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The two of us stood next to a silver Ford F-150, which he’d graciously agreed to lend us for the parade. Two weeks earlier, he stopped by the store on his way to the bank, telling me he wanted to introduce himself to the new owner of the bookstore, and he’s seen the cover story in the current edition ofNew Burlington Living. We talked for about ten minutes, and when he shared that he did the marketing for Eastside Ford, I suggested a partnership that would allow him to get some free advertising in exchange for allowing one of his trucks to pull the float in the parade. Kyle agreed almost immediately and delivered the truck around five that morning so we could take it all to Friendship Park in one piece.
“This whole setup looks phenomenal,” Kyle added, regarding the truck and the flatbed behind it. A tarp still covered the main centerpiece, a large foam replica of the Statue of Liberty covered in pages of old books. Still, I had to agree with him. We were more than contenders. We were about to dominate.
Just like I usually do.
“When should we take off the tarp?” Brianna asked. She and the rest of the team planned to ride in the float around the statue, each of them dressed in Revolutionary War costumes. For her, that meant a brown dress, white apron, and large ruffle cap that clashed memorably with the silver hoop through her nose.
“Only when the parade starts going. I don’t want people to see the statue until we’re ready to show them,” I replied.
“The signage looks perfect too.” Kyle pointed to the large magnets affixed to either side of the truck. “Can’t say enough how much we appreciate being part of this submission.”
“Don’t thank me until we win.” I unhooked my sunglasses from the polo neck of my shirt and put them on my face. The forecast was great—a bright, sunny day in New Burlington was predicted with a high of eighty degrees and low humidity.Almost perfect.“Then we can relax.”
We climbed into the truck, and the teens followed, taking their designated places on the trailer. Since our arrival, maybe three hundred people descended on Friendship Park, turning the small green space into a hive of activity. Church members in matching shirts assembled to march together. The local VFW chapter was organized in small cars. A group of elementary-age dancers in matching leotards gathered around a woman who looked to be the definition of a dance mom, with her travel bag of hot rollers affixed to her side. A few other floats lined up behind us, stretching through the parking lot and out to the street. I looked for Anya and the entry from The Green Frog, but the crowd was so thick and the activity so strong I couldn’t see her from my place near the front.
People were right. This wasn’t the usual small-town celebration of the birth of our country. This was an extravaganza.
About fifteen minutes before the start, a few volunteers in coordinating light blue shirts went around to each parade participant, explaining the rules and checking to make sure we were still interested in taking part in the judging. I affirmed that we were, and Kyle turned the car stereo to a patriotic music channel on Spotify that he piped through the truck’s Apple CarPlay. I thanked him once more for being so helpful in donating the truck, and he played it off, saying he was sure we’d win the contest. “I’m not just a nice person,” he joked. “There’s something in it for me too.”
Soon enough, the parade began.
The route wound us from Friendship Park, down Hilltop Avenue, made a turn onto Front Street, and then meandered past a few churches and the local medical office building. Once we passed the Episcopal Church of the Trinity, the path hit the main section of New Burlington, rolling by Collective Coffee, The Grill, New Burlington Town Hall, the fire and police departments, and the small strip of storefronts where I planned to open my bookstore. Two blocks later, the route banked to the right and moved past the small campus of Lincoln High School.
And as we drove, I estimated at least five thousand people had descended on our small hamlet. They crowded the sidewalks in multicolored folding chairs, many of them dressed in patriotic shirts, hats, and more. A lot of people waved flags as we passed, and I caught more than one barbeque pit set up in a driveway. Several homeowners had adorned their property in red, white, and blue bunting, and the decorations complemented the parade, making the morning feel even more like a slice of Americana.
The whole vibe was so enthralling.
Sure, New York City had plenty of charm, plenty of special people, and moments that you could find “only in the city.” The diversity, pace, and access that living in Manhattan gave me was something that couldn’t be replicated anywhere else in America. I loved the people I knew in my building, had gotten to know the baristas at the coffee shop around the corner, and knew what to order at my favorite diner a few blocks away. The quality of life afforded me in a city like that was something I missed.
But New Burlington had the feeling of being a big family. Everyone knew almost everyone else, and plenty of people had never left, growing up here and having families here because they liked being in a small town with proximity to a midsized Midwestern city. All that was on display that morning as I drove down Front Street.
Yes, moving to New Burlington was the right decision. There was no doubting that. I felt proud to be here.Proud—once again—to be American.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ANYA
