“Right.” Summer’s face fell. She was as expressive as Jemma was not. “Poor Savilla. I wonder how she’s doing. I would be absolutely bereft if my father disappeared.”
I found this statement interesting for a variety of reasons, primarily because I’d never had a father. I mean, I had a father in the biological sense, but whenever I’d asked Momma about him, she would pull me onto her lap and tell me a story about how she’d found me in a basket floating down the river or how the fireflies had led her to me in the deep, dark forest on one moonless night. Eventually, I didn’t think it important enough to keep asking. Besides, it wasn’t like I was missing something. Momma was the best friend a girl could have, and Aunt DeeDee made the best fried chicken and banana pudding a girl could want. What else did I need?
“I’m sure Savilla will recover,” Jemma said flatly.
“I know it’s ungenerous, but…” Summer paused and tilted her head as if considering her words carefully. “I really hope they don’t cancel the pageant.”
“I think most of us feel that way,” I said, motioning toward the other women readying themselves to interact with the judges.
“I’m getting married,” Summer said, almost as if it was a secret.
“Oh, congrats,” I said, imagining that she was planning to use her winnings on a fancy wedding.
“My fiancé is in med school and wants us to go abroad when he graduates.”
I tried not to make a face at her obvious wealth.
“He wants to repair cleft palates for children whose families can’t afford it,” Summer continued. “I’ll be a teacher wherever he sets up his practice.”
My face fell as I realized that I’d misjudged her, and I reminded myself once again that not all contestants were alike.
Jemma didn’t seem interested in Summer’s plans, but shewasinterested in winning. She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Okay, I’m going to be straight with you. I don’t really see either of you as real competition.”
Both Summer and I startled at the words.
“I’m not trying to be cruel,” Jemma continued. “But it usually takes a few years before a contestant stands a chance at being a top contender, and neither of you has competed in this particular pageant as long as I have.”
“What about beginner’s luck?” I asked.
Jemma didn’t deign to answer that question, and Summer shrank into herself as she seemed to notice the competitive gleam in Jemma’s eyes.
“How many times have you competed at The Rose?” I asked.
Jemma seemed to debate whether or not she wanted to answer. “I started at twenty-two, and I just turned twenty-nine.”
This was her last chance at the crown. Summer’s mouth morphed into an “Oh” and her eyes widened.
Jemma stared at me for a second too long. “That’s why I need you both to take this seriously.”
“I am,” I told her, thinking about the debt collectors calling incessantly and the number of messages I would need to return next week, hopefully with good news that I could pay the debts. “I need the money probably more than anyone else, and my aunt is in jail. Why are you here?”
“None of your concern,” Jemma answered.
“Except it is our business if you want us to have a nice chat with the judges this morning,” I informed her as I leaned back and crossed my arms, before continuing in a singsong voice: “Remember that conversation and comportment are the order of the day.”
“It’s okay if you don’t want to share,” Summer said, trying to put a hand on Jemma’s forearm—she jerked it away. “Sometimes it’s hard to talk about our emotions.”
I wanted to tell Summer good job at using her teacher voice, but Jemma broke in again.
“It’s not hard,” she insisted. “I just…” Jemma inhaled. “I’d like to produce my own show. Off-Broadway, but even that’s expensive. I wrote it years ago about my brother’s battle with recovery, but no producer has shown the slightest interest, so…”
I was surprised. Jemma actually had a goal and a family—and maybe even a semblance of a heart?
“That’s a good reason to be here,” I admitted.
“This is my third year at The Rose, but I’ve done thirteen pageants,” Summer said almost like a confession. “The only show I won was the very first when I was five and no talent was required. What does that say about me?”
Oh Lord. This was turning into a beauty queen support group.
