The cabinet doors looked nice, and Mitch was right. They’d look perfect in my kitchen, and it would achieve exactly what I was looking for: maximum effect with minimum effort. It was perfect. He was perfect.
But I knew what I had to do, and a sob erupted from my throat as I started typing. I’ll think about it, thanks. But I don’t need any more help. You’ve done enough. Boy, had he ever. It wasn’t his fault that the whole neighborhood had clued in to what was going on. I should have seen it coming. But I couldn’t let it continue.
My phone chimed in my hand. You sure? Because it’s been fun. I don’t mind.
I’m good, I typed back. See you at the Faire in a few weeks. The start of Faire was almost a month away. Maybe by the time I saw him again I’d have my head on straight. Mitch wasn’t for me, and never had been. Really, I should have been thanking my neighbors for waking me up from this fantasy I’d been lost in these past few days.
I turned off my phone, not waiting for any response, and shoved it back into my purse. The giggling out in the living room had stopped, so I washed my hands and pressed them, cold and wet, to my overheated cheeks. Then I smoothed out my hair and unlocked the door. It was all going to be okay. Time to stop being distracted by Mitch and his tight T-shirts and the amazing way he kissed me.
My heart only hurt a little as I scooped up a glass of wine on the way to the living room. I left the cupcake where it was.
Fifteen
On the edge of town—not toward the highway, where Jackson’s was located, but the other side, where the back roads snaked out toward wine country—there was a grassy field of undeveloped land. It backed onto some woods, and the only remarkable thing about it was that the entire acreage, woods included, was fenced in, with a padlocked gate. Eleven months out of the year you wouldn’t give it a second look if you drove past it.
But for four incredible weeks, that field transformed and became something completely new. The padlocked gate stood wide open, and the fence around the perimeter of the field was festooned with banners. But it wasn’t the field that was special. No, the field itself was just the parking lot. The real magic lay on the far side of the field, the part that backed up to the woods. Wide paths led into the trees where, for four weeks of the year, it was home to the Willow Creek Renaissance Faire.
Magic wasn’t my thing. I wasn’t someone who had a lot of time or energy to devote to make-believe. So I was the first to admit that I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand how or why my sister had fallen in love with these woods and this event. I figured it was just something that she did because it was important to her husband. Simon had helped start the thing, after all, and it had grown into a big responsibility that gave back to the community.
I could understand it on those terms, and that was what had me donning a red volunteer’s T-shirt and showing up for duty on opening day. I reported to my station selling tickets at the box office: a plywood booth painted by high school kids to look like a gray stone castle. There was a crude countertop built inside with a cashbox and two high-backed stools for the volunteers.
“It’s pretty simple. One price across the board for the tickets, and kids under five get in free.” My booth-mate, a woman named Nancy, waved me to the empty stool and I perched on it. Nancy was seventy if she was a day. Her hair was bright and red and there was no way it was natural. I liked her already.
I stretched my bad leg in front of me, massaging the muscle just above my knee through my jeans. I’d stopped wearing shorts after the accident, but the day was already warm, on the way to even hotter. I may have miscalculated here.
Clearly, Nancy thought so too. She looked pointedly at my jeans. “Honey, you’re going to get heatstroke in those.”
I waved a hand, trying to look unconcerned. “Probably. I’ll be okay.” My attention went to the parking lot, which was quickly filling up with cars. I checked the time on my phone. “We don’t open till ten, right?” That was a half hour from now. Why were all these people here already? And why were they just hanging out in the parking lot instead of coming up to buy tickets?
Nancy nodded. “That’s right. The early folks are here though, and they’re getting ready. Watch.” She leaned back on her stool. “I’m telling you, we have the most fun job of everyone. The people-watching here at the front makes it all worthwhile.”
“Really?” I shifted a little uncomfortably. This may have been a mistake. Volunteering to man the front gate wasn’t exactly getting involved in my daughter’s activities. My sister and brother-in-law practically ran this whole thing, and I hadn’t seen either one of them. Nancy was obviously enthused, but for what? To sell tickets to people? Where was the people-watching fun in that?
It didn’t take long to understand what she meant. Because it wasn’t a normal crowd of people lining up to buy tickets. Well, sure, there were normal people. Families with little kids, or married or dating couples, all dressed in cool summer clothes for a day in the sun—those kinds of people lined up in droves. But just as often, the families or couples or groups of friends were in costume. I’d spent those last few minutes before the gate opened spying on the people in the parking lot, who threw the doors of their cars or SUVs or minivans wide, taking out hoopskirts and wide leather belts and elaborate headdresses. These attendees spent a good fifteen minutes to a half hour assembling a costume. I watched one woman get out from behind the wheel of her minivan wearing what looked like a calf-length nightgown that came dangerously close to sliding off her shoulders. By the time she was done she looked like royalty.
I watched all these people get dressed out in the open, building layer upon layer of their outfits, with something between amusement and wonder. For all the years I’d lived here in Willow Creek, the closest I’d come to being part of the Renaissance Faire was on the furthest fringes. I’d run Caitlin’s costumes to the dry cleaner’s and done some extra laundry consisting of chemises and long stockings. I remembered Emily going to and from the Faire wearing basically the same nightgown-looking thing that the woman in the minivan had worn. Now from my high-backed stool in this little box office I was still on the fringes, but as we started selling tickets to grown men dressed as pirates and women dressed as queens （and women dressed as pirates and men dressed as queens） their excitement was palpable. They’d come to play. And I couldn’t help but smile back as their excitement became infectious.
Before I knew it there was a tap on my shoulder, and I turned my head to see a man I didn’t know, but he was wearing a red volunteer shirt like I was.
“April, right? I’m Mike. Your replacement.”
“What? It’s one already?” I checked my phone in confusion. How had I already been here four hours?
“Yep.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You’re free.”
I relinquished my seat and Nancy waved goodbye. “You should walk around a little before you go,” she said. “Take in the festival.”
“You sure you don’t need a break?” It seemed odd that I had a four-hour shift while Nancy was here for the entire day. She was easily my mother’s age—wouldn’t this wear her out? But she waved me off with a laugh.