I spend the next twenty minutes safety proofing the ridiculous setup Sandra and the girls have put up. I replace the faulty extension cords, give the generator some oil it desperately needs, tweak the pressure settings so the thing doesn’t explode, and I shove a two by four under one end of the oven to keep it level on the uneven grass beneath. It’s not perfect, but I don’t have to worry a freak accident is going to wind up getting Sandra hurt. Or any of the others, for that matter.
The Francis’ have set up their little festival as a real tourist attraction. They have the whole Francis brood from two feet tall to six seven, in the case of Vaughn Francis, out directing traffic. They also make sure to plan this little shindig right before a big college game just a few cities over. All the families heading up the day before see the signs, the Francis farm isn’t far off the road, yeah. Big bucks. They even have it set up where families who’ve gathered their allotted basketful of strawberries are funneled out one exit, forcing them to pass through the gift shop on the way back to their cars, where they can buy souvenirs, t-shirts, and anything else the Francis’ can think up.
I’ve always hated it. The locals call it lookie-lou season, because all day and for most of the day tomorrow, there will be minivans and SUVs crawling through town while screaming kids in the back fight over who gets to watch what on the seat-mounted screens. It’s like a fucking plague, and until this year, I’ve always wished some kind of natural disaster would divert traffic and spare us all the annoyance. Now… Now I’m looking at every football fanatic and tourist like dollar signs that might let Sandra save her dream. And I’m hoping with everything I have that it works.
I drag Roman with me inside the strawberry patches and let him watch me a couple times before I let him try to snag some customers. Our first target is a woman and her son. She looks about thirty and her son is just a little older than Roman. I gently tap the back of Roman’s chest with my hand and groan loudly.
“Boy, oh boy,” I shout. “I thought the strawberries were good on their own. But once I put them on that fresh made shortcake with the handmade whipped cream? Didn’t get any better. Right, little guy?”
Like the complete badass that my son is, Roman belches as if on command, clutching his stomach. He grins up at me and I smile down, hugging him to my side.
I act like we’re heading back to get more strawberries, but listen closely as the little boy starts talking his mom into letting them get shortcake when their done.
“We will, honey. We will,” she says to him.
22
Sandra
We’re barely able to keep up as customer after customer joins the line out front for shortcake. Jennifer, Lauren, and I are all sweating already and it’s not even ten. I’ve already lost count of how many customers we’ve served and have had to send Jennifer to Red’s for smaller bills twice now. Part of me almost wants to go tell Reid and Roman to slow it down in there. The two of them are like customer magnets. I know most of the business is coming from them, because a very disproportionate amount of our customers are females, and the younger ones look longingly toward Reid, maybe hoping he’ll give them just a scrap more of attention because they took his bait.
Sorry girls. He’s mine.
The thought makes me smile to myself. Why should I be surprised that I feel possessive of him? I wanted to have his baby even when I it might have been the result of a drunken accident. My body was obviously very sure about my compatibility with Reid way before I was. Now that we’ve had a little more time to settle into what our lives could be like together, my mind is catching up. And it’s catching up with frightening speed.
I try to stop myself from thinking girlish, silly thoughts, but don’t succeed. I picture wedding dresses, raising children with Reid, moving into our own place together with a little fence. Maybe even a puppy. I picture it all and just behind the dream is reality. Dark, ever-present, and threatening. Reality could come crashing through at any moment, and if this little scheme of mine doesn’t work, everything might shatter with it.
Right now isn’t the time to think about that, so force myself to get my mind back on setting the shortcakes and whipped cream on paper plates and handing them to customers.
The rest of the afternoon goes by in a blur. By the time it’s too dark for people to pick strawberries, we’re all exhausted. Only Reid seems to still have energy. He lets Lauren and Jennifer go home early, promising to help me clean up. He set up a sleeping bag and a pillow in the bed of his truck, which Roman is curled up in and sleeping contentedly.
I count out the last dollar bill and press it down on the prep table. Tears well in my eyes. “It’s not enough,” I say.
“How much is it?” asks Reid.
“Seven thousand,” I say dejectedly. “Just a little over half of what I need.”
Reid moves in to hug me tight. “It’ll be okay,” he says softly. “It’ll all work out. Trust me.”
“Am I being an idiot for refusing to just take the money from my parents?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “The bakery has never been about money to you. It’s a symbol. It’s everything you’ve stood for and fought for. It’s your independence and it’s your strength.”
I sigh, squeezing his broad back tightly and burying my face in his chest. “And it’s going to be taken away.”
“No,” he says. “They can try to destroy the bakery, but they can’t destroy what it stood for.” He pauses, as if he’s telling himself something and not just me. “They can’t take that from you. No matter what.”
I’m putting the last of the supplies we took from the bakery back inside the next morning when Mark Riggins pulls up to the curb. He gets out of his truck with purpose, storming toward me as he pulls off his sunglasses.
“You two think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you?”
I look over my shoulder, wondering who he’s referring to. “Excuse me?”
“You and my stupid fucking brother. You think you outsmarted me? Think again. This town was a piece of shit anyway,” he says, angrily sweeping his arm wide like he’s batting at a fly. “So I should be thanking you for saving me the trouble of trying to turn it into something worthwhile. I hope you all rot in this depressing little shithole.”
Without giving me time to figure out what’s going on, Mark gets in his truck, and tears out of the parking lot.
Did he just say he’s not going to try to build here anymore? Because of Reid and me? That doesn’t make sense though. I didn’t raise enough money, and my business wasn’t the only business being threatened.
I get in the car and drive to Reid’s house and feel a sinking in the pit of my stomach when I see him and Roman moving boxes outside. I step out of the car, waving my hands to get their attention. “What are you doing? Don’t tell me this is what it looks like.”
“Mind running inside for a bit, Bud? Get yourself some Kool-Aid.”