They moved through the sunlight.“Oriental?”Milly asked.
“No.”Sarah laughed.“Or-na-men-tal.Like a sparkly Christmas tree ornament.It’s pretty and you admire it, but it doesn’t really do anything.”
“Got it,” Milly said.“Today, I’m oriental.”
Sarah stopped herself mid-sigh.
Two doors down, Annie Smith came through the pharmacy doors brandishing a tablet computer.“Sarah, I don’t think you’re going to like this.”
Sarah already didn’t like the sound of it.“What’s going on?”
Annie held up her tablet.“I was just reading my twitter feed.There’s lots of news about the Rhubarb Festival.And a tweet from the mayor apparently went out last night.”
“What’s it say?”Milly asked.
Annie drew a deep breath and read, “Supermodel Sarah Lang has graciously agreed to be our parade marshal!” She glanced up, troubled.“Then he invited everyone from around the state to come and meet you.”
Sarah closed her eyes and groaned.
“Fucking hell,” Ben said, frowning at Sarah.“You’re not getting on any float, horse, moving vehicle, or any other high-profile position.”
“But the mayor called her the marshal.”Annie lowered her tablet.“The marshal always rides on the main float.”
“I don’t care if he calls her the Easter Bunny.”His voice came out low and guttural.“She won’t be on any float.”
Sarah touched his arm.“I won’t, Ben.I’m sticking right beside you all day.Okay?”
He glanced around dourly.“Damn straight.”
“Everyone knows how famous Sarah is.”A frown pinched Annie’s brow.“We were expecting a crowd, but now we’re about to be inundated.”
“Annie’s right,” Milly said.“Every week, we send people looking for Sarah in wrong directions, sometimes more often than that.”
“What?”Sarah stared at her.
“Well, we don’t want people bothering you.”It was Milly’s turn to pat Sarah’s arm.“You know that.”
Beside her, Ben never stopped scanning the street.Sarah could see his jaw tensing.He was gearing up to make her leave—she could feel it.He said, “I don’t like this, Sarah—”
“Ben, I’m not going.Don’t even suggest it.”She shook her head mutinously.“All I want to do is take Milly back to the diner, then enjoy the day.I want to see the kids’ pigs, have a snow cone, watch the dunk tank, listen to the band.It’s no big deal if people want autographs.”
He shook his head and started muttering into a throat microphone.She heard him order the team to close the perimeter around her.Instead of down the block, now they’d be mere yards away in a triangular grid.“Sarah,” he said, “what about the press?They read tweets, too.”
“They’ll be here, won’t they?”She thought about it a moment.“Usually, the best way to handle them is agree to give them some time—say a quick interview—with the agreement that they leave me alone for the remainder of the day.”
He looked at her in surprise.“You want to do that?”
“No.But if I don’t, they’ll pester me the whole time.”
“Okay, if you insist.I’ll be right beside you.”Ben gave her a look.
Determined to stay in town, Sarah figured he could do whatever made him feel better.Even if now she’d have more exposure, she owed this to her friends in town.People were coming to see her and meet her.And they’d spend money.The small businesses needed that revenue.Signing autographs and chatting with people was never a burden.
In front of the pharmacy, the two farmers in overalls from the day before had set up a pen.Little Emily led up a black and white spotted goat.
Sarah made her way over.“Emily, is this your prize goat?”She reached out to scratch its head.“I love the coloring.It looks like a paint horse.Like a pinto.”
“Pinto!That’s his name,” Emily exclaimed, smiling shyly.She glanced at her father, then said to Sarah, “Miss Sarah, would it be okay if my dad takes our picture?You, me, and Pinto all together?”
