Dandelion Wishes (16 page)

“That’s it.” Granny Rose snapped her fingers. “You girls need a sleepover.”

Tracy and Emma exchanged glances and chuckled.

Her grandmother handed out glasses. “You’ve grown a bit since your last sleepover. You won’t both fit in that twin bed upstairs. Tracy, don’t you have a bigger bed in your room?”

Tracy rocketed to her feet. “I’ve got. To go.”

“But you just got here,” Granny Rose protested as Tracy ran down the steps. She turned to Emma. “What did I say?”

“I have no idea.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Y
OU
MADE
ENOUGH
cookies to feed an army,” Emma said to Granny Rose as they walked over to the town square on Saturday morning for the Grand Marshal Selection Ceremony. They each carried a big tub of homemade chocolate-chip cookies.

“My cast members make up a small army.” Granny Rose chuckled. “I’ll get nominated for sure. Don’t know if I’ll win. It’s an honor to be recognized.”

“That’s what they all say,” Emma murmured.

Two weeks before the Spring Festival, the town gathered to recognize the artistic or community contributions of its members. But only one resident was chosen to be the Grand Marshal and preside over the Spring Festival.

This year, Granny Rose had invited her elementary-school production from Cloverdale to sing something from
The Music Man.
Snarky Sam would undoubtedly bring one of his taxidermy projects. Mayor Larry would demonstrate the latest yoga poses. Mrs. Mionetti would bring her latest wool-knitting project. And so on. Residents were a diverse and talented lot.

“Emma, do you have a rock in your shoe? You’re limping.”

“I’m still working out the kinks from that fall off the bike.” Emma’s body felt like she’d been run over by a truck. Twice. Will was right. Progress needed to be made before someone died waiting for help. But about the kissing... Will was wrong. Kissing her was a bad idea. If it came to a choice between a kiss and recovering her talent, she’d have to choose paintbrushes and canvas.

Granny Rose laughed. “How sad that there won’t be a painting from Emma Willoughby this year.”

“I’m no longer a resident, so I can’t enter.”

There was a chill to the spring morning that seemed to rise from the dewy, fresh-cut grass, making Emma glad she’d chosen to wear black yoga pants and a plum-colored hoodie, which also hid most of her scrapes and bruises. Or maybe it was the chill of anticipation Emma felt. She suspected she’d see Will today. Would he try to kiss her? Or chide her about her silly fears?

They stepped onto the Harmony River bridge. In the distance, Emma could see people buzzing around the perimeter of the town square, setting up tables and chairs.

“Why is it that only Harmony Valley residents show up to this?”

“We like to be true to ourselves. Two weeks from now we’ll show off the best of our talents in the Spring Festival, celebrate our town’s diversity with floats and open the year’s first Farmer’s Market.”

“Maybe next year there’ll be wine poured at the festival.”

“I told you not to listen to that computer nerd.” Granny Rose frowned.

“I want you to have a safety net here in town. Will’s plan isn’t perfect, but it’s the only plan out there.”

“I warned you about Will. He fascinated you even as a child.” Granny Rose stopped long enough to shake her finger at Emma. “But he never saw you as more than a nuisance. Nothing has changed. You chase after him and he ignores you.”

“That’s not true.” The words slid slowly from Emma’s lips as she realized the truth beneath the alibis she’d been telling for years.

I have a crush on Will.

Granny Rose huffed and continued walking, leaving Emma alone with her thoughts on the bridge where town lovers traditionally shared a good-night kiss.

I have a crush on Will.

When had that happened?

Emma flipped through memories—rafting, fishing, hiking—going back further and further—Easter-egg hunts, Fourth of July sparklers—until one memory stuck.

This one.

She’d been too small and weak to make a basket on the hoop above Will and Tracy’s garage. She’d been trying for what seemed like forever, so long that her best friend had gotten bored and run over to the swing set. But Emma, stubborn even back then, had kept at it in the hot sun. Sweaty, her hands smelling like dirty rubber, she’d dribbled and leaped and wished the ball into the hoop. To no avail.

And then Will had rounded the corner of the house from the barn, looking as hot and dirty as she felt in his scuffed work boots and dusty blue jeans. A few years older, a few feet taller, with a lot more responsibility on his plate.

“You’ll never sink that,” he’d said.

She’d wanted to toss the ball to the moon, along with every other basketball on the planet.

And then, without warning, Will had lifted her up, basketball and all. Her laughter had filled the air as she’d stretched her arms toward the hoop, barely putting the ball through the orange metal rim. Her feet had come back to earth safely. He’d released her.

She’d scurried after the ball. “Let’s do that again.”

He’d lifted her over and over, laughing along with her, until his father had called him into the field.

She’d known he had chores. She’d known she’d be in the way. She’d followed him anyway.

A few days ago she’d followed him around Harmony Valley.

Could I have more than a crush on Will?

Heavens, she hoped not.

She was fascinated by the deliberate, yet confident way he moved, the meticulous approach he had toward life, as if unwanted what-if scenarios were weighed, measured and avoided at all costs. She found his protection of Tracy both exasperating and endearing. She enjoyed the way his bossy nature needled her rebel instincts.

But love? She wasn’t sure she knew what that meant, how that felt.

And she was determined not to know.

Thankfully, the object of her soon-to-be nonexistent affection was nowhere in sight when Emma collected herself and ventured into the town square. Would it be too much to ask that he and his friends had taken the day off from schmoozing Harmony Valley residents?

Of course he’d be here. Everyone in Harmony Valley came to the ceremony. Which meant Tracy would be here, as well.

Emma deposited her tub of cookies on a table near her grandmother, who was busy welcoming her young performers and their parents. Slipping on her sunglasses, breathing in the smell of fresh-cut grass, she wandered around the square to check out what the residents had done this year.

Snarky Sam had set up a five-foot-tall sawhorse next to his lawn chair. Hanging from it was a deer head with a broad spread of antlers. Sam had somehow given the deer humanlike shoulders and dressed him in a white shirt and black vest, a sloppy gray toupee and a hoop earring.

A group of elementary schoolchildren from Granny Rose’s school in blue jeans and T-shirts painted like blue band jackets swarmed around Sam and his work as if he was a rock star.

“Nice,” Emma praised the pawn-shop owner over the children’s heads.

“It’s better than the skunk, don’t you think?” Sam’s Sherlock Holmes skunk had won him the Grand Marshal title one year. “Worth your vote?”

“Worth somebody’s. I can’t vote anymore.” Wishing him luck, Emma moved on.

Hiro Takata sat at the next table.

“How did the colonoscopy go?” Emma asked politely, hoping the pictures on his table weren’t of his insides.

“I’m smooth as a baby’s bottom in there.” Old Man Takata, as he liked most people younger than him to call him, patted the back of his hip. He used to be an undertaker and still did special requests. He had two framed pictures on his table, both extreme close-ups of Nadine Tarkley’s face. “Can you tell which is before and which is after?”

Emma’s stomach threatened to sour, but she gamely took a closer look. “I’m going to guess the one with the white silk background is the after.” The one where Mrs. Tarkley’s dead eyes were closed.

“Correct!” He clapped his hands. “I hear you took my place at bowling. I’ll be back week after next.”

“I’ll hold your spot.” Emma moved on.

She was admiring Mrs. Mionetti’s knit wool lampshades when Will appeared next to her. He handed her a travel mug. “Thought you might need an extra cup of coffee this morning.”

I have a crush on Will.

Emma held the coffee between them like a much-needed barrier. “Where’s Tracy?”

“She and my dad went to the hardware store first thing. They should be back soon. Flynn and Slade went into town to catch a movie.” He stepped into her space, examining the bruise on her cheek, which Emma thought was barely visible beneath a layer of makeup. “You look good. How do you feel?”

“Okay.”
Please don’t ask me about my fears.
Emma walked away with a nervous gait she hadn’t experienced since high school. She stopped in front of Felix’s table.

The big retired fireman had pet crates of adorable kittens. One was occupied by a rather large, one-eyed Siamese. Upon seeing Will, the Siamese started yowling and rubbing against the cage. Will reached in a finger to scratch the cat behind one ear. The Siamese purred.

“Ping’s bonded with you,” Felix said stiffly to Will. “I’d ask if you’d adopt him, but I want him to have a stable home with a person who cares about others.”

Will retracted his finger. “I keep telling you and everyone else—I’m building the winery and running the winery. It’s not for sale.”

“He’s selling.” Felix reached into a crate to take out a small white kitten, passing it to one of Granny Rose’s musical cast.

Will clenched his jaw. “No, I’m not.”

Emma laid a hand on Will’s arm. “People would be more likely to believe you if you gave them a reason. An honest reason for starting a winery and retaining ownership.” And then she waited for him to admit he was doing it for his dad and Tracy.

Will’s lips remained sealed.

Why was he stopping short of reassuring the town of his commitment?

“He’s selling,” Felix surmised.

“I’m not.”

“He’s selling,” Felix repeated gloomily.

* * *

T
RACY
STOOD
NEXT
to her dad at the Grand Marshal Selection Ceremony. The sun and light breeze had chased away all traces of fog, leaving the late morning squintably bright. She’d rather be home painting in her dark room, but her father had driven straight from the hardware store in Cloverdale to attend the festivities. Heaven forbid he miss out on a town event.

Tracy’s paint cans were in the back of his truck. Thankfully, her dad hadn’t asked her why she needed five gallons of paint in five different, loud colors. She would have left, but there were too many cans for her to carry home by herself. Even if she left with one or two, Will would notice and ask questions she didn’t want to answer.

“The votes are in,” Mayor Larry announced, from the stage set up in front of El Rosal. “And we have a tie between Rose Cascia’s
The Music Man—
”

The kids jumped up and down, cheering. Their parents hovered in the background with benevolent smiles.

“And Sam Smith’s Corporate Deer.”

Tracy remembered the last time she’d qualified to cast a vote. She’d cast a ballot for Snarky Sam’s bikini raccoon. The roadkill taxidermist was always her favorite candidate for Grand Marshal.

“In case of a tie, the town council may appoint an independent board to break it. In this case, we’ve chosen judges who’ve left Harmony Valley and made us proud—Will Jackson, Emma Willoughby and Tracy Jackson.”

Tracy looked up with a start. “Me?”

Her father hugged her. “You.”

“Folks, in case you don’t know or don’t remember, these are three former Harmony Valley residents, among them a self-made millionaire, an up-and-coming artist and a survivor of a serious accident. Let’s bring them up here with a big round of applause.”

Tracy gritted her teeth.
Survivor of a serious accident.
Was that her claim to fame? No flippin’ way.

“She’s the artist,” one little boy said, pointing at Tracy’s paint-stained fingers.

Tracy tucked her hands in her jeans pockets as she followed Will over to the podium. She felt the pitying eyes of the townspeople on her and could hear their whispers, “She’s the one who can’t talk.” She couldn’t take their judgment, their scrutiny. She edged back, but someone grabbed her arm.

It was Emma.

“Smile,” Emma said before Tracy could succumb to panic and shrug her off. “Smile like this is the best day of your life and they’ll smile right back at you.”

It was either break free of Emma’s grip and make a fool of herself as she ran away, or smile. If she ran, the town would qualify her nickname—something like “reclusive serious accident survivor.”

So Tracy smiled. She smiled at the kiddies in front of the podium, waving at them as if she was Miss America—there was a laugh. She pointed out people she knew and smiled when they waved back. She worked that smile until her cheeks hurt and she realized Will was talking into the microphone.

“So although I like Sam’s Corporate Deer, I have a fondness for
The Music Man.
My vote goes to Rose.”

Tracy rolled her eyes.

“If he thinks his vote will get my vote, he can vote again,” Rose grumbled from the grass below the podium. She was swaying back and forth as if readying herself for a leap onto the stage. Trouble was coming.

Emma was already halfway down the stairs to calm her grandmother.

Will drew Tracy toward the microphone. There was no question who she was voting for. “Sam.”

Her underage
The Music Man
homies in the front row groaned and applauded politely.

“Don’t you want to tell us why?” Mayor Larry asked.

No, she didn’t. But Emma was still down talking to Rose and Larry was giving Tracy the “go on” hand signal, so Tracy expanded on her answer. “I. Liked it.”

The kids applauded. Tracy went back to smiling at anyone who made eye contact with her, wishing she could disappear.

Mayor Larry claimed the microphone and waved Emma back up to the podium. “It comes down to you, Emma.”

With one last finger shake at Rose, Emma approached the stage. Her gaze fell on Tracy, frowning in speculation.

Tracy recognized that look. It meant Emma was making a right turn when her GPS and everyone else recommended she turn left.

Pointing at Tracy, Emma grinned, an unspoken
Are you in?

Tracy shook her head.

“Tough.” Emma put her foot on the bottom step. “It’s your year.”