Page 102 of The Ballad of Us
“What outdoor events?” What in the ever-loving hell is going on in Dogwood Hollow today?
“Oh, you know. General outdoor things. Hypothetically.” She continues to talk at the speed of a person using methamphetamines.
I study my best friend's face, searching her eyes as they flicker briefly to the side before returning to mine, now clouded with the unmistakable guilt and dread that knot my stomach. Her fingers twitch, knuckles white, as she battles the urge to fidget with the hem of her shirt. “You know about this concert thing, don't you?”
“What concert thing?” she asks, already turning away and fidgeting with the espresso machine.
I lift a suspicious brow. “The one Mrs. Patterson was just telling me about. The surprise acoustic concert tomorrow evening that Gray agreed to perform at without mentioning it to me.”
“Oh, that concert thing. Yes, I might have heard something about it.”
“Emma.”
“What?”
“You’re reorganizing clean cups.” I point out.
She stops mid-reorganization and sighs. “I can't tell you anything. I promised. I want to keep my word because everyone trusts me to keep the surprise.”
“Promised who?”
“Everyone. The entire village.” She turns to face me with guilty eyes. “But it's a good surprise, Rhea. Everyone wants you to be happy, and we've each taken on secret roles because we all care about you and want to make sure everything is perfect just for you. That's the only reason for all the secrecy.”
The mystery deepens as I speak with more villagers. Everyone seems to know about the concert, but no one will give me real answers. It feels like the whole village is in on a secret, and this event means more to everyone than just music.
By noon, I'm convinced the whole village is conspiring against me.
“This is ridiculous. Everyone knows something I don't know, and they're all terrible at hiding it,” I tell Duke as we walk home for lunch.
Duke responds by wagging his tail and pulling me toward Leslie's cottage, where I can see our eccentric neighbor arranging outdoor furniture on his front porch.
“Rhea, Suga Boo Boo!” Leslie calls out when he spots us, waving us over. “Perfect timing. I need a woman's opinion on color coordination.” He gestures to several folding chairs that he's arranged in precise rows. “Do you think the burgundy cushions will clash with the natural lighting at sunset?”
“Leslie, why do you have twenty folding chairs on your porch?” Why is everyone behaving in such a bizarre manner?
“Oh, these aren't for my porch. They're for tomorrow's... community gathering.” He stops himself short, correcting whatever he was going to initially say.
“The concert everyone knows about but won’t tell me about?” I glare at him, up to my eyeballs in frustration.
Leslie's expression becomes elaborately innocent. “I'm sure I don't know what you mean.”
“You're arranging chairs for an event you don't know about?” My hands fly to my hips.
“I'm... redecorating. Temporarily. Very temporarily.” He adjusts one of the chairs by precisely two inches. “You should wear a dress that’s special tomorrow evening, by the way, one that makes you feel beautiful.”
“Why would I need to feel beautiful for a casual community concert?”
“Who said anything about a concert?” Leslie asks, then sighs.
I stare at him for a long moment, watching his face cycle through several emotions before settling on resignation.
“Leslie, what is happening tomorrow night?” I demand answers after this long, strange day.
“A really, really wonderful thing,” he says softly, finally letting go of his feigned ignorance. “This event has been planned because everyone here wants you to feel cherished, Rhea. We all want you to know how much you mean to this village, which is why everyone is involved and discreet. That's the only hint I'll give.”
Back at my apartment, I find Duke behaving strangely. Instead of settling into his favorite spot on the couch for his afternoon nap, he keeps wandering to the window and whining softly, like he's waiting for something.
“What's wrong, boy?” I join him at the window.
