Mayday (17 page)

“Our opponents will find their own worthy candidate,” she reminded him. “Without the element of surprise, maybe grooming a local to run might prove the better option.”

“The opposition can bring it on,” he said. “I can do this.”

“In your mind, then, the events of this weekend should serve as a gauge of your talents and success?” She raised her brows in inquiry.

“That was already the case,” he reminded her. “You said your offer of support depended on what you saw during your visit.”

“Fair enough. Then let me tell you what I saw yesterday. A protest. A missing Maypole. A fire requiring several trucks.” One by one, she ticked the items off on her fingers, and then pinned him with a steely gaze. “Chaos, Mayor Ramirez. Only rectified in the end by the loyalty of Ms. Murphy and your volunteers, along with a healthy dose of your charm.”

“Problems are inevitable in any new community event,” he said. “Are you telling me similar programs in Clearport happen without a hitch?”

Her eyes dropped to her lap.
Gotcha
, he thought in triumph.

“We haven't held a community event like your May Day celebration in years,” she said. “In my memory, no fire trucks were necessary. But I do recall quite a few near disasters averted at the last moment.”

“I wouldn't be coming into a perfect situation in Clearport,” he said. “So isn't it more useful for you to see me under pressure, facing adversity, than running a flawless event?”

She looked back up, the corners of her eyes crinkling in humor. “Are you telling me you staged last night's difficulties to demonstrate your ability to fix problems?”

He laughed. “If I thought you'd believe it, I'd certainly say so.”

“You don't strike me as a liar,” she said.

He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I'm not,” he said. “Obviously, I didn't plan to singe a historic building in your presence. I'd prefer not to deal with a protest. I wish we had a twenty-foot Maypole, rather than a tree cut down from my girlfriend's backyard. But I was proud of how our team pulled together to handle the issues that arose. That's the kind of community involvement I've been dreaming of and working toward for years.”

Drumming her steepled fingers together, she looked at him for a long moment.

“All right,” she finally said, standing up and grabbing her purse. “Let's see how today goes, and I'll make my final decision tomorrow.”

As he stood up too, he looked down at her feet. “Nice sneakers.”

“So I can run if any more trees catch on fire,” she said. But there was an unmistakable twinkle in her dark eyes.

He opened the door for her. “Good plan.”

Right before she walked away, she turned to him. “Make sure today goes better than yesterday. I no longer doubt your ability to deal with unforeseen problems. I do, however, doubt your ability to prevent those problems in the first place. Prove me wrong.”

The twinkle had disappeared from her eyes. Her narrow face appeared drawn in grave concern. And when she left for the elevator, she didn't bother with a farewell.

I have to believe that hard work and Helen's support will make this happen for me,
he thought.
Because the alternative—losing my future for the second time—is too terrible to contemplate.

H
el?” Sarah said. “Is the morning dew thing supposed to make my face itch? Because we've been doing this for a while now, and I don't feel more beautiful. I feel like my cheeks are burning. Did you direct us to some sort of weird Dew of Fire?”

Angie snorted from where she was bent over a patch of grass in City Park. “Drama Queen.”

Helen couldn't help but smile when she glanced over at Angie. Her friend had followed the typical May Day tradition of wearing green in celebration of spring, and her emerald sweater almost matched the grass underneath her hands. Currently, the garland she'd plopped on her head had shifted and was covering her face at a drunken angle. Appropriate for Angie, really.

“Maybe you haven't become a meal for the mosquitos, Angie, but I have,” Constance said, looking up from where she was kneeling on the ground in her usual jeans. “Helen, when you talked about the tradition of washing our faces in the morning dew, you mentioned how the ritual was supposed to fortify us and bring lifelong beauty. Also something about marrying the man or woman of our dreams. At no time did you say anything about bloodsucking insects.”

“I told all of you to use bug spray,” Angie said. “Grant's poor father is still recovering from West Nile virus. After meeting him, I don't go anywhere without insect repellent.”

Helen sat back on her heels. “You did warn us, but I forgot.”

“We were supposed to do this during the predawn hours,” Mary said, her wreath resting perfectly on her wide forehead. “Maybe there were fewer mosquitos then.”

“I can't believe I left a warm bed with Grant to wipe my face with wet grass and insects,” Angie said. “You owe me, Murphy.”

“Nature blows,” Sarah agreed. “And burns. What the fuck is happening to my cheeks?”

“Shhhh, potty mouth,” Helen scolded her. “We're not alone, remember?”

A glance at the other local women squatting and sitting on the park grass, though, showed they hadn't heard. Or if they had, they'd chosen not to react. Bea looked up briefly, but lowered her head back toward the ground after a moment. Thank God. The last thing Helen wanted to do was offend the councilwoman, especially given the newspaper's headline that morning.

Mary crawled a few feet over to Sarah's side. “Let me see your face,” she ordered quietly.

Sarah obeyed. And when Mary swore in a whisper, all the women stopped what they were doing and stared at her in shock. All except one.

Angie beamed at her newest employee. “Did you just say ‘shit,' Mary? Because if so, I'm giving you a raise. That's the first time you've cursed in front of me. I feel so proud.” She mimed wiping proud tears from her eyes.

“No!” Mary exclaimed. “Don't touch your eyes!”

Angie lowered her hand. “Okaaaaay,” she said. “Care to explain what's going on?”

Mary pointed to Sarah's face without a word.

As one, all their heads swiveled toward Sarah. When Helen looked, she couldn't suppress a loud gasp, one she heard echoed by the other women. Sarah's cheeks . . . oh, Jesus. They'd begun to swell, and angry red splotches were starting to appear there.

Fuck. Someone should have seen it sooner, but they'd become too used to Sarah's perfunctory complaints to pay her any heed. She was the Girl Who Cried Discomfort.

“Go ahead and tell me. How many mosquito bites do I have?” Sarah scowled. “Goddamn it, I should have known better than to go outdoors. Mother Nature is a merciless bitch, determined to murder the human race in whatever way she can.”

“No mosquito bites, as far as I can tell,” Constance said. “But . . . honey, did you wash your face with dew from any three-leaved plants, by any chance?”

“Maybe.” Sarah shrugged. “I got my dew wherever I could.”

Mary pointed to a nearby cluster of bushes. “Poison ivy. If you washed your face with dew from those leaves, you need to go take care of it right now.”

Sarah sighed. “Shit.”

“I'm so sorry,” Helen said. “It never even occurred to me to warn people about that.”

“Did anyone else touch those plants?” Mary asked.

The other women all shook their heads.

Sarah swept a fulminating glare over the park grounds. “Goddamn it,” she said again, getting to her feet. “That's the last time I let Angie convince me to ‘do the dew.' Now I need to go burn off my face with acid to stop the itching. And I'm going to miss seeing the guys around the Maypole tonight. I was really looking forward to objectifying Jack and Grant. The mayor too. Not to mention Penny's eminently fuckable brother.”

“Don't say that around Penny,” Angie advised. “She's small, but she'll mess you up.”

Mary rose too. “I'll go with you, Sarah. My brother is really allergic to poison ivy, so I know how to take care of it. If it gets too bad, I'll drive you to the doctor.”

As the two women walked off, Helen stood and cupped her hands around her mouth.

“Attention, ladies,” she shouted to everyone she could see on City Park grounds. “Be very careful not to touch any plants with three leaves. There are small patches of poison ivy in the park. You don't want that on your hands or your face!”

From twenty feet away, Bea looked up again from the grass.

Shit
. The last thing Wes needed was for Bea to discover something else had gone wrong. But she had to warn the other women. The only thing worse than one woman with poison ivy splotches was a dozen.

Helen glanced at her phone, noting the time. “Also, the men should be arriving soon with small trees, flowers, and branches so we can bring in the May,” she called out. “If you'd like, please stick around and help us carry the decorations to Central Square. We'd love some assistance with arranging everything and making the square look festive.”

As if on cue, a cluster of those men appeared, emerging from the small forest abutting the park. In their arms, they held the items they'd gotten prior permission to remove from public land: branches from cherry and pear trees, some with blossoms still clinging to their stems; dogwood boughs covered with flowers in a riot of pink, white, and red; and tulips of every color and size. The men also carried small potted trees bought for the May Day celebrations from local nurseries. By the end of the day, those trees would find new homes at prearranged spots in the square.

As Wes walked into the clearing, something inside Helen relaxed, even as her pulse began to race. For the occasion, he'd set aside his normal suits in favor of slim-cut jeans and an olive-green Henley, both of which flattered his athletic body to a ridiculous extent. She had to assume the conversation with Bea had gone relatively well, because he looked calm as he strode onto the park grounds.

Her legs twitched with the urge to run to Wes's side, but she restrained herself. Even though she wanted to tackle him to the ground and rub herself all over him like a cat in heat, she was functioning as a representative of the library. She needed to watch over the women in the park. And Wes wasn't simply attending the function for the fun of it either. He had a job to do as mayor, a job made considerably more complicated because of Bea's presence among the women.

Cool it, girlie
, Helen told herself.

“Who . . .” Constance's voice was unusually hushed. “Who's that guy?”

Helen frowned. “Which one?”

“The one near the back. The redhead.”

Constance didn't look toward Helen as she spoke. Her eyes appeared glued to a specific male form, one whose face Helen couldn't quite make out behind the tree he carried. Then he shifted the load in his arms, and she winced on Con's behalf.

“You haven't met him yet?” she whispered. “That's the library's new IT guy, Sam. Otherwise known as—”

“Fuck,” Constance murmured. “Penny's brother. Your former lover.”

“Yeah.”

“He still hung up on you?” Con's voice was a study in casual, disinterested inquiry.

“Not at all,” Helen said honestly. “Soon after he moved here, we had a talk. I apologized to him and explained the situation. He knows my interest lies elsewhere, though he still occasionally flirts. In his geeky way, of course.”

“Hmm,” Con said, her gaze finally returning to Helen. “Still. Code of the Sisterhood. Thou shalt not fuck with thy sister's brother or thy sister's sloppy seconds.”

Helen snorted. “He wasn't the one for me. But he wasn't sloppy. I can tell you that.”

“Ugh,” Con groaned. “Please don't tell me any more.”

A shadow suddenly fell over them, causing both women to start.

“Hello, ladies,” Wes said, setting his armload of branches down on the ground. He squatted next to Helen. With a gentle finger, he touched the daisies, roses, and carnations encircling her forehead. “Pretty. Like you.”

The sight of him sent her brain into a lazy spin. The golden skin of his cheeks had a healthy flush from the exertion of removing tree branches and hauling them through the forest. Those tiger's-eyes focused on her as if nothing else, no one else existed in the world. And the smile edging his mouth contained both affection and a potent reminder of how the evening would end. With the two of them back in bed. At last.

“Nothing like wearing a symbolic vagina to attract a man,” Angie said.

“If you say that in front of Mr. Skagway, I'll slaughter you,” Helen warned.

Wes grasped her hands in his warm grip, helping her to her feet. “Good morning so far?”

The question sounded unconcerned, but he tilted his head a tiny bit in Bea's direction. The councilwoman had also stood and was watching the two of them closely. Given the other woman's scrutiny, Helen expected Wes to let go of her hands, but he didn't. If anything, he squeezed them tighter.

“Sarah got poison ivy all over her face,” Helen whispered. “I don't know if Bea noticed, though she heard me warn everyone to watch out for three-leaved plants.”

He sighed and spoke just as quietly. “While collecting branches in the woods, we accidentally trespassed onto Mr. Danbury's property. You know, the man from the City Council meeting who thought we were contaminating his water supply?”

Helen nodded, her face scrunched up in dread of what he'd say next.

“He greeted us with a shotgun,” Wes said. “I think the only thing that saved us from asses full of buckshot was the presence of a cop in our group. So now Mr. Danbury thinks I'm personally tampering with his water, and that my evil plans somehow involve stealing parts of his trees with police cooperation.”

“Will Bea find out?”

Wes shrugged. “Probably. There was a reporter with us. Not much I can do about it now, though.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” She couldn't help it. Despite Bea's proximity, despite the nearby crowd waiting for further instructions from the mayor, she had to touch him. Comfort him. She freed a hand to curve around his cheek, cupping it. “I'm sorry.”

His head turned, and he brushed a soft kiss on her palm. To her surprise, though, he didn't look nearly as worried as she'd have expected. He stood tall, his feet braced shoulder-width apart, his back straight, his face calm other than a few lines of strain around his mouth.

His words confirmed that impression. “It's unfortunate,” he admitted. “But we'll deal with it. I told Bea this morning that I'd prove my worth as a mayor today, and I will. Because I have you by my side.”

After one final nuzzle of her fingers, he turned to face the crowd. But when she tried to free her other hand, still clasped in his, he didn't let go.

He raised his voice loud enough to be heard by everyone. “Now that the ladies have washed their faces in the morning dew and are looking especially lovely—”

“With one notable, rash-ridden exception,” Angie murmured. At Helen's glare, though, she mimed zipping her lips.

“—it's time to bring in the May,” Wes said, ignoring the interruption. “Ladies and gentlemen, please join me as we walk to Central Square with springtime decorations. Once we arrive there, volunteers will show you good places to put those decorations. Various booths should also be opening for the day, along with local shops and restaurants. We have free coffee, of course, to reward those of you who got up early this morning. Later today, we'll have music, Morris dancers, and the crowning of our May King and Queen. Finally, after dark, we'll top the Maypole with a garland and dance around it by torchlight.”

“
Finally
,” Angie said.

Wes moved further away from Angie, taking Helen with him. “So let's head forth,” he called out. “And if anyone knows a springtime song, feel free to lead us in singing. As Ms. Murphy informed us yesterday morning”—he lifted her hand to his lips for a moment—“singing in the May is a traditional accompaniment to bringing in the May.”

He gathered his bundle of branches in his free arm. Still holding Helen's hand, he began to walk toward Central Square, leading the way as the rest of the crowd followed obediently behind. The sound of raucous laughter from Angie and Con drifted toward them, and Wes smiled.

“You have loyal friends,” he said. “I'm glad they came to keep you company this morning.”

The laughter behind them ceased, replaced by the sound of a familiar raised voice. When Helen glanced back, she saw Con walking next to Sam and gesticulating in broad, uncontrolled movements as Angie watched in fascination. Con's bun of black hair, already precarious in its perch, began to slide over one ear when she shook her head fiercely in response to something Sam said.