Dad squinted at the nearest sculpture, which had evolved into something that could generously be described as an owl. “Is it supposed to look like that?”
The sculptor smiled patiently as he stood beside his creation. “Yes.”
Dad nodded. “Excellent.”
Anne leaned closer, studying the carving. “The wings are very well balanced.”
Great Aunt Cathy sniffed. “It lacks refinement.”
I gave the sculptor a tight smile. “Judges, please make your notes and let’s keep moving.”
The next sculpture inspired a debate about whether abstract art counted if no one could identify it. Great Aunt Cathy thought it was bold. Mom worried the public would be confused. Dad liked that it reminded him of a chair. Anne asked about technique and received a detailed explanation that no one else listened to.
I intervened gently, redirecting, summarizing, and encouraging them forward whenever the conversation threatened to root itself in one spot for too long.
We were halfway through when I noticed the crowd looking elsewhere.
Toward Caleb who was casually standing near the sound equipment, hands in his jacket pockets, posture relaxed in a way that was increasingly rare for him. He was watching the sculptors, half-smiling at something Abby was saying nearby as she pointed to one of the sculptures.
A woman slowed as she passed him, head tilting, eyes narrowing in recognition. She stopped walking entirely, turning back for a second look.
“Oh my,” she said, not quietly.
Caleb immediately stiffened.
She stepped closer, tentative at first. “I am so sorry, but are you the singer Caleb Green?”
Caleb hesitated just long enough for the answer to be obvious. “Yes.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “I knew it. I knew it. I saw you at Red Rocks years ago. You were incredible.”
“I appreciate that,” he said, polite but careful.
She was already pulling out her phone. “Can I get a picture?”
Before he could answer, she waved someone over. “Tara. Tara! It’s him.”
Caleb glanced toward me, something apologetic in his expression, and I felt a jolt of understanding click into place.
This was what he had been avoiding.
People began to gather, curiosity rippling outward. Someone asked for an autograph. Someone else recognized his name and gasped. A third person started listing songs with the kind of enthusiasm that made retreat impossible without being rude.
Great Aunt Cathy noticed immediately. “See? He’s here and now is your chance Anne. A famous musician with real talent in the family. I always liked music. If I had been able to play music, I would have been quite proficient.”
“Grandma, I’m not interested in Caleb,” Anne softly protested.
“Nonsense. Get in there with the rest of the girls. He’s sure to see you as a catch,” Great Aunt Cathy shoved Anne towards Caleb.
I stepped in before the situation tipped fully sideways.
“All right,” I said, raising my voice just enough to carry. “Judges, if we could finish scoring, please.”
Mom blinked. “Oh. Yes. Of course.”
Dad hesitated, then followed Mom, though he continued glancing back. “He does look familiar.”
“Great Aunt Cathy and Anne? You both have an obligation that you signed up for here,” I sternly reminded them.
