Page 58 of Overdue

I spot the back of her sundress. It’s adorable, all yellow with flowers covering it. My hands itch to pull it off. Later. Right now, I simply watch as her hands fly around while she talks to her sisters.

Brontë has even flown home for the dedication and to drop a giant bombshell on the family. But that’s a story for another time.

“Hey whirling dervish,” I say in her ear as my arms slide around her waist. She squirms away. Okay, it is like a thousand degrees here. It might be my imagination, but it always feels like Founder’s Day falls on the hottest weekend of the year.

Austen spins around and pins me with a glare. I wait for the lecture on the history of whirling dervishes. Yes, I know they’re a real thing.

But then, she does something extraordinary, almost unprecedented in our history. Instead of lecturing me, she breaks into a smile that captures my heart every time. Then, she pulls me to her by the front of my shirt for a kiss.

I hear both of her sisters groan. I don’t care. I’m in love with the gorgeous woman whose lips are firmly planted against mine. They start mumbling things like, “give it a rest”, “I can’t unsee that” and “people are staring.” Stare away, I never turn down a chance to kiss Austen.

“You know, y’all were obnoxious before, but now you’re a whole other level of ick,” Eliot complains. I give her a grin. She rolls her eyes.

“That aside,” Brontë adds, “this is really amazing. I love what you created here.”

It is amazing. Not because of my design, but because so many people showed up to celebrate.

The sheriff shut down the street surrounding the square. There are tents set up at one end where the American Legion Auxiliary is serving barbeque sandwiches. The high school band has a bake sale set up under another tent to raise money for new uniforms.

I can see Gran resting comfortably under the oak tree with Austen’s parents. The way she’s beamed all day whenever anyone stops to compliment the square makes my heart swell. She’ll take her turn at the garden club tent to sell seeds and cuttings. Their money is helping fund the new beds going up around downtown.

“Anyone need a drink?” I ask the girls.

They barely break the conversation to nod at me. I grin. I’ve been around these sisters for what feels like an eternity. It’s a wonder, between their squabbling and gossiping, they even notice me. I head across the square to the lemonade stand one of the church youth groups has.

“Hey, Reed. Wait up,” Chad says, jogging up to me. “Did you hear? The parks department is trying to put together an adult slow-pitch softball league. I volunteered to head a team. Can I count on you at shortstop?”

I used to be a pretty damn good baseball player in high school. But softball? I knew it was coming, though, so I’ve already bought a glove.

“Are we talking ‘fat older guys with a glove on one hand and a beer in the other’ or ‘angry soccer moms taking out their aggression on us?’” Don’t laugh. It’s a legitimate concern. I once played in a student/teacher game and Old Lady Higgins, my social studies teacher, nailed me right in the left eye with a line drive.

“Probably a little of both? It’s supposed to be a coed league. Several groups in town are putting together teams. Do you think Austen will play with us?”

“I can ask.”

“Perfect. Ooh, there’s Raffe. We need his arm.” He shakes my hand and disappears back into the crowd with promises of sending the information on practices later.

It takes me ten minutes to reach the front of the lemonade line. I balance four cups in my hands and start back to Austen.

“Hello? Is this thing on?” blasts from the speaker, making me jump. I just manage not to drop the plastic cups in my hands. “It is? Okay, good. I’m Irving Stanley, mayor of our beautiful Dansboro Crossing.”

I stop to listen next to Gran and wind up handing three of the cups away. I couldn’t make it to Austen anyway right now, since everyone has crowded forward to hear the dedication.

“The town of Dansboro Crossing was established in 1853, when Dan Epps opened a ferry on the Hickory River, connecting the east/west trade route with the north/south one. It was later replaced by a bridge, but the town remained.”

I tune him out. Most of the people here have heard all about the history of the town since childhood. I am no exception. Even before I lived here, I knew all about it from Gran’s stories. Taking a sip of my drink, I scan the crowd. There are a lot of faces I recognize.

“Reed, why don’t you come say a few words,” the mayor says. What? No one told me I had to give a speech. Mr. Daily grins as he shoves me toward the stage. Still clutching the cup of lemonade, I climb the two steps that separate the stage from the dance area. Mr. Stanley hands me the microphone.

“Really, it should be Mr. Daily up here,” I begin. “Without his guidance, none of this would have happened.” A roar of applause goes up, so I wait until it dies down again. “There are so many people who made this more than just some rough drawings on a sketch pad. Raffe, Paul, Joe, the subcontractors that are too many to name.” I catch Raffe’s eye and he nods with a smile.

“The county commissioners and parks department.” I continue through the different organizations that donated either time or money. But no one showed up here to listen to me drone on.

“Finally, I could never have done this without Gran pushing me on and a certain librarian who put up with all my antics while we worked to make this better than I could even envision.” Austen beams at me. I’m about to join her in the crowd when the mayor stops me.

“Hold on a minute, Reed. We have a little something that needs doing.” I raise an eyebrow at him, but he just continues. “As most of you know, the town of Dansboro Crossing wouldn’t be what it is today without the guidance of one of its greatest members. It gives me great pleasure to dedicate this park in honor of Gerald Campbell.”

With a flourish, Mr. Stanley pulls off a sheet that has been on the wing of the stage. I stand dumbfounded as I read the plaque. “Campbell Park, named in honor of Gerald Campbell. Banker, philanthropist, champion to all.”

---