1
SARA LEE
The refurbished bookmobile still smelled faintly of french fries.
Sara Lee Higgins had driven the converted food truck through the Virginia county over the past two summers, and no amount of air freshener could completely erase the ghost of its former life. She didn't mind. The scent made her hungry, and on a gorgeous late spring morning like this one, with the windows down and warm air streaming through the cab, hunger felt like the most innocent problem in the world. She taught English at the local high school, and driving the bookmobile in the summers gave her extra money while still letting her enjoy her favorite pastime of connecting readers and books.
She hummed along to the radio as the bookmobile rumbled down a narrow country road lined with farmhouses and split-rail fences. An elderly woman waved from her porch swing. Sara Lee waved back, recognizing Mrs. Tuttle, who checked out exactly threeromance novels every two weeks and always returned them with bookmarks shaped like hearts tucked inside.
The rural county sprawled wide beyond Meadowlark Creek's town limits. All around her were rolling fields, weathered barns, and pickup trucks parked in gravel driveways. Sara Lee had taken this route so many times she could drive it in her sleep. She could recite every pothole, every stop sign, every place where the asphalt crumbled into red Virginia clay on the side of the road.
Her favorite stop was always Miss Patty's house, a rambling ranch with a fenced-in yard full of bright plastic toys. Miss Patty ran an unofficial daycare for families who couldn't afford the fancy place in the next county. Today, she had six kids ranging from toddler to elementary age.
They came tumbling out when they saw the bookmobile, a chaotic parade of excitement and waving hands.
"Ms. Sara Lee!" they chorused, their voices rising in that particular pitch that only excited children can achieve.
Sara Lee grinned as she opened the bookmobile's side door. "Hello, everyone! Ready for some new books?"
"Yes!" they shouted in unison.
Then Tommy, a gap-toothed seven-year-old with freckles scattered across his nose, started jumping up and down, begging for her attention. "My mom buys Sara Lee snack cakes at the grocery store! Do you bake them?"
Sara Lee rolled her eyes good-naturedly, though she couldn't help smiling. Behind the children, Miss Patty pressed a hand to her mouth, her shoulders quivering with suppressed giggles.
"No, Tommy," Sara Lee said, shaking her head with exaggerated patience. "I don't bake snack cakes. I deliver books. Two completely different things."
"But you have the same name!" Tommy protested, his brow furrowed.
"I do. It's just a coincidence." She'd given this explanation more times than she could count.
Sara Lee didn't really mind her name, at least not anymore. But growing up, being teased that she was named after a snack cake brand hadn't exactly been her favorite childhood experience. The jokes started in kindergarten and continued well into high school. "Where's Little Debbie?" kids would ask. "Are you cousins with Hostess?" She'd learned to laugh it off, to roll her eyes, and move on.
In truth, the two names her parents had chosen were Sara and Lee, family names from both sides. Her mother's mother had been Sara, her father's grandfather had been Lee. When she was born, they couldn't decide which to use, so they kept both, never thinking that their daughter's name would become a source of endlesssnackhumor.
"Okay, okay," Sara Lee said, clapping her hands to regain the children's attention. "Enough about snack cakes. Who wants books?"
That did the trick. The children swarmed up the bookmobile's steps, and Sara Lee helped each onechoose their books. There were picture books for the little ones and early chapter books for the older kids. She watched them clutch their selections like treasure as they scrambled back down the steps, already arguing about who got to read first.
Miss Patty approached, wiping her hands on her apron. "Well, thank you for this," Miss Patty said, gesturing toward the children who were already settling into the grass with their books. "You know how much this means to them. And to me."
"It's my pleasure," Sara Lee said, and meant it. Watching children discover the joy of reading and seeing their faces light up over a new story was why she loved her summer job.
She waved as she pulled away, catching a glimpse in her mirror of the children already flopped in the grass, books open, the world forgotten. Tommy still clutched his chapter book, though he was saying something to the girl next to him that made her giggle.
A few miles down the road, Sara Lee smiled as she crossed the bridge over the creek that the town was named after. Meadowlark Creek. The water was rushing along, and she always thought the word creek seemed to be stuck between a small river and a wide stream. But the town founders many years ago must have thought the word creek sounded poetic, along with the common songbird that graced the area.
The ripples sparkled in the late morning sun, and she felt that familiar sense of homecoming.
Meadowlark Creek, the town, was built along Meadowlark Creek, the waterway, and the whole placehad the easy-going, preserved quality of not having changed much in the last fifty years. Sara Lee loved, and sometimes resented, the smallness. It was both a blessing and a curse to live where everyone knew everyone.
And nothing ever happened here…at least nothing serious.Sometimes Sara Lee considered that a downside. Most days were the same, but occasionally something unexpected happened. Such as when Mrs. Martin’s pie didn’t win first place in the fair, considering her pies were excellent. On that one occasion, when she didn’t win first place, she created a scandal by swearing loudly and telling everyone that cheating had occurred in the judging. Sara Lee laughed aloud at the memory. It filled the town’s gossip for weeks.
Today, with the First of June Festival starting tomorrow, the town buzzed with an energy that filled Sara Lee with excitement. While summer wouldn’t officially start for a few more weeks, it was the town’s tradition to welcome in the season.
She drove slowly down Main Street, waving as she went. Pastor Pete Winslow and his wife, Helena, worked in their garden, both wearing matching floppy hats that made them look like enthusiastic mushrooms. Their house was next to the white Methodist church, and Sara Lee knew they wanted the church to look its best for the festival. Helena straightened and waved, dirt-covered gloves and all. The big smile on her face was typical for the pastor’s wife, who also worked as a part-time accountant in town.
A block down the road, Betsy Cordell smiled andwaved as she walked her enormous Goldendoodle. Or rather, the Goldendoodle walked Betsy, pulling the petite woman along like she weighed nothing, having seen a squirrel race across the street. Betsy’s daughter, Barbara, shared the same warm smile… the kind of smile that made you want to tell her your problems over coffee and homemade cookies. That was convenient as Barb had been Sara Lee’s best friend since they were toddlers, and she owned a coffee shop in town.
