ve found a way to come by if you were signing in a pup tent smack dab in the middle of the woods.”
“Ha!” Becca said. “What an image for my scrapbook—insect repellant for a book signing.”
Without warning, the first fireworks exploded in the sky, interrupting all conversation on the deck, as a chorus of oohs, aahs, and gasps broke out along the shore of the lake. There was an array of multicolored aerial repeaters to keep the audience below mesmerized for a good long time; a series of bottle rockets and skyrockets followed, producing a display of stars, strobes, and parachutes. Then came at least a dozen Roman candles that exploded, whistled, and crackled high in the sky. After nearly thirty minutes had passed, the finale consisted of a dozen, multiple-shot parachutes that created various colored-star effects burning brightly as they slowly fell back to earth. On this occasion at least, the three good ole boy politicians from City Hall out there in the middle of the lake had performed their public service duties without a glitch, and better yet—no one had fallen overboard.
Scattered applause broke out everywhere when it was apparent nothing more would be forthcoming, even though there was the occasional “Is that it?” and “We want more!” to add a note of slight disappointment to the addictive festivities.
Maura Beth sighed, turned to Jeremy, and expressed perfectly what everyone else was probably thinking: “That brought out the little kid in me. It was over too soon. I could have sat here and watched another hour of that. What is it about fireworks on these special occasions?”
Jeremy thought for a while, then pointed heavenward. “Maybe just as simple as we all like looking up at the night sky and seeing pretty things in it. Who hasn’t seen a shooting star fly by with a long tail and thought it was the most amazing thing to witness, no matter how many times it happens?”
“You’re right. And no matter how old we get.” Maura Beth checked her watch and pointed in the direction of the stage and bleachers to the left of the deck. “Waddell’s on in about ten minutes. Looks like we’ve got standing room only everywhere. Everything couldn’t be going better.”
Jeremy stood up to stretch his legs and arms with the rest of the group on the deck. “I take it you aren’t worried anymore about what people thought of the mix-and-match furniture in the library? I didn’t hear any complaints, did you?”
“Well, no.”
“And what about that woman from Corinth who’s threatening to sue you? Are you much worried about her?”
Maura Beth laughed. “The loud-mouth soup-slinger? Ha! With two dozen or more witnesses to testify she went a little crazy with her ladle? I doubt she’ll even find a lawyer to take that one on.”
“And the woman with the lethal sausage?”
“Hot-diggity-dog. I think she folded her tent for good and hightailed it back to Corinth where she belongs. Except that I really wouldn’t wish her on the library over there.”
* * *
Renette had ogled the fireworks from the top row of the bleachers like everyone else; but during the lulls between the various explosions, her attention had drifted gradually to the young man sitting next to her. It was the musk of his cologne that had first aroused her interest. They had not spoken throughout the entire display, but that had not stopped her from sizing him up out of the corner of her eye. He had the same sort of sexy, scruffy beard that had made her go gaga over Waddell Mack; his features were sharp and chiseled, and he had one of those buzz cuts favored by boot camp soldiers. It made him look strong and dangerous, and she liked the way that made her feel. She also liked the jeans and cowboy boots he was wearing, and it occurred to her that if she couldn’t have any actual contact with Waddell Mack himself, this specimen of the male species would do nicely. But could she actually gather up the courage to speak to him? He hadn’t spoken to her at all. Did that mean he wasn’t interested? Was she out of his league? No matter. He was sitting next to the new Renette—the one who would finally venture into the land of physical romance. The one who had never even kissed a boy, not even in an innocent game of spin the bottle at someone’s birthday party growing up. The one who had been a prisoner of her upbringing for far too long.
“Those fireworks just blew me away,” she heard herself saying to the young man, as if someone else had taken control of her body. “I’ve always liked them since I was a little girl. By the way, I’m Renette . . . Renette Posey.” She extended her hand, and he shook it. She felt the power of his grip and experienced a spurt of adrenaline beneath her sternum, spreading throughout her body. Whatever she was getting into, she definitely liked the way it felt.
“I’m Shark,” he told her, showing off his beautiful set of very white teeth, which did, in fact, feature a pair of long incisors. “Well, that’s not my real name. You prob’ly guessed that. I’m really Josh—Josh Allen Baker, but the buddies I run with all call me Shark.”
“Because you like to swim?”
“Because I like to play pool at Billy Ray’s Billiards over in Corinth. I’m not one to brag—oh, hell, yes, I am, and the truth is, Shark here never loses.” He laughed wickedly. “I make chum of my chums.”
Renette could not believe how liberated she suddenly felt. Instead of talking about boys—or men—with her just-out-of-high-school girlfr
iends during their weekend sleepovers, she was actually engaging one for the first time since the church socials she had grown up with where nothing more than drinking punch and eating cookies was allowed. No dancing, no physical contact—just polite, forced grins during the singing of hymns.
“You’re a big Waddell Mack fan, judging by the way you were chantin’ a while back,” Shark continued. “ ‘We want Waddell! We want Waddell!’ Maybe you’re his number one fan?”
“I’m not sure about that, but maybe I could be in the top ten. Or at least the top twenty.”
“Yeah, well, I like ole Waddell, myself. I’ve liked his easy-goin’ sound ever since he hit it big a coupla years back. I’m not braggin’ about it, but I’m a distant cousin of his, you know.”
“Are you really?” Renette could feel her heart beating faster now. Once again, if she couldn’t hook up with Waddell Mack . . .
“Sure am. My mama sat me down once and explained to me how we’re related a while back, but I lost track of all the ‘once removed’ and ‘twice removed’ stuff and just finally gave up on it all. The only thing I can tell you for sure is that we share some of the same genes and DNA. Beyond that, I take no responsibility.”
“You’re both very good-looking. I guess those are the genes you share. That makes you two pretty lucky fellas in my book.”
“Why, thank you, ma’am. We resemble that. A fella always likes to hear that from a pretty young lady.”
Renette pressed on with the small talk, feeling driven by some unknown force. “Were you here earlier for the food tents and the Queen of the Cookbooks competition? Seemed like the entire population of Cherico was out today. And lots of people from out of town, even.”
“Yeah, I was here for a while, but my visit got cut short a little. I had just tried me some spaghetti and then some cheese balls that tasted mighty good, but then there was this huge ruckus up ahead between these two women. I mean, they were shoutin’ at each other and everything, so I joined the crowd to watch, and before I knew it, one of ’em had slung some a’ this greenish lookin’ soup at the other one. Only she missed, and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The stuff was all over my shirt, ham and all. Lucky for me I always carry some extra clothes in my van, so I ended up being able to change so I looked halfway decent again. But I sorta called it an afternoon with the food tents.”
