Page 58 of That Conflicted Feeling
“Oh,God, no.Ritawould be horrified.”Ihold it out to him. “Youmade it.Youcarry it.”
Hetakes it from me, andIdust off my hands. “Allright,I’msupposed to be introducing you to people whose lives you’ll destroy.Can’tbe hard to find one.Ora dozen.Let’sgo.”
“What’sgoing on over there?” asksMax, pointing to an area fenced off with chicken wire and surrounded by kids.
“Lookslike the tortoise race.”
“Anactual tortoise race?Ithought those things only happened in cartoons.”
“Yeah, people do all sorts of things to raise money for stuff.Likethe guy with the balloon darts earlier.Andlike that.”Ipoint a little way ahead to a large display covered in wine bottles and glasses. “GeraldMontgomeryalways sells a bunch of his wine to raise money for something for the school.”
Istep to the side and look around the people gathered at his table. “Yeah,Ithink the sign says it’s for the library this year.”
“Hehas a winery near here?” asksMax.
“Ha, no.He’san enthusiastic amateur.Thinkhe makes it all in a spare bedroom.He’sactually an accountant and a councilman.”
“Iseveryone here a councilmember?”
“HeandRitamight be the only two.”Igesture across the lawn littered with stalls selling honey, pottery, knitwear, and things that have been whittled. “Mostof the stands are creative things.Thegames are usually run by theWomen’sVolunteerSocietyand theLion’sClub.Andit’s mainly farmers doing the animal stuff.”
Ipoint back to the tortoise race, where the kids are jumping up and down like it’s the finish line at theKentuckyDerby.Nearby, a table’s set up with a tiny teeter-totter, some building blocks, and a mini basketball hoop forNorma’sparrot to show off its tricks later.Andnext to it is a shed leading to an enclosure where there’ll be some sort of llama event.
“Oh, look.There’sCynthia’sseedling stall.”Ipoint to a little white tent whereCynthiais arranging tiny pots in rows on a table. “Shehas the florist shop onMainStreet.Yourstore with its bargain basement floral and plant section will destroy it.Rightwhen she’s trying to pass it on to her granddaughter.Youdefinitely need to meet her.”
“I’drather go see whatMr.Montgomeryhas to offer.”Maxstrides toward the wine.
Igrab hold of his shirt sleeve—best to avoid contact with his actual body—and pull him towardCynthia.I’mabsolutely certain she’d tear a large strip off him given half a chance, and that is the exact local discontentI’vebrought him here to experience.
“I’llmeet her in a minute,” he says, yanking his arm away and snatching the fabric from between my fingers. “Let’sdoGeraldfirst.”
Hestrides off, leaving me trotting to catch up. “Areyou a morning drinker or something?”
“That’smore my brotherConnor’sthing.I’mjust here to meet the local artisans.”
Thegroup of people who’d surroundedGerald’stable walk away in a flurry of thank-yous and clinking bags.
“So, you’re the legendaryWarmSpringswinemaker,”Maxdeclares as he surveys a display of enough bottles to put a liquor store to shame.
“Oh,Idon’t know about that,” saysGerald, rubbing his ample belly with delight at being thought a legend. “Idon’t believe we’ve met before.Areyou a friend of the lovelyPolly?”
“Iam,”Maxsays with a big smile as he casually drapes his arm around my shoulders like it’s a completely normal thing to do.
Iignore the tingle it sends down my neck and duck out from under it on the pretext of browsing the wine at the other end of the table.
“How’syour mom doing,Polly?”Geraldasks. “Notseen her around for a while.”
Ipick up a bottle and examine the homemade label. “She’shaving a good day today, thanks.Ileft her cleaning the kitchen, even thoughItold her not to.”Ipoint at the label. “Isthis a new one?Gooseberryand zucchini?”
“Gooseberryand zucchini wine?”Maxtries to cover up the horror in his voice by tacking on a compliment. “Whata fascinating and incredibly unusual combination.”
Hesteps up behind me to check the label, like he’s convincedIcan’t have read it right.Theheat from his chest warms my back and sends a shiver down my spine.
“Ihave some open for sampling if you’d like.”Gerald’srear end comes into view as he bends over and delves into a cooler. “Youshould try some beet and blackberry too.Oh, andIhave some of the parsnip and prune left over from the winter.”
Maxleans in so close my ear tingles from his breath as he whispers, “Ibet he does.”
Iput my finger to my lips to shush him and to stifle my laugh, but a half-choked snort still leaks out.
