Page 104 of The Wild Card
Eula Martin is an older woman who has the kind of caked-on makeup that makes me think of a televangelist’s wife. She apparently keeps terrifying, lifelike dolls in her house and serves as the muscle since half the people in town are scared of her.
Lynn Louise is the head librarian running the meeting. Her gavel was a gift from Judge Judie—an actual judge but with an “ie.” The two of them are best friends. Lynn Louise apparently keeps objects hidden in her white coif.
“What kinds of things?” I whisper.
“Pens, mostly. One time, I saw her pull out a key,” Lindy answers.
Winnie leans close, smelling of limes and salt. “I’ve never seen her with a wallet. I bet if Chevy ever pulled her over, she’d pull her license out of her hair.”
I laugh, then, a little too loudly, and the sound earns me an elbow from each side and some disapproving looks from around the room. I shrink into myself until Winnie leans over, her blond ponytail brushing my shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “It wouldn’t be an official meeting without us earning some glares. We’re basically the equivalent of sitting at the kids’ table at a family meal. We’re here—but we don’t fully belong.”
I know the feeling.
“Yet,” Lindy adds. “But if we stay in Sheet Cake forever, one day, this will be our kingdom.”
“Does that mean one of you will need to keep pens hidden in your hair?” I ask.
Now they’re the ones laughing, covering their mouths, and it earns us glares and also some very loudshhs.
“Judge Judie,” Lynn Louise calls and another older woman in overalls, a silver flask peeking out from the pocket, steps forward. The smile on her face can only be described as mischievous. “Are you prepared for our final order of business?”
“I am,” the judge says, and then her gaze swings to our little corner of the library.
“Uh-oh,” Winnie says. “This can’t be good.”
“Oh, it can,” Lindy says in a knowing voice.
Winnie leans across me to grab Lindy’s arm. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I’m just as lost as Winnie, but Lindy appears to be in on whatever’s happening. We don’t have to wait long to figure it out because Eula Martin pulls a sparkly tiara and a white sash with the word Bride bedazzled on it from behind the circulation desk.
“Winchester Boyd,” Judge Judie says, in what I imagine to be her formal courtroom tone of voice. “Did you really think you could get married right under our noses without some kind of fanfare and celebration? Get up here, girl.”
“I’m going to murder you later for this,” Winnie whispers to Lindy, who only grins.
“You love it. Now shut up and obey the judge.”
Looking uncharacteristically nervous, Winnie gets to her feet, smoothing down her charcoal-gray pencil skirt. Whoops and hollers amidst clapping accompany her as she walks up to the circulation desk. Judge Judie places the tiara on her head while Lynn Louise drapes the sash across her body, then slaps the circulation desk with her palm.
“Get on up here, Winnie, and give us a twirl.”
When Winnie’s fitted skirt makes it impossible for her to mount the circulation desk, Eula Martin drops down to all fours. A few people gasp.
“Well, don’t just sit there,” the woman says. “Climb up!”
Winnie manages to make it to the top of the circulation desk where Lynn Louse still sits. Looking a little more confident and a lot more like herself, Winnie raises her arms above her head and spins to even louder applause. Lindy jumps to her feet, hauling me up with her as we clap. Kitty Bishop puts her fingersbetween her front teeth and lets out the shrillest whistle I’ve ever heard.
Lynn Louise helps Winnie sit down, then holds up a hand as the room quiets. “Though we’ll all be with you in spirit tomorrow night, we understand why you’re keeping things small.”
Winnie looks like she wants to say something, to explain maybe, but from her other side, Judge Judie pats her knee, and Winnie only nods.
“But we couldn’t let you get married without celebrating you, a daughter of Sheet Cake,” Lynn Louise concludes.
Winnie throws her arm around the woman and gives her a tight hug. When they pull away, tears track down Winnie’s face. If my own eyes weren’t stinging, I probably would have giggled as Lynn Louise pulls a tissue from her bouffant of white hair, handing it to Winnie.
“I’ll add tissues to the list,” Lindy says, her voice sounding a little wavery, like she could use a tissue of her own.
