“Did he just quote my grant request essay?” I don’t ask anyone in particular.
Carter answers from directly next to me—his shoulder brushing mine. “He may have received a copy. Shh, he’s not done.”
“Not. Done.”
“—young mechanic friend of mine let me know that this is a yearly issue and has been for generations. Our school has always requiredstudents to cover their travel costs for field trips, and that has also led to many being left out.” He stops for a moment and looks out at the crowd, letting the information settle. “Well, the committee and I agreed that from this point forward, our final Friday Night Music Extravaganza will double as a fundraising opportunity for our school’s field trips.”
Vicky and I both let out a gasp of shock, and I grab a hold of Carter’s arm while he chuckles quietly.
“Half of our proceeds we collect for booth rental and entrance fees will be donated to the schools.”
I’m completely and utterly speechless at this point. I have no idea how much money that could be, but by looking at the size of the crowd and the number of booths around, it is not a measly amount. We may live in a small town, but it is a hot spot for tourists and music lovers. Especially these Friday nights.
“What did you do, Carter?” I whisper this to him as he stands straight, shoulders back—obviously pleased as punch.
?????
Victor ends his announcement, and I’m immediately pulled back into the chaos of the booth to help with ticket sales and keeping everything moving smoothly. With this addition to our fundraiser, we now have people collecting donations from each of the other booths randomly through the next few hours. The amount of money we’ve brought in is staggering. Billy sits with the collection, our stoic bodyguard, while his own kids are scattered around the event. Every once in awhile, they’ll pop back over to him, palms out and flat, and he’ll roll his eyes and make loudharumphs,then hand them some cash.
My time working in the tent is long over, but now I’m one of the runners. Helping make sure the donation bins at each booth are tallied and collected before things get too crazy. I’m slightly dazed walking back from my most recent collection. Jill Ferris has a booth where she’s allowing people to take photos with her—surprisinglychill—peacock. I wrestled out my own twenty bucks from my small wad of festival-food cash.
“If I pay you four times the price, can I touch him?”
“Tom.”
“I’m sorry?” I look behind me to see nobody who looks like aTomis nearby.
“His name is Tom Hanks. Just put the money with the donation and don’t freak out if he bites you. That would only tick him off.”
He wasnotsoft and nipped at me, but I regret nothing. Carter walks into step with me, throwing me a shy smile before he starts talking.
“Hey, so I, uh, know these guys who are coming up next. I know you know them, but Iknowthem. We all went to high school together.” He looks at our booth, the truck, the stage, the grass, and the stage again while talking. I stop walking and he finally looks at me. I step closer, telling myself it’s to hear him more easily over the crowd and the band currently playing. My chest seizes with the proximity of him, thoughts of Tom quickly diminishing. He drags his foot across the grass, his hands in his pockets, so reluctant to spit it out. “So…why don’t you come with me up to the stage to listen?”
“Oh, um, I don’t—let me check with Vicky.” I turn around and rush back over to our booth, which, to be fair, is only a few steps away. She starts talking before I even open my mouth.
“Yes, you should spice up your life with Mr. Salt and Pepper.” Vicky greets me, taking the money without even looking away from what she’s doing. Apparently, she heard our exchange.Or read my mind.She looks up at me from where she’s sitting at the table. She must see something in my expression because she quickly stands and steps into my space, moving us back away from the busy booth and Carter. She grabs me by the shoulders and leans over to look me in the eyes.
“Becky, honey. You have worked your hind end off for all of this. Go enjoy some music while Carter gives you lovesick puppy eyes.” I look over at Carter and see him giving exactly that look. My lips tugup in reluctant amusement at the accuracy of her statement, but I’m feeling too much turmoil to do much more.
“You think I should let him give me lovesick puppy eyes up close?”
“Yeah, I think you should. I think you’re both happier when you’re in each other’s spaceup close.” Her eyes go a little distant as she says this, then she refocuses on me, squeezing my shoulders gently. “You aren’t hard to read, Hun. I can see you gravitating back to him, and I can also see you judging yourself for it.”
My heart aches with the after effects of his choices, yet skips a beat as I look over and see him standing there, waiting for me. “As much as I would like to pretty up our history, he had an affair, Vicky.” I whisper this to her. My stomach cramps and my jaw tightens with my words.
Her face softens in understanding. “It seems to me that you are making choices with other people’s expectations. You know what he did, but you also know him. Don’t let other people dictate your future. They don’t know your life together. They don’t know your experiences.” Her words are quietly passionate as she stands with me in this crowded field. She takes a deep breath and squeezes my shoulders more tightly. “My late husband was unfaithful early in our marriage. I made the decision to stay with him.” Her eyes mist, nearly spilling over with this remembered pain. “I decided to stay with him, and I don’t regret a single moment we had as a result.” She lowers her face to look directly into my own. “I have always hated how people paint other people's lives with their own experiences and expect them to act accordingly, so don’t take my story as the only truth.”
Her hands slip from my shoulders as she takes a step back from me. “I think you need to decide what your future looks like, and if he’s in it or not.” Then she walks back to the booth to help somebody purchase a raffle, and I’m left with a decision to make.
I take him in from where I’m standing and feel a now familiar surge of loss and hurt. Carter must see it on my face because the hopeful look on his dies immediately, turning into sadness, guilt, and concern.
I hate this.
He approaches me again, this time more measured and uncertain. “They have an announcement to make at the beginning of their set. I want to make sure you don’t miss it.” He’s quiet and earnest, and I give in easily.
I have time to decide.
“Yeah, okay.”
