“Oh, no,” Opal said quickly. “We just had, some, um, scheduling issues today. But we wanted to go ahead and get started anyway.”
“Great!” The councilwoman took a slow stroll around the entire model, her heels clicking. The reporter took a few shots of her, then turned back to Dave, who was the only one still working. “Well, it’s hard to tell from the outside, of course. But I’m sure you’re making a good start.”
Opal winced, then said, “We are! We’re thinking it will actually move pretty quickly once we get all our people in place.”
“And when do you plan to have it completed?” the reporter asked, flipping another page on her pad.
“May,” the councilwoman told her.
“What?” Opal said. “May? I . . . I thought the centennial was in June.”
“It is. But the town celebration begins May sixth, and we’re going to put this in the mai post office to kick it all off,” the councilwoman replied. She looked at Opal. “Oh my God! I told you that, right? I was sure I did.”
We all watched Opal swallow. “Um,” she said. “Actually—”
“Where the hell is everybody? ” my dad’s voice boomed from the bottom of the stairs. Now it was my turn to flinch, just out of reflex. “Are we not opening for lunch on game day in less than an hour?”
“Gus!” Opal said, or rather kind of shrieked. Beside me, Tracey closed her eyes. “We’re all up here with the councilwoman, showing her the model.”
“The what?”
“The model,” she repeated. Then she cleared her throat, her face pink, and said to the councilwoman, “That’s Gus. He’s—”
These words, however, were drowned out by the sound of my dad stomping up the stairs. Fee-fi-fo-fum, I thought, and then he appeared on the landing, face red, expression annoyed. “Leo!” he said. “Didn’t I tell you fifteen minutes ago I needed all the vegetables prepped ASAP? We’re opening the doors and half the side work isn’t done. Who the hell is supposed to be setting up in the dining room?”
“That would be me,” Tracey said cheerfully. He glared at her, and she directed her attention back to the model, quick.
“I thought these were youth volunteers? ” the councilwoman said to Opal.
“Gus,” Opal said, her voice rushed, “this is Councilwoman Baker. Remember, I told you that she was helping us with the parking....”
My dad glanced at the councilwoman, then back at us. “Jason, get down there and finish the vegetable prep. Leo, I need the pots boiling and the carts stocked for service, now. And Tracey, if that dining room isn’t set up in fifteen and spotless, you’ll have more than enough time to volunteer for any project, I promise you.”
“Hey!” Tracey protested. “How come I’m the only one you’re threatening to fire?”
“Go!” my dad barked, and she did, tossing down the house she was holding and going to the stairs faster than I’d ever seen her move. Leo and Jason followed, in equally rapid time, leaving just me and Dave. I picked up the house, walking back over to the model, while he focused on assembling another building, his head ducked down.
Opal gave a helpless look to the councilwoman. “It’s game day,” she said, trying to explain. “Our cooler broke, and . . .”
The councilwoman ignored her, instead breaking out that big smile again as she walked over to my dad. “I’m Lindsay Baker,” she said, holding out her hand. “You’re Gus Sweet?”
My dad, distracted, shook her hand. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“I believe you left me a message yesterday,” she replied. “Something about having no room for this project?”
“Actually, I said it was a complete and total nuisance and I wanted it gone,” he replied. Then he looked at me and said, “What are you doing here?”
“Just needed to talk to you about something,” I said. “You were fixing the cooler, though, so I didn’t want to interrupt.”div> “Smart girl.” He sighed, then ran his hand through his hair. “I gotta get back down there. Come down in five or so?”
I nodded. As he turned for the stairs, the councilwoman said, “Mr. Sweet?”
My dad paused, looked back. “Yeah?”
She was still smiling at him, totally unfazed that he was barely giving her the time of day. It was obvious she was the kind of woman who was used to getting attention not just from men but from women, children, even animals. I knew the type. I’d been raised by one who came from a family of the same. “Concerning the model, I’d love to talk to you about it further. At a more convenient time, of course. Maybe we can set up a meeting at my office later this week?”
Opal looked at her, then at my dad. “That would be great,” she said quickly. “We would love that.”
My dad, however, just grunted, then went downstairs without comment. A few moments later, we heard him start yelling again. But Councilwoman Baker, hardly bothered, was looking at the space where he’d been standing with an intrigued expression, like someone had told her a good riddle and she was enjoying figuring out the answer. Uh-oh.