“Just call me Dobb,” the man in the John Deere cap rumbled.
Jimmy Greenway, the silver fox, stood and pumped Margot’s hand firmly. “Nice to meet you, young lady, Principal Jimmy Greenway.”
Margot feigned confusion. “But I thought Mr. Archer was principal.”
Jimmy’s face flushed red. “Uh, well, retired principal, but as I’ve told young Kyle here, you never really retire from a job like this. It’s your lifelong Christian duty to stay close to make sure the children get the best possible education.”
“Well, isn’t it nice of you to hover so close,” Margot said, smiling warmly. “It’s so nice to meet you all. Ms. Reed, did I hear Mr. Archer call you ‘Sweet Johnnie’ before?”
“It’s a nickname,” Sweet Johnnie said, her voice quiet and melodic, like a music box under a pillow. “Nobody on my mama’s side of the family birthed any boys, which was a big disappointment to my Grandpa John, so they tried to make up for it by naming all us cousins after him. And we all ended up being called Johnnie, when we were kids, so we had to have the nicknames so people could tell us apart in school. It’s a little silly, but it’s better than being called Toothless Johnnie or Jumbo Johnnie, like my cousins.”
“You definitely got the best one,” Margot told her, making Johnnie smile.
“If we could get back on track, I don’t see why we’d need outside help,” Sara Lee protested. “I have everything in hand.”
“Well, with the festival coming up so quick, I thought it would be good to go over your plans so far. Miss Margot’s experience is a real resource for us and it would be silly not to take advantage of that if she’s willing to help.”
“I’m just here to tie up some loose ends,” Margot told her. “Put a pretty bow on it. I don’t want to step on toes or take over.”
Sara Lee’s already thin lips pressed into a stubborn line across her face. “I still don’t see the point in it. You’re not from around here. You don’t know anybody. You don’t know any of our traditions. You don’t know who to call or what to order. Do you even know what we’re celebratin’? I don’t want to waste time havin’ to explain things to you. Maybe I should talk to my cousin on the county commission, see how he feels about some outsider bein’ put in charge of the festival.”
Margot stared at Sara Lee for a long moment, weighing, calculating. She didn’t care that Sara Lee didn’t want her help. She didn’t care that Sara Lee didn’t seem to like her. But she wasn’t about to let this woman treat her like yesterday’s Breakfast Stick. Private though it may have been, this was the sort of gossip that got passed around like collection plates on Sunday morning.
If she let a bully like Sara Lee push her around, Margot would get branded as a weakling, and the little respect she got from people beyond her family circle would evaporate. Even with her limited time left in Lake Sackett and her utter lack of giving a damn, she didn’t like the idea of walking through the Food Carnival knowing the locals looked down on her. So she thought back to the time a financier’s wife tried to get Margot fired for nixing her “European-inspired” puce and lime-green color scheme for the CEO’s annual black-tie dinner for investors. She hadn’t shrunk from that woman or her neon-tinged threats. And she wouldn’t shrink from this small-town dictator.
She smiled, not quite as warmly as before. “And that’s how I approached any of the events I was assigned for my company. I didn’t know the hosts or their histories or their favorite vendors. But I learned. I learned quickly. For instance, I’m assuming that we’re celebrating the founding of the town, considering that it’s called the Founders’ Festival.”
Across the table, quiet Sweet Johnnie snorted and then covered it with a cough. Margot decided she was going to like Sweet Johnnie.
Kyle and Margot took the open seats at the table. Sweet Johnnie slid her copy of the planning committee manual across the tabletop to Margot. And Margot realized that most of the committee members looked uncomfortable, not just because of Sara Lee’s attitude but because the chairs they were sitting in were designed to support elementary school students. This was going to be a long afternoon.
“Now, if we could just get started, I’ll do everything I can to make this a painless process.”
“IT’S GOING TO be a horribly painful process,” Margot told Kyle long after the meeting ended and Kyle had finally convinced Sara Lee to leave the school grounds. The meeting agenda had been deadlocked between Sara Lee’s desire to change everything and Jimmy Greenway’s desire to do everything “the way it has always been done.”
Sara Lee seemed reluctant to leave Kyle and Margot unattended, as if they were going to plan a bunch of stuff behind her back the second she left. But Kyle reminded her that her son Austin’s soccer practice was letting out soon and she needed to pick him up—a benefit of knowing the schedule for all the school’s extracurricular activities—and she finally left, glancing over her shoulder all the way.
Kyle and Margot were still hunched in child-size chairs as Margot sorted the box of records she’d pried out of Sara Lee’s hands into categorical piles.
“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad,” Kyle protested.
“Who planned this before Sara Lee took over?”
“Margene Moffat,” Kyle said. “She was head of the ladies’ auxiliary. They handled the planning before the PTA took over.”
“Is there any way I can talk to Margene to get a look at previous plans?”
“No, she’s in the state penitentiary for embezzling more than fifty thousand dollars of the auxiliary’s fund-raising money. And she burned all of her planning binders, along with the auxiliary’s books, in an ‘accidental’ fire she set four years ago to try to throw the auditors off her trail. That’s why the PTA took over the planning.”
Kyle laughed when Margot’s face drooped into an incredulous, exhausted expression. “So what’s wrong with the plans?”
Margot sighed. “Okay, there’s no layout for the booths and rides. Sara Lee hasn’t booked the permits or asked the local police for help directing traffic and blocking off streets. But she did get a petition against an activity called ‘punkin chunkin,’ due to injuries sustained last year. And there’s a little Post-it on the petition that says, ‘Ignore this,’ with a frowny face. I can’t tell what she’s done and what she’s undone. I know that there have been some contributions from local businesses, but I can’t tell who donated or how much they gave, which could be important for tax reasons. There are order slips, canceled order slips, contracts with vendors, canceled contracts with vendors. A lady who was contracted to do face-painting sent her a letter that basically says, ‘Eff you, I can’t put up with your constant contract changes. I’m out.’ Do you know how hard it is to piss off someone who puts glitter paint on children’s faces? Pretty damn difficult.” Margot glanced around the library, feeling guilty for cursing in a room filled with children’s books. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “There are days when I have to play the school song at full blast on my computer speakers so I can yell the F-word at the top of my lungs. Usually it’s after a parent conference. Also, we need the face-painting lady. Her line is always huge.”
Margot’s grimace deepened. “I know we told Sara Lee that we wouldn’t make major changes, but I don’t think we’re going to have a choice. I don’t know what planning strategy she’s using, but unless her goal is ‘frustrate people with long lines, boredom, and bad food,’ this is not going to work out the way you hope.”
“Planning strategy?”
“Every event has to have an end goal, yes? To raise money or show appreciation or make rich people feel even better about themselves for a couple of hours. And for the Founders’ Festival, I assume that—beyond celebrating the anniversary of your town being established—the point is to convince visitors that they should eventually return to town and insert their tourist dollars into local pockets.”
“Yes, but I think that would be tacky in
terms of a slogan . . .”
Margot smirked. “I’m going to figure out a list of ways to keep people’s attention on the many wonderful places to spend those tourism dollars while competing with the expected funnel cakes and bouncy castles. I should be able to get a list of strategies to you by tomorrow.”
“So quickly?”
Margot scoffed. “This is nothing. I once planned a children’s hospital carnival on a shoestring in twenty-four hours because it turned out the previous event planner spent the entire budget on—wait for it—luxury balloons. The entire budget. On balloons. Really nice balloons, but still, balloons.”
“She must have really loved balloons.”
“No, she really loved cocaine,” Margot said. “The balloons just seemed like a good idea while she was on a bender.”
“You know, that’s one advantage of small-town living? Not a lot of stories end with ‘because cocaine.’ I mean, some stories end that way, but not a lot.”
“Are there any drugs that explain Sara Lee’s behavior? Because that was an unusual amount of hostility . . . and while she was sitting in front of a Curious George display, which was pretty shocking.”
“That’s just Sara Lee.” Kyle sighed.
“Is she mad that her mother named her after pound cake?”
“No, she takes her authority as PTA president very seriously. She sees you as a threat to her power base.”
“She realizes that the PTA president has no actual authority in the outside world, right? She knows that she can’t order me to be shot by the PTA secret service . . .” When Kyle said nothing, Margot exclaimed, “Tell me she knows that!”
“I make no guarantees. She may use the punkin chunkin catapult to get rid of your body.”
“That’s what punkin chunkin is? Launching pumpkins with a catapult?”
“Well, it’s really more of a trebuchet. Because it uses a counterweight instead of—” He paused when he saw the exasperated look on her face. “Not important.”
“Again, this seems like an overreaction to someone trying to help with a small-town festival.”
“Well, to Sara Lee, it’s not just a little carnival, it’s her way of showing everybody in town how smart and wonderful she is. She’s a local girl, didn’t go to college, doesn’t work outside of the home. And she has more than a little crush on your cousin-in-law, Carl.”
“Carl?” Margot pursed her lips. “No, I can’t even say that with convincing surprise. I can see it very easily.”
Margot was flattered by the flicker of irritation on Kyle’s face before he said, “Yes, well, according to local lore, Sara Lee wanted Carl, but settled for Dougie Hazard back in high school.”
“The animal control officer?” she said, remembering the story about Aunt Tootie’s conflict over her dog pack.
“Yes. She dumped Dougie as soon as he took her to senior prom, and he never quite got over it. And Sara Lee never got over Carl.”
“Since high school?”
“When you live in a small town and remain in that small town, staying in contact with the people you went to high school with, it’s hard to get away from those little disappointments. No one’s immune. Even after living away for a few years and moving back, my wife still got irritated every time she went to the grocery store and saw the girl who hazed her at band camp.”
Kyle frowned suddenly and the color drained out of his cheeks. Margot supposed it was still painful for him to talk about his late wife, especially when he was talking to someone he’d recently kissed. It didn’t exactly make her feel free of moral confusion.
Kyle cleared his throat. “Anyway, showing up Marianne, who crashed and burned as PTA president two years ago, would go a long way to soothing the sting.”
Margot gasped. “Marianne crashed and burned? But she seems so organized and people-oriented.”
“She is, but she also got so fed up with people either not volunteering or not showing up at the things they volunteered for that she sent home a sealed parent letter listing the lovely field trips and playground equipment that the students could have had if the parents bothered fulfilling their commitments, but since they didn’t, the PTA was going to provide copy paper for the school and that was it. I believe the parting line of the letter was, ‘Enjoy continuing to sit on your collective butts doing nothing and blaming the school for not doing enough for your kids.’ Well, Sara Lee didn’t appreciate being accused of inadequate parenting and led a suddenly invigorated group of parents to impeach her. Of course, they didn’t say it was because she accused them of being inadequate parents. They said sending a letter that included the word ‘butts’ where students could potentially see it was an inappropriate use of school stationery.”
“You’re kidding. Marianne was tossed out of office for using the word ‘butts’?”
“Welcome to the Bible Belt. Marianne was lucky they didn’t bar her from volunteering at the school library.”
“The PTA is a hotbed of intrigue,” she marveled.
He nodded. “Not as hot as the ladies’ auxiliary, but yes.”
Margot smiled and Kyle returned it. All that color rushed back into his cheeks and he looked down at his paperwork, shuffling it into a pile.
“I’ll walk you out,” he said, sliding the papers into his messenger bag. “I’ve got to go pick up the girls from piano lessons soon.”
The school was eerily quiet with the hallways empty and the lights turned off. Kyle checked the office to make sure it was locked and led Margot out of the building. He locked the front door with a rather intimidating set of keys. That enormous ring of keys reminded her of how much authority Kyle held in Lake Sackett. She mulled that over as they crossed the darkening parking lot toward her truck. She didn’t consider the escort necessary, unless she was attacked by the aforementioned Sasquatch, but it was a nice gesture. And it only left her more confused.
“I’m going to be honest, the first time I saw you, you looked so miserable and intense, I still wasn’t convinced you were entirely real,” she said, unlocking the truck. “And then, you’re at school and it’s all smiles and fist bumps to adorable little kids. And then there’s the guy I met at the Dirty Deer. And I feel I know all of you and nothing of you at the same time. I’m just confused as to who the real Kyle is.”
He scratched the back of his neck, staring off into the purpling horizon as if there were some answers to frank and intrusive questions written there. “Well, nobody is ever just one person. When I’m at work, I’m the guy my students need me to be. I smile. I tell goofy jokes. I parent the kids who need it and make sure the kids who are parented get whatever they need. When I’m at home, I’m the guy my girls need me to be. I smile. I make banana pancakes with chocolate chips. I watch YouTube tutorials on how to do a fishbone braid. I focus on what they need and I take care of them. But when it’s just me, I only worry about what I need. And sometimes that’s just wandering around town, staring into space, drinking coffee in the Rise and Shine at six in the morning because Ike’s told the whole staff not to talk to me if the girls aren’t with me. All those things I won’t let myself feel when my daughters are home or my kids need me, I let them in. I just feel. I don’t have to worry about assuring anybody that I’m fine, that they don’t have to worry or try to cheer me up. All that anger and despair and being pissed off that life is so damned unfair, that I’m raising these girls on my own when their mom should be here with us. I wallow in it for a while. And by the time the girls come back, I can turn it back off.”
“Is it healthy, to compartmentalize like that?” she asked, leaning against the truck. The warmth from the metal seeped pleasantly through her jacket into her skin and she sighed.
“Says the woman who works with her estranged father but doesn’t have actual conversations with him?”
“Did Frankie tell you that?” Margot asked. Kyle shook his head. “Marianne?” He shook his head. “Duffy? Too many people in this town have intimate knowledge of my personal life!”
&
nbsp; “E.J.J. He comes into the Rise and Shine some mornings. He worries about you.”
“I’m ignoring your attempts to redirect attention from you,” Margot said. “You compartmentalize. It seems unhealthy to divide your life that way.”
“It’s not you!” he said quickly. “Or it is you, but it’s not. That night at the bar . . . I wasn’t drunk. I hadn’t even had anything to drink. Honestly, I was there because it was a rare night off. I wasn’t there with anybody. And I stuck with soda because I didn’t have anyone to drive me home. That came out much sadder than I expected.”
“It was pretty sad.”
“I—I have had . . . oh, God, this is embarrassing. A couple of years after Maggie passed, people kept telling me it was time for me to date again, that I needed to ‘get back out there,’ and like a jackass, I ignored what my gut was telling me. I couldn’t imagine trying to date a woman around here. I’d wait for the nights when the girls were with my in-laws and I would go to Alpharetta or Athens and meet somebody at a bar and go home with them. And I can’t say that I wasn’t enjoying myself in the moment, but it was uncomfortable. Because I was with that woman, but I wasn’t with her. I didn’t feel right, so I stopped. And then I met you and . . .”
“And?”
“I felt something. Not love at first sight or anything like that, but something. And I don’t know if I’m ready to feel something. And I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. And it’s okay. I’m not exactly in a relationship place right now . . . or ever, really,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “I think I understand. Wait, no, I don’t because I don’t know anything about you. I know what people have told me about you. But nothing about you, from you.”