Mr. Humphrey leaned forward eagerly. “Stamp.”
“No,” I said gently. “Not yet.”
He nodded and stamped it anyway.
I reached for the form, my pulse steady despite the noise in my head. “We can talk about this. While we are accepting forms, not everyone may be given a chance to perform considering the level of interest we have had.”
Great Aunt Cathy waved a hand. “My Anne will perform. While we’re discussing participants, I don’t see Caleb Green’s name.”
The room went very quiet and I could see people lean forward, trying to better hear the conversation.
“He’s helping with sound,” I said.
“That’s insufficient. He’s a country star. He should sing,” Great Aunt Cathy replied.
“It’s what he offered to do,” I said.
She looked at me sharply. “People like him do not hide behind equipment.”
I met her gaze. “He’s not hiding. He’s choosing to allow others to have their time in the spotlight.”
Something in my tone surprised even me.
Great Aunt Cathy studied me for a moment, then sniffed. “We shall see.”
I placed Anne’s form carefully in the Other pile, my hand no longer shaking.
The chaos had not lessened. But for the first time since the forms started arriving, I didn’t feel like I was drowning.
I felt like I was standing in it, feet planted, waiting for the next wave.
I did not have time to dwell on Great Aunt Cathy’s last comment, because chaos, once invited, never waits politely.
The door opened again and a man I vaguely recognized from the hardware store stepped in, holding three forms and a paper bag that smelled strongly of cinnamon.
“I brought extras,” he said, setting the bag down. “For morale.”
“Thank you,” I said sincerely, because morale felt like a limited resource.
“We don’t accept bribes,” Mr. Humphreys looked inside the bag and shoved it back to the hardware store guy.
“Bribes?” I echoed in disbelief.
“They’re just donuts,” the man said.
“I’ll take one,” Marjorie said, grabbing for the bag.
Mr. Humphreys slapped her hand. “Now give us your form.”
He handed Marjorie the forms. She flipped through them and smiled. “Oh good, a trio.”
“They’re separate,” he clarified. “We just arrived together.”
“Of course you did,” Marjorie said, writing TRIO in large letters across the top of one form anyway.
I reached for it. “We’ll just—”
Mr. Humphrey stamped it.
