While Marva went on to explain how the party went and who’d bought what, I gaped at her. She didn’t even seem interested in talking about Booties. The last time I’d seen Marva she’d been huddled with a group of people in the parking lot of Booties while flashing lights of police cars lit up the night. But here she was acting normal. Well, normal for Marva. After a few minutes, she excused herself to find Flo, claiming she wanted to talk about the beer tent.
I stared down at an old photograph on the counter and rubbed the back of my neck. I absently crouched down to get a closer view of the pictures. Prominently displayed among the grouping was a daguerreotype that must have been taken about a hundred years ago. Standing in front of a building that looked vaguely like the Dairy Cow stood a crowd of people: Men, women, and children. The women were dressed in turn-of-the-century-style high-neck shirtwaists and bustles. Then men had slicked-back hair and loose-fitting coats. Underneath the photo was a tag that said Truhart 1910.
“Hard to believe this is the same town.”
I turned to see Corinne standing over my shoulder. I tried to think of all the things I should say, but my mind came up strangely blank.
“I’ll bet if we look real hard we can find ancestors of some of the people we know. People have a way of looking like their relatives,” said the older woman.
I nodded and tried to focus on the faces lined up in front of the storefront, gazing solemnly back at the camera. I searched for a resemblance to the people I had grown to know and love in this town. But the solemn faces in sepia tones bore little resemblance to the eternally optimistic smiling faces I had befriended in the last few months.
Funny how people never smiled in pictures back then.
Corinne must have been thinking the same thing because she added her own comment to my thoughts. “Didn’t look like they had too much fun back then . . . But then again, life was hard. Besides all the sickness and inconvenience, the lumber business was a dangerous thing. Whether it was cutting down the trees or moving them down the river, one mistake could kill you. Amazing how even with consequences like that they chose to live in the north woods. It simply defies the mind.” She gazed sideways at me and winked. “I guess if you don’t live with the prospect of making mistakes sometimes, you haven’t really lived.”
“And if you don’t learn from your mistakes, you’re a fool,” I added.
“Something tells me you’re no fool, Elizabeth Lively.”
“I’d like to think of myself as a recovering fool.”
Corinne patted my arm. “Come on, let’s go talk Timberfest. It’s all anyone wants to talk about these days.”
“Thank God for that,” I said.
“And the fight at Booties, of course.”
I stiffened and Corinne laughed. “Come on and sit.”
The day of the Timberfest finally arrived. I was taking a break from my shift in the beer tent. Dad was dropping off Elliot soon, and I waited near the parking lot for the Town Car.
Main Street was blocked off from all traffic for three whole blocks. Streamers of colored flags cordoned off various sections of midway games, the craft tent, and a giant inflatable slide, where dozens of the younger citizens were coaxing their parents up the steps.
June Krueger and her little boy, Andrew, who had told me all about his monogrammed underwear the first day I visited the Family Fare, waved. They were perched at the top of the slide. Andrew jumped up and down until I acknowledged him. His mother spotted me as well and raised her hand. Then they dropped down on the slide and screamed as they slid down. I laughed aloud when Andrew grabbed his mother’s hand and dragged her back toward the stairs.
“I’ll meet you in the beer tent later!” June called to me.
Marva and Bootie had made a deal. Bootie could host the beer tent, but he had to use an alias. The mysterious sign read Lori’s Beer Tent. His wife was the new sponsor. No one seemed to recognize the Booties girls in their skorts, polo shirts, and tennis shoes. Even I did a double take when I saw Tiffany’s makeup-free face and ponytail. Bootie stayed away, but Corinne and Marva corralled customers through like pros.
I walked toward the graveled area behind the Chamber of Commerce and waved at the Lincoln Town Car that was pulling in next to my own Honda. I was nervous and excited to see them. Elliot and my father unfolded themselves from the Lincoln in the same manner, their necks forward and their shoulders rounded. Elliot would deny it until the world ended, but my father and my brother shared a remarkable resemblance. Today Elliot wore a faded green T-shirt with his pencil-cut jeans, and on closer inspection I realized he no longer had an eyebrow ring.
Dad greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and an awkward hug. We had talked a lot since the night at Booties. I had been surprised to hear tears in his voice when he apologized for losing faith in me. Our fragile relationship grew stronger every time we spoke.
He leaned over and tilted my chin up. “Sorry I can’t stay.”
“I understand. Are you going to Harbor Springs for the weekend?”
He nodded and hugged me again. I had a feeling Dad was making up for lost time. “Stop with the hugging, people. We’re not the Brady Bunch, folks,” said Elliot.
Dad grunted and turned to get Elliot’s duffel from the trunk. “This place looks like Disney World on valium,” Elliot said, staring toward the festival.
“Come on, Mousketeer. Put your bag in my trunk and let’s go find the log-throwing competition,” I said.
Dad handed Elliot the duffel bag and watched him toss it in my trunk.
“Is everything all right here?” he asked. I knew what he meant.
“It’s great, Dad. Really.” My father looked doubtful, but pulled out his wallet and handed me a stack of bills.
“For your brother and whatever else you need,” he said gruffly. There was a lot more in my family that needed cleaning up than the relationship between my dad and me. But that was going to have to happen over a much longer period of time. It might never be perfect. But I guess I was ready to handle imperfection.
When Dad left, Elliot and I fell into an easy pace as we walked under the banner that welcomed everyone to the Timberfest.
“I talked to Dad about a lot of things this week,” he said out of the blue.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I took that chemistry exam, but I made a deal that he couldn’t give me a hard time if my grade sucks.”
I nodded and glanced skyward, thanking the heavens. “Well, that’s a start.”
“He says he won’t push me to go out for the tennis team this year, either.”
“When you were younger you liked tennis.”
“I liked hitting the ball real hard and trying to make red marks on my opponent’s butt. But ever since Dad tried to convince me to quit soccer and take tennis more seriously, I’ve absolutely hated it.”
I said nothing. He had actually been pretty good at both sports.
He laughed. “Besides, can you see me with my black T-shirt and eyebrow ring on the courts at the county club?”
We were in a particularly quiet area among a copse of trees at the side of the street. Elliot paused for a moment and I stopped. He said in a hesitant voice, “You know, E, I’m not perfect, but I would never in a million years let you take the rap for something I did.”
“I know. I should never have doubted you.” I looked down at the spot on his arm where his henna dragon had begun to fade.
We headed toward the stage and passed the Department of Natural Resources booth, where Marva’s husband, Joe, was handing out brochures on fire safety. Elliot took a brochure and shoved it in my hands. “You should check this out, E. That hole in the carpet looks nasty! You could have started a fire. Hey—does that sign say battle of the bands?”
Maybe Elliot was going to be okay after all. I left him checking out the guitar amps and made my way through the craft tent, dodging a pottery display and a table of crocheted baby blankets and oven mitts.
Cherry was showing a young
girl how to thread a bracelet. Nearby a small group of teenagers rifled through the jewelry Ellie and Cherry had made over the summer. Ellie stood behind the table, helping customers decide which bracelet they wanted and I began to wonder if she couldn’t give Donald Trump a run for his money. She explained the patterns to an older girl in a short skirt and tie-dye shirt and let her try one on.
While the girl admired her bracelet, Cherry whispered something to Ellie. Ellie shook her head and walked away.
“What’s wrong?” I asked Cherry, coming to stand beside her.
“Ellie isn’t being careful enough. Anyone could walk away with one of the bracelets and then we’d be out five bucks.”
I raised one eyebrow. “A shoplifter here? Really?”
“Okay. Whatever! I’m not doing that stuff again. And don’t act that way. It has nothing to do with you or J. D.”
A few minutes later, Ellie made her sale and pulled out the money box from under the table. I touched her shoulder and gave her the thumbs-up sign.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Ellie giggled.
“Me too!” Cherry said. “Ellie has been scaring off people with her sales pitch. Everyone likes you, so we’ll get a few more customers if you stand right here.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
Ellie glanced up from counting her money. “Everyone is always happier when you’re around, Elizabeth.”
I crossed my arms around myself and stared at the bracelets, afraid to show her how much her words had touched me.
“Aw, Ellie, you made her cry!” Cherry said.
“Hey, Cherry. Since when did you become all businessy and stuff?” Connor, Luke, and Kaitlyn walked up to stand in front of the bracelets. I hadn’t seen them since the Fourth of July. Connor and Kaitlyn seemed no worse for wear. But Luke stood a couple of feet behind Kaitlyn as if he was afraid to get too close to me. I had heard that the judge was requiring him to do community service at the animal shelter. Maybe being around all those cute animals would remind him to be careful with others’ lives.
Kaitlyn picked up a blue bracelet that matched her shirt and twisted her mouth in the corner, analyzing the craftsmanship. Her bra straps were coming out of her tight-fitting T-shirt. Cherry stared at it, then down at her own light-blue butterfly T-shirt.
“Yo!”
Elliot’s head popped up between Connor and Kaitlyn. His unexpected appearance startled them. Their eyes widened at his black-dyed hair with the shock of red on one side, a diamond-stud earring he’d “borrowed” from my mother, and expensive black jeans.
Elliot smiled at Cherry. “You guys have the busiest booth around here.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I should have helped you make those when I had the chance. I could use a cut of the big profit you’re going to make today.”
“Hey, no cutting in on my business idea, Elliot. Find your own gig,” said Cherry with a lopsided smile. The other kids shifted nearby.
Kaitlyn pushed her chest out and spoke in a voice she didn’t think I could hear. “Luke’s dad is gone for the weekend and his stepmom is busy. So he pretty much has the house to himself. He’s having people over tonight and you can come, Cherry. Bring your friend, if you want.”
Elliot waded through the strands of thread, trying to match the exact color of his T-shirt. He ignored Kaitlyn.
“I don’t think so,” Cherry said slowly.
Ellie handed Kaitlyn a pink bracelet. “This one matches your bra strap.”
For a moment, Kaitlyn looked embarrassed. But Cherry did an uncharacteristic thing and put her arm around Kaitlyn’s shoulder. “I’ll give you a discount.”
Chapter 22
The last log thrower had long since finished his quest for glory, the inflatables lay in collapsed pools of color on the lawn behind the Chamber of Commerce, and folding chairs and tables were stacked against a white rental truck. A mile away on Winding Road, the Timberfest dinner-dance was just getting started. The Amble Inn was full. Cars spilled out along the edge of the gravel shoulder, where the sun cast long, spindly shadows.
Tiny white lights shrouded the log-framed entrance. Inside, the lobby and dining room were lit by hundreds more. Dressed in a demure pink-cotton floral sundress, with my hair curling around my face, I stood inside the entrance and scanned the crowd for J. D.
Nestor sat at a table nearby. He savored the attention he was getting from a crowd of white- and blue-haired women. They were trying to pry his gardening and cooking secrets from him . . . again. Someone really should have told them not to bother.
J. D. had been busy all day. Like me, the town was ignoring the fact that he had been at the center of the most talked-about fight in years. Cherry and Ellie had invited Elliot to hang out with them this evening while they watched a Harry Potter marathon on TV. Right now, the kids were probably eating pizza and watching Harry outwit Voldemort to save Hogwarts. Ellie was already planning their next venture and Sandy joked that we might have created a pint-sized business monster.
A band played in the newly renovated dining room. A scruffy, long-haired singer smiled at the older ladies. They were amazingly good for a small-town dinner-dance. I spotted Marva draped in a shawl of raffle tickets. She flitted from group to group, selling one arm’s length for $20. The prize was a new snowmobile donated by Howie’s Motor Sports in Gaylord. Marva told me earlier in the day, with a wink, that the city council had refused Dylan’s donation from his own ATV dealership. Needless to say, Dylan and his friends opted to skip the dinner tonight.
Sheriff Howe stood in the corner by the bar with a petite, gray-haired woman: Mrs. Howe. She wore a red dress and an open smile. The ladies had introduced her to me at Cookee’s. When I’d held out my hand, she had embraced me instead. Hopefully that meant Sheriff Howe would warm up to me over time as well. Across from Sheriff and Mrs. Howe were Sandy Miller and Deputy Bob Kettelhut. Bob whispered something in Sandy’s ear that made her laugh. Was the man finally making a move? I wasn’t sure how the girls would feel about that.
Marva came up next to me and planted half of her raffle tickets around my neck, “You need to sell all of these before dinner.”
“Nobody wants to buy anything from me, Marva,” I said. Ellie’s words earlier today still warmed me, but I wasn’t delusional.
“What are you talking about, honey? Everyone wants an excuse to talk to you. Outside of last winter’s star-studded wedding in Truhart, you’re about the most exciting person who’s come to Truhart since Soupy Sales came by on a comedy tour in the eighties!”
“Great. I’m the fool who entertained the town this summer?”
“Well, it’s better than being the fool who bored the town this summer,” replied Marva.
With a push on my shoulder, she pointed me in the direction of the buffet table, where people milled around the cheese and crackers. I toyed with the idea of ditching the raffle tickets in the macaroni sculpture in the center of the table. I was still trying to figure out if the sculpture was a star or an octopus. I turned around and found myself gazing right into the gray eyes of Bootie.
“Elizabeth!”
I hadn’t seen him since I’d left the bar and all its overturned tables resting in puddles of chili fries.
He fished in his pocket and handed me a cigar. “Have a cigar!”
“What? I don’t smoke nowadays—” But he shoved it in my hand.
I stared down at the pink bubble-gum candy.
“It’s a girl!” he said.
“Congratulations, Bootie!”
His smile was electric. “Angelina Beyoncé Hendrix Ute.”
“That’s great!”
He pulled out a baby picture from his wallet and I prepared myself to gush over a miniature image of Bootie sprouting fuzzy hair and sideburns. Amazingly, the picture showed one of the most beautiful newborns I had ever seen. I clucked over the picture and said everything a new father wanted to hear.
“What are you selling?” he asked.
> “Raffle tickets.”
“I’ll buy them all!” He reached for his wallet, but I pulled back.
“I should really buy some for you, Bootie. I’m not sure I can ever pay for the damage to your restaurant.”
His eyes twinkled as he unfolded his leather billfold. “No need, baby. I really appreciate that. Truly do. But I’m planning on doing a little redecorating anyway.”
“Redecorating?”
“Well, yeah . . .” He handed me more than enough money to cover the tickets and grinned awkwardly. “I’ve decided to go in another direction at the bar. I’m making it a little more family friendly.”
“What?”
“Lori is going to put up some pretty curtains and a few other things that will give the place a little more of a homey feeling.”
“Really?”
He grinned and lifted his shoulders. “Well, I am the father of a girl now! For the last few weeks I’ve been looking around the bar, trying to imagine the day I get to show my little girl where her daddy works. What really stuck in my craw was the thought that she might be waitressing for me some day. No way is my daughter gonna be on display that way . . . not gonna happen, baby! So I decided to make a little change. Crap! I guess I’m just getting old.”
I was amazed and touched . . . and pleased. At least my stupid mistake resulted in some good.
When Bootie left, I looked around for J. D. There was so much to tell him about today.
The crowd thickened and I ended up taking the rest of the raffle tickets off Marva when more people wanted to buy from me. One wide-eyed old lady actually asked for my autograph.
Skinny Dipping Season Page 25
