Winner Takes All

by Judy Kentrus

  Chapter 6

  The town of Laurel Heights might have been a small, rural community, but the citizens knew how to hold a celebration. Spectators jockeyed for position on the sidewalk to view the parade, waving American flags and holding colorful balloons. The new light poles that lined Main Street were draped in red, white and blue swags. Members of the police and fire departments, holding American and state flags, led the parade, followed by Mayor Margaret Taylor, the Grand Marshal. Dressed in a white suit with a red carnation pinned to the collar of her fitted jacket, she perched on the backseat of a white Cadillac convertible and waved to the crowd. High school and middle school bands followed, along with the first aid units and the volunteer fire department. Boy Scout and Girl Scout troops added to the colorful assortment of hometown marchers.

  A newly formed group of elementary school children, dressed up like a fife and drum corps, escorted a bright red farm tractor that pulled an open-sided wagon of senior citizens decked out in patriotic colors. Motorcycles, bicycles and tricycles sporting crepe paper–decorated wheels rode honor guard along the parade path.

  “This is fantastic!” Jen bubbled with excitement, waving a flag in one hand and holding a star-shaped helium balloon in the other. “Oh my God, look at those women. Standing together, their sack dresses resemble the American flag.”

  “That’s the infamous ladies’ bridge club,” Cindi said. A loud clanging bell drew everyone’s attention to the flatbed truck supporting a replica of the old Baldwin train manned by Northrup Whipper. “I don’t know of any other occasion where a person wants to march in a parade,” she told Jen. “Even you are wearing red, white and blue.”

  “All I had was that ugly suit, a pair of shorts, a tank top and jeans. The clerk in the Last Chance Motel told me about the new boutique that opened in the train station across from the Adams Security building. I had Preston make a quick stop before we came to the parade. The white capris and blue-and-white tank were marked down.” Jennie wiggled her foot. “Even these adorable red sandals were on sale.”

  “My sundress came from the same shop. I’m glad it came with the white bolero jacket or my shoulders would be as red as my dress. With the shop so close, sometimes I run over there on my lunch hour.” Cindi tipped her head to the side. “I don’t normally wear wide-brimmed hats, but not all of the green streaks washed out of my hair.”

  “I was quite impressed by the beautiful new building and those condos by the depot. If my plans work out, I’ll need a place to live.” Jennie suddenly realized the folding chair next to Cindi was empty. “Where did Preston go?”

  “He spotted Lincoln near the grandstand and wanted to talk to him about something important. Since our boss is now on the town council, he has to mingle with the rest of the politicians.”

  “I’m glad Preston isn’t here so we can talk. Last night, I saw right through your wonderful performance. You are exactly what he needs to drag him out of his stiff, introverted shell.” Jennie took in a deep breath and needed an answer to a question that had been bugging her since last evening. “Are you really an item?”

  The words Jessie had said last evening popped into Cindi’s head: the truth will set you free. “Yes and no. He asked me to dinner as a front to convince you he wasn’t gay and was still interested in women. I wanted to teach him a lesson.”

  Jennie’s green eyes widened. “I only said that as a joke! Growing up, he had a problem keeping his zipper up! Cindi, I can read my brother like a book. Dolphin avoids relationships and intimacy because he fears a woman will look at him like he’s a freak.”

  “Dolphin? That’s a name I’ve never heard.”

  “That was his nickname growing up because he loved to surf. He spent so much time in the water, my parents were worried he would grow a dorsal fin.”

  “I can’t imagine a woman thinking a loved one a freak. I don’t treat him like a person who wears a prosthetic leg and have tried to make him understand he is a normal man. Of course, there are limitations and expectations. Unfortunately, I’ve gone about proving my point ass-backward. Preston is very special to me.” Cindi looked away and watched the next float. Mrs. Clark sat at the head of a friendship circle made up of the ladies from the Trinity Church Needler’s Club. All had donned white wigs and colonial dresses. Spread across their laps was a crocheted flag of the original thirteen American colonies.

  “I think it is a little more than that,” Jennie challenged when the float had passed. “Only love would drive you to extremes, like last night.”

  “You’re a mind reader, too,” Cindi laughed softly. “Between us, I love him, but he doesn’t love himself. I’ve got a plan that I pray will help him realize life is worth living. Please don’t ask me any details, because they aren’t final.”

  “Whatever you are doing seems to be working. When he picked me up earlier, he was—I don’t know—laid back, like a guy who just got his rocks off. I was also surprised to see he’s into the theme of things and wore a Western-cut short-sleeve shirt in red, white and blue. When he reaches for your hand, I don’t think he’s using it for support.”

  Despite the heat, Cindi hoped the heightened color to her cheeks wasn’t obvious. “This morning he came to see me. After we tossed insults at each other, he zapped my world with the kind of kisses a woman only dreams about.”

  “Hot damn!” Jennie grinned. “Sounds like your plan is working.” She reached into her canvas carryall and passed Cindi a card with her personal cell phone number and e-mail address. “Please keep in touch. I’m very interested in my brother’s well-being and progress, if you get my drift.”

  “In other words, you want to know when he takes off like a jackhammer.”

  “Close enough.” Jennie’s smile clouded over. “I have a small favor.”

  “Sure.”

  “Before I leave Monday morning, I would love to hear him laugh. You would never know it, but he has a hearty laugh and a beautiful smile. Here he comes. Mum’s the word.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Preston headed back to Cindi and his sister, reflecting on his conversation with Lincoln, which covered setting up additional security on the soap box derby accounts and filling him in on the garbage incident in the barn. When Cindi had related the episode about the mangled critter, he felt hurt that she hadn’t brought him into her confidence right away. Lincoln agreed to go along with Preston’s conspiracy to be in a better position if there was additional trouble on the farm. He couldn’t give her what she needed physically, but he could protect the woman who occupied a special place in his heart from potential harm. Considering the way she had responded to his kisses that morning, he wondered if his feelings were just one-sided. He was sinking deeper and deeper into a quicksand of desire and had no idea how he was going to survive. The initial pain he’d suffered losing his leg was mild compared to the anguish he’d experience when it was time to walk away from Cindi. He couldn’t think about that now and decided to enjoy every precious moment with her.

  “How’s the parade going?” he asked, taking his seat beside Cindi. In a natural move, he reached for her hand, linked their fingers and brushed his lips on the corner of her brow.

  She loved that he immediately felt the need to touch her. And the butterfly kiss, in public? Don’t start psychoanalyzing his tenderness. “You missed Mrs. Schmidt and the bridge ladies dressed up like the American flag.”

  “Ah, one of the seven wonders of the world.”

  “You made a joke,” Jennie chided with a laugh. “Will wonders never cease?”

  “Didn’t I just say something like that, Jennifer?” he countered.

  “You are such a smartass, Preston James.”

  “And your point would be?”

  “Children, behave, or I won’t buy you popcorn when we watch the fireworks,” Cindy teased before turning to Preston. “Were you able to speak with Lincoln?”

  “Yes. I filled him in on what happened this morning. He plans to upgrade the exterior secu
rity on the farm to include all the outbuildings. Monday I start my investigation in earnest.” He gave her hand a loving squeeze.

  As soon as the parade ended, the onlookers mingled with the marchers. They were just about to head for the Spoonful when Edie Adams came running up, followed by her parents. Jessie’s new lieutenant bars glinted on the collar of her white uniform shirt.

  “Cindi, did you see me!” Edie’s voice sparkled with excitement and she spun around, making her long black braids fly like a kite. “Bet you can’t guess who I represent, dressed in this old Girl Scout uniform?”

  “Let me see.” Cindi tapped her lips, watching the impatience build up on the face of the ten-year-old dressed in the unadorned olive-green linen dress that almost brushed the tops of her favorite high-top sneakers.

  “Juliette Gordon Low!” Edith blurted. “She founded the Girl Scouts in 1912 and was practically deaf, but that didn’t stop her. Are you coming to the games in the park? They are going to have a pie eating contest, sack races and everything! Daddy is going to be my partner. He even ordered a real cotton candy–making machine because Mommy loves cotton candy.” Edie didn’t stop to take a breath and looked at Preston. “Mr. Reynolds, you should run with Cindi in the sack race!”

  The word limitations flashed through Cindi’s mind, and she quickly offered an excuse. “Maybe next time. I’m wearing a new dress and, knowing how clumsy I can be, I’d probably fall and get it full of grass stains.” No one other than Cindi was aware of the fingers that gripped her hand in gratitude.

  Jen was enchanted by the young girl. “Hi, Edie. I’m Jennie, Mr. Reynolds’s sister. I recognized you right away. Did you know that Juliette’s middle name was Daisy and they named the first level of Girl Scouting after Ms. Low?”

  Edie held out her hand. “Yes. I researched her for my school project. You’re the lady who is going to run the community center. It’s named after my grandfather, Norman Taylor.”

  Before coming east, Jennie had researched the town’s history. Norman Taylor was a prominent attorney and judge. “He was a wonderful man. Will you be taking any of the dance or gymnastics classes that will be offered?”

  “You are asking the wrong questions,” Jessie said, putting her hands on Edie’s shoulders. “Her favorite sports are soccer, basketball and fishing.” Jessie’s radio went off. “Sorry, duty calls. Kids are trying to set the woods on fire with illegal fireworks. See you all later,” she said and hurried across the street.

  “Isn’t she going to have a baby?” Jennie asked Lincoln.

  “Yes, but there’s no stopping her for now. Can I interest anyone in lunch at the Spoonful, my treat?

  Jennie was further impressed by the camaraderie of the townsfolk competing against each other in games. They cheered on Edie and Lincoln in the sack race, along with their close friends, Lisa Kay and Sam Morlock, her fiancé, who was also a member of the town council. The volunteer firemen had set up a dunking booth, with all proceeds going to their annual fund-raising campaign. No one seemed to mind getting wet since the temperature pushed to ninety degrees. The games had almost concluded when Sallie Mae approached Cindi and Preston in a panic.

  “Just who I need! We lost two judges in the pie eating contest, and you two just volunteered.”

  The owner of the Spoonful personified the colors in the American flag, right down the small flag sticking out of her white straw hat. Cindi shrugged a shoulder and looked at Preston. “I’m game if you are.”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Can I enter the contest?” Jennie asked.

  “The more the merrier,” Sallie Mae laughed. “Come with me to the table next to the gazebo and sign up.”

  With hands clasped, Cindi and Preston enjoyed the special closeness they’d established that morning and strolled down the brick-lined path toward the contest staging area. Red geraniums and white petunias thrived in the tall urns that flanked the park benches. Two other judges, members of the town council, were standing in front of two long tables covered with green plastic tarps. Blueberry pies, topped with hills of whipped cream, had been placed before each of the fifteen contestants. The committee had provided clear plastic ponchos for contestants and judges to protect their clothes. Jennie had claimed a spot next to Lincoln and Jessie.

  “I hope my sister realizes no hands are allowed.”

  “Why do you think I didn’t volunteer?”

  A devilish gleam filled Preston’s eyes as he studied the mounds of fluffy cream covering the pies. “I don’t know. You would look cute with a nose full of whipped cream.”

  “Don’t even think about it!” Cindi backed away and adjusted the thin poncho to make sure her entire dress was covered. “Get ready, smart guy. As soon as Sallie Mae toots the air horn, start walking around the table to make sure no one uses hands or whips out a spoon.”

  The loud horn blasted the air, and the eating frenzy began. The surrounding crowd cheered on the pie eaters. It took all of two minutes for the winner to demolish his pie, including the crust. Preston was lucky enough to be behind the young boy and shot his arm in the air.

  “We have the winner!” he announced. A string of laughing blue faces congratulated Kyle, the chief of police’s twelve-year-old grandson.

  “Well, how was it?” Preston asked, watching his sister clean her face with napkins and wet wipes. Lincoln and Jessie concentrated on cleaning each other’s faces and sneaking in little kisses.

  “Fantastic. I only took a couple of bites because I couldn’t stop laughing. It was delicious, but a lot messier than I anticipated.”

  “Better you than me,” Preston sneered.

  “Oh, really?” The devil invaded her body and she decided to have a bit more fun. “Remember how much we shared growing up? No time like the present.” Jennie picked up what was left of her pie and let it fly directly at her brother.

  Once again, his reflexes saved him from getting sacked by the blue projectile. Unfortunately, the pie connected with Cindi Pearl’s face.

  “Oh my God! I am so sorry,” Jennie cried in horror, coming around the table with the entire package of wipes.

  Preston’s lips tightened at the comical sight and swiped a finger across the pointed peak of cream on Cindi’s nose. He popped the sample in his mouth. “Hmm, delicious.” He winked.

  “Since you like it so much…” Cindi picked up Jessie’s partially eaten pie and smashed it in Preston’s handsome face. “Have the whole damn pie!”

  “Right on!” Jennie laughed and held up her hand to give Cindi a high five.

  Once again their adolescent behavior drew attention, and everyone laughed at their matching purplish-blue-and-white faces. The pie filling slid down their cheeks and dripped off their jaws, and globs landed on the plastic protecting their clothes. Their noses resembled snow-covered Mt. Everest.

  “How do you like it?” Cindi spewed. “Not so fast ducking this time!”

  Preston was trying to get a handle on what just happened. Something opened inside, something that had been closed up tight for a long time. He burst out laughing, a hard, rollicking laugh. “Oh, Cindi Pearl, only you.” He put his hands on her slime-covered shoulders, drew her in and kissed her—goop, whipped cream and all.

  The spectators started clapping.

  Only one person noticed the tears running down Jennie Reynolds’s face. She turned to face a smiling Lincoln Adams.

  “I think he’ll begin to heal,” Lincoln said.

  All Jennie could do was nod.

  The ladies from the Trinity Church auxiliary had provided mouth-watering desserts to go along with the evening barbecue, funded by the town, followed by live music and dancing. As soon as the sun dipped behind the trees, Margaret Taylor stepped up to the microphone on the stage of the gazebo and called everyone’s attention.

  “I hope you all enjoyed our July Fourth celebration.” Margaret paused when a rousing cheer followed her statement. She turned toward the newly erected monument draped in a canvas sheath. “Everyone ha
s been anxious to see our new war memorial, but we waited until today to hold our special ceremony.”

  All eyes shifted to the large video screen that had been placed to the side of the stage. Thanks to Lincoln Adams’s clever e-team, a video had been put together combining patriotic music and pictures of fighting men, all the way back to the Civil War. At a nod from Margaret, the screen was filled with the US Naval Academy Glee Club singing “Eternal Father, strong to save…”

  “The monument is to honor those who have died so that we enjoy our freedom,” Margaret began. “The first person I would like to introduce is Northrup Whipper, honoring his relatives who fought in the Civil War. We are all one country, but his son Steven is representing the brave men who fought in the Confederate States Army.”

  Northrup walked proudly on the flagstone path to the monument, wearing the blue uniform of the Union Army along side his son, dressed in a gray uniform of the army of the South.

  Pictures began to flash on the screen and the music changed to the “Marines’ Hymn.” From the halls of Montezuma, to the shores of Tripoli…

  “Chuck McCarthy is representing his father and uncles who fought in World War II and Korea. The marine uniform belonged to his uncle. The naval officer in the photo he is carrying is his great-grandfather, who lost his life in World War I.

  The video and music segued to the theme song of the US Air Force: Off we go into the wild blue yonder…”

  “Representing the Vietnam War is Mr. Berweiler. As you can see, he served in the United States Air Force.”

  Lee Greenwood’s voice rang out: I’m proud to be an American. “Please welcome Captain Danielle Whipper,” Margaret continued. “She flew a helicopter in Desert Storm.”

  He’d been set up. As the mayor introduced the veterans who represented wars and police actions, Preston’s anger increased. He’d never bargained for this. The day had been perfect, right down to the pie fight. The laugh that had burst out was like a plug had come unsealed from his suppressed sense of humor. And the kiss he’d shared with Cindi was sweet and loving, despite the slimy blueberries and whipped cream. Now he sat on a folding chair among family and friends, telling himself this was not about to happen. He wasn’t a hero. His fisted hands tightened and he lowered his eyes, unable to watch the pictures of uniformed comrades in the desert from hell.