“I’ll bring the coffee,” Beck said, unable to function without a steaming cup of caffeine any time before the hour of ten.
“We’ll see everyone in the morning.” Grandma smiled, eager to get everyone out of her house so she could finally start cleaning up the clutter.
I walked Beck and Layla to the porch, letting the screen door slam behind us.
“This is so exciting,” Layla said. “See you tomorrow, Darcy.”
“Bye, Layla,” I said, waving as she headed for the car. Beck stayed behind for a minute, leaning against the side of the house.
“I have something for you,” she said, gesturing to a white garment bag in her arms. “You know how I’ve successfully gone several weeks without smoking? Well, I started to put on a couple of pounds with all of the junk-food snacking I was doing, so I traded all of my bad habits in for something more productive.”
I arched an eyebrow.
“It helps with the late night cravings,” she explained. “I’ve been working on it for a couple of weeks now–mostly when I can’t sleep.” She unzipped the bag, revealing a light pink dress with a sweetheart neckline. It was a fit-and-flare number, and absolutely beautiful.
“You gonna’ say something?” she asked, smirking.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, reaching out to touch the fabric between my thumb and forefinger. “You really made this for me?”
“Pink isn’t really my color.” She grinned, handing over the garment bag.
“I don’t know what to say,” I said.
“Say you’ll wear it tomorrow.”
“I will,” I said. “Thank you. So much.”
“Yeah yeah,” she said, waving it off. “Don’t get all mushy on me. I don’t do that sentimental crap.”
Layla honked the horn, urging Beck to wrap it up.
“I should go,” she said, stepping off the porch. “See you tomorrow.”
I waved as they started up the drive, clinging tightly to my new dress. Upstairs, I opened the closet, and hung the dress from the wooden rack for safety.
I walked the few short steps over to the nightstand, checking my phone, like I had done every day since Luke declared a “space war.” At least, that’s what I had been calling it. Still nothing. I sat down on the bed, the mattress creaking on the old springs beneath my weight. I hadn’t texted him since my mother arrived, but I couldn’t take his silence any longer. I needed to make things right.
I miss my best friend. I sent it before I could change my mind. I waited there, listening to the silence.
So much time had passed since our beginning. We had gone through so much of our life together, learning and growing. I had already started my own journey, choosing my own path, but that didn’t mean that I wanted everything to change between us. I still wanted him to be a part of my life. I just couldn’t allow myself to keep depending on him. It wouldn’t be fair for either of us.
I miss you, too. He responded. Finally. My heartbeat quickened.
Festival this weekend. Please say you’ll come. I want to talk. I typed.
Count me in.
***
I dressed with the window cracked, and I could feel the breeze ruffling the hem of my new dress. The fabric rested just about four inches above my knee, revealing the jagged twists and turns of my scar. I was positive that the last time I was even in a dress was my senior prom. I wasn’t exactly what someone might call a girly-girl, so the dress was taking some getting used-to. Not to mention there was absolutely no hiding of my scars.
Mom knocked, and then pulled the bathroom door open. She too was dressed elegantly, and the light blue of her dress brought out the youthful glow in her eyes. She stood in the doorway, looking over me with tears brimming in her eyes.
“You look so beautiful,” she said, bringing a hand to her mouth.
“Don’t get all emotional on me now, you’ll ruin your mascara,” I said teasingly.
“Right.” She smiled. “We can’t have that now, can we?”
I turned so that she could see me from the front, and gestured (as subtly as I could) toward the scars on my outer thigh. They curved under my knee and ran down my inner calf–close to my shin. “Is it too much?” I asked, knowing she’d understand.
“No, baby, you look incredible.”
“People will stare,” I said, straightening the hem of my dress.
“They won’t even notice,” she assured me, bending slightly to kiss the top of my hair. I decided to let the curls fall freely down my back.
“Time to go,” Grandma’s voice called from the bottom of the stairs. We left the bathroom and started for the kitchen.
We had loaded the cars first thing that morning to avoid any spills or messes before we’d gotten dressed. I only hoped the unloading process would go off without a hitch, too.
We met Grandma at the door, and she stopped to hand me the keys to Grandpa’s truck. “Are you sure you don’t mind driving the truck?” she asked. Both she and Mom would be riding in the Subaru. I had agreed to drive Grandpa’s truck since the larger boxes fit nicely in the bed.
“Not at all,” I said, snatching the keys.
“You look beautiful.” Grandma smiled. “The both of you do.”
I thanked her, and then started for the truck. I glanced at the barn as I walked across the drive, wondering where Grandpa and Liam were, and what their list of chores included for the day. My heart sped up just thinking of him.
I climbed behind the wheel of the truck; inhaling the scent of cherry pipe tobacco that filled the cab, and started the engine. An eighties country song from The Judds came on the radio, and I turned up the familiar tune, easing into the faded leather seats. Mom led the way through the winding, back country roads, and I cracked the windows for some fresh spring air.
It was already warm, with the temperature scheduled to approach the upper seventies later that afternoon. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and I could smell the salt in the air as we rolled through town, and parked in the lot that was designated for the festival’s vendors.
A man with an orange blazer checked us in, and held up tickets with a block number printed on the surface. “You’re in booth seventeen,” he informed us, scribbling something down on his yellow writing pad. “Just take a left on the sidewalk and follow the bright orange cones. They’re marked with the matching number on your ticket, and that’s where you’ll set up your booth.”
“Thank you,” Grandma said, taking the tickets.
“The other two members of your party have already arrived,” he said, and turned to greet the group of people behind us.
“Their punctuality baffles me,” Grandma said, stuffing the tickets in her purse.
“Why is that?” I asked.
“Layla is late to church every Sunday,” she said, and turned back toward the trunk of the Subaru. I just laughed.
The three of us scooped up as much as we could carry, and began making the trek down the sidewalk toward our booth. I could already see the lavender colored tent just a few yards away.
“I thought you said to meet you at seven thirty?” Grandma asked once we had reached the mouth of the tent.
“I couldn’t sleep; I was just so excited,” Layla said. “We’ve only been here for about twenty minutes though.”
“If only you were that excited about learning the good Lord’s Word,” Grandma said under her breath.
“Coffee?” Beck appeared beside me, and she was holding a cardboard carrying case with four large coffee cups. I sat the boxes I had been holding on the table, and reached for one.
“Thanks,” I s
aid, taking a sip. The tent was fairly spacious; it had one long table in front of the opening, and two smaller table’s just inside. Layla had draped the ivory lace tablecloth over the front table, and propped up a chalkboard easel in front of it. MacKenna’s Pies & Crescent Moon Pastries was written out in fancy script with large white letters.
“Looks good, right?” Beck asked.
“Definitely,” I said. “It looks perfect, Beck.”
“And so does that dress.” She pointed to my attire.
“I have you to thank for that.”
“Don’t mention it,” she said. Beck was wearing one of her own creations as well. It fit her tightly across the bodice, and flowed to her knees. It was black, with white rings circling the hem. Three dimensional blue and purple butterflies scurried up the sides of her skirt, their wings flapped when she moved.
“You look great, too,” I said.
“I’m experimenting with texture,” she said. “Come on; let’s get the rest of the stuff unloaded from the cars.”
We finished unloading about thirty minutes later, and began arranging the tables with our baked goods. The different sugary aromas drifted through the air, making my mouth water. I wondered what everyone else had to offer, and glanced up to take in the surrounding view of our neighboring tents.
There was a white tent next to us that was selling candles and spa goods; every once in a while, I’d catch a scent of peppermint and lavender suffusing in the air. The tent across from us was selling little outfits for those ceramic lawn geese you’d sometimes see in gardens or flowerbeds. They even had a few model geese propped up in front of their tent, sporting some of the clothing options. I wondered how popular those things really were.
“Grandma, did you see?” I pointed to the tent.
“Oh my,” she said, bringing a finger to her bottom lip. “Do you think Luna would wear clothes?”
I laughed. “I’m sure you could try one out just to see.”
“Do not dress your duck, Mother. Give the poor thing some dignity,” Mom said.
“This looks great,” Layla said, placing her hands on her hips as she looked over our set-up with satisfaction.
The front table was stacked with pies, cookies, and pastries while one of the side tables contained drink and dining-ware. Layla had declared that she would run the cash register, Mom would serve the food, and Grandma would box up anything our customers wanted to take home. Beck and I were to pour drinks and pass out napkins and utensils.
“Now, you girls should sit out front and look pretty; your youth will attract people to our booth,” Layla declared.
“I refuse to be treated like a prostitute for baked goods,” Beck said, holding up her finger in protest.
“Make sure you smile and wave,” Layla said, pushing us to the front of the tent.
Beck crossed her arms, and sat down on one of the pink stools beside the table. “How do you like that? We’re being used for modern day hookery.”
“I’m pretty sure that isn’t a word, Beck.” I took the open stool beside her. “Where did these things come from?”
“Probably a garage sale,” she said. “Layla is a connoisseur of secondhand items that are deemed no longer desirable by normal people.”
“Like everything at the coffee house?” I asked.
“Exactly like that,” she said.
“I’ve always thought the atmosphere was rather charming.” I shrugged.
“You would find it charming,” Beck said, “but that’s because you’re one of those weird romantic-art-deco-types.”
I shook my head. “Art deco is a form of art that was developed around the twenties that involves a lot of geometric shapes and rich colors.”
“Whatever,” Beck said, clearly annoyed. “Oh look, our first customer.”
***
By noon we had sold three dozen cookies, and around three dozen slices of pie. The lemonade container had been refilled once, and we had actually been busy enough that my face was beginning to hurt from excessive smiling. Though I was glad our booth seemed to be a major hit, I was also grateful when the rush died down for lunch. People were off in search of regular food. I could smell the thick scent of fried foods and some sort of Asian cuisine coming from nearby tents, and my stomach was grumbling like a babbling brook.
“I’m starving,” Beck said, echoing my thoughts.
“You girls should take a break, we have everything covered here,” Grandma suggested.
“Can I bring you anything back?”
“Maybe just a hot dog,” she said.
“That’s it?” my mom piped up. “Can you bring me back a tray of onion rings and a Coney dog?” she reached into her purse and pulled out a twenty. “When in Rome, right?”
“Sure,” I said, “If you don’t mind the heartburn.”
“Oh that sounds good, I’ll have the same,” Layla said.
“Just as long as it’s not coming out of my pocket.” Beck grinned, holding out her hand for money. Layla rolled her eyes and handed her a twenty as well. “I want the change for that back.”
“We’ll be back soon,” I said.
“Take your time,” Grandma called as we started down the sidewalk. “Enjoy the festival.”
The concession area was crowded. It was located in a larger parking lot not too far from where we had parked, and it was swarming with people. I had been to festivals in the past and hadn’t remembered them ever being this congested. Beck and I maneuvered through the crowd, trying our best to avoid bumping into all the surrounding bodies.
“What sounds good?” she asked, ducking to avoid a rather large man who was carrying a boatload of greasy looking food on a tray.
“Anything really.” I shrugged.
“The line doesn’t look too miserable over there.” Beck pointed to a pizza and fries concession stand.
“Sure,” I said, though I thought it was an odd sort of combo. I followed her across the pavement, and hopped in line.
“Everyone has spring-fever,” Beck said. “The summer festival is never this crowded. Of course it’s usually pretty hot and not too many people like being away from their precious air-conditioning.”
I nodded.
“What can I get you?” asked a guy with curly blond hair and blue eyes. He had a striped red and white apron on, and clear plastic gloves.
“One pizza with everything and a cup of fries please,” Beck said.
“One cheese and I guess I’ll have a cup of fries, too.”
“You guess nothing,” the guy said as I handed him the money. “I know it sounds weird, but you won’t regret it. We make our fries special.” He grinned.
“They’re sea salt and vinegar fries,” Beck leaned in to say. She must have caught the panicked expression on my face. “They’re good, I promise.”
I nodded, and took my order and pocketed the change. We grabbed two cans of soda from the cooler in front of the stand–they were included in the price of our meal–and started pushing back through the crowd.
“I figure we can eat first, and then come back for the other food orders,” Beck said.
“Good idea,” I agreed.
The crowd thinned at the end of the pavement, and the sandy beach began. The golden sun was perched high above the ocean, shimmering incandescently against the surface of the waves. We found an empty bench on the backside of the pier, shielded from the wind and surrounding elements.
A group of men were setting up a makeshift dance floor to our left, while someone from the deck of the pier shouted something incoherent at the men working below.
“That’s Wyatt Delaney,” Beck said, nodding to the man barking orders from the top of the deck. “He runs the pier.”
“Seems friendly,” I said with a note of sarcasm.
“He’s so handsome though,” Beck said, staring at him dreamily. “I don’t care if he is like, thirty and socially introverted.”
Wyatt was handsome, I’d give her that. He had the prettiest hair of any man I’d ever seen. It was a dark brown in color that had been kissed with a golden bronze sheen, like he lived in the sunlight. He had that natural wind-blown look. It made him appear as though he’d just finished shooting a commercial on how to obtain the perfect beach-wave look. I was envious of his sculpted-locks.
“Men should not be allowed to have hair like that,” I said.
“It should definitely be a crime in all fifty states,” Beck agreed. “I think that’s why he keeps scruff on his face. He has to prove he’s a man.”
I laughed. “Yeah, but it would be a crime to cut all of that hair off.”
“So true,” Beck said.
I took a bite of my fries, surprised at the flavor and just how well it really did seem to compliment the pizza. Who knew such an awkward sounding combination would actually work so well together?
“Who is that?” I asked, nodding to a pretty girl making her way to inspect the dance floor. She was accompanied by a much larger girl with wild magenta colored hair. The smaller girl looked like a fairy princess. She couldn’t have been any taller than five-foot-six or seven, but she had the daintiest frame I had ever seen.
“A couple of weirdos,” Beck said around a mouth full of fries.
“Honestly, Beck,” I said, narrowing my eyes. I realized this phrase was becoming a natural part of my everyday vocabulary when I was around her. I hoped the girls hadn’t heard her rude comment.
“That’s Audrey Queen,” she said, pointing to the smaller girl. “She works at the Seaside Grille & Cafe next to the pier.” Beck pointed to the building that was within walking distance. “The ogre of a girl standing beside her is Margret Tess–she works there too, and she’s a wretched human being.”
Finding Goodbye Page 24
