A Parting Shot Page 2

  My mom, a family physician, had suggested she put her feelings down on paper since she wasn’t comfortable sharing them with others.

  After six months or so, she asked me to read a passage. Yes, it was dark, but it was also honest, raw, and thought-provoking. I suggested she submit the piece to a few online literary sites. It was that good. She declined, but every now and then, she’d ask me to read another entry.

  The young woman was like an onion. When a new layer was peeled back, another wonderful aspect of Calypso Bosley bloomed in the sun for all to experience.

  Mouthwatering aromas of roasted chicken, deep-fried vegetables, and kettle corn made my stomach rumble. I pressed down on the pedals to get moving.

  A minute later, we arrived at the park, a fifty-acre green space containing a playground, two picnic shelters, a bandstand, and even a walking path along its perimeter. A mixture of trees, from decade-old oaks that towered over everything in sight to a red pine sapling that had been recently planted, were scattered throughout the park. The foliage provided much-needed shade on a hot sunny day like today but didn’t overwhelm the space.

  There were plenty of sunny areas, too. A group of young ones smaller than the twins were blowing bubbles. They hopped up and down in excitement as they pointed at the rainbows on the surface of a huge bubble one of them had created.

  A far corner of the park had become the spot for sunbathers. Young people in shorts and form-fitting tops lounged on beach towels, their oversized, fashionable sunglasses making it tough to know who was checking out who.

  “Hey, chickies! Over here!” Sloane was jumping up and down and waving at us like she was trying to bring an airplane in for landing.

  “Gods above.” Calypso shook her head. “That woman has way too much energy for this time of the morning.”

  I laughed. Sloane was an unending source of all things good in my life. She’d had a tough childhood with an alcoholic father and neglectful mother. Despite those hurdles, she’d grown into one of the most loving, kind, and positive folks I knew. She was no Pollyanna, but she had an inherent ability to find the good in most situations.

  She was my bestest bestie in the world. I’d love her until the end of time. Her goofy streak made me love her even more.

  “This isn’t the time to mention she’s probably already gotten a fifteen-mile run in, is it?”

  “Not really.” Calypso shrugged. “I mean, good on her. I wish I had half her energy, though.”

  “Preaching to the choir, sister. Preaching to the choir.”

  With the park getting more crowded by the minute, we dismounted and walked our bikes to Sloane. After exchanging hugs, she guided us to our spot. It was a twelve-by-twelve square patch of grass that she and Brent had covered with a couple of Neat Sheets. Rocks the size of my bike helmet had been placed along the perimeter of the blue cloths to keep them in place.

  Brent was installing tiki torches at each of the four corners of our domain. He picked me up and twirled me around in a circle, then planted a big kiss on my lips before returning me to Earth. Truly, it was a welcoming hug in all the best ways.

  “Welcome to Chez Winchester, ladies. Feel free to park your bikes next to our fine blue carpeting.” He pointed to a card table in one corner. “Food and place settings go on the table. Feel free to grab a cold drink from the cooler underneath. There’s plenty. Calypso, there’s iced coffee in there for you.”

  “Sweet.” She sprinted to the cooler like there was a million dollars waiting for her in it.

  While Calypso slugged down her liquid caffeine, Brent locked our bikes to the table. “Not perfect, but it should discourage any ne’er-do-wells with any thoughts of stealing from my bride-to-be.”

  I gave him a peck on the cheek. “You are so adorkable. What would I do without you?”

  “You’d have adopted two more cats and become Rushing Creek’s Official Crazy Cat Lady.” Sloane took the plates and napkins I handed her and put them on the table next to a stack of plastic cups.

  “She’s not wrong,” Calypso said as she placed the green beans by a platter of mixed fruit.

  “I believe the term you’re looking for is eccentric. Besides, Ursi and I are quite content having the apartment to ourselves.”

  “For two more weeks.” Sloane waggled her eyebrows at me as she gave Brent a friendly jab to the ribs. “I still can’t believe Renee agreed to waive her no-dogs policy.”

  Renee Gomez was my property owner. She was also Calypso’s aunt, the owner of the bookstore on the building’s first floor, and my neighbor across the hall.

  “Yeah, well, a two-hundred-fifty-dollar damage deposit and a hundred-dollar-a-month bump in rent made it easy for her to say yes.” I was still coming to terms with the fact that Brent and his golden retriever Sammy were moving in once we got back from our honeymoon. I’d been on my own for over a decade. Having a roommate was going to get some getting used to. Even if it was my husband.

  Any additional discussion of living arrangements was cut short by my mom’s arrival. She was with my friend Jeanette Wilkerson. “I brought the barbecue and Jeanette brought snacks. Who’s ready to eat?”

  Calypso raised her hand. “I skipped breakfast for your legendary pulled pork, Dr. Cobb.”

  “Seriously? You’re going the ‘Dr. Cobb’ route?” I put the tray Mom handed me on the table next to the buns Jeanette brought. “How come you never suck up to me like that?” I asked Calypso.

  “She’ll keep me from dying if I get sick.” Calypso bowed to my mom, then pinched a sliver of the pork. “And she’s a way better cook than you.”

  “Preach, sister.” Sloane gave Calypso a high five as the group broke out in laughter.

  I joined in because my associate agent was right. On both counts.

  All conversation came to an end as we each took a seat in one of the available camp chairs or sat cross-legged on the sheets. We partook of the feast with the typical abandon of Americans celebrating a holiday. With the exception of my ever-sensible mom, the rest of us loaded up our plates as if we were having our last meal.

  I looked at my dear mother and gave her a peck on each cheek in the French style. The smoked pulled pork was as fantastic as ever. Sloane and Jeanette added some barbecue sauce to their meals. The savages. In my opinion, the meat was perfect without anything added to it. She grinned, but then admonished me when I went for a second helping of the green beans.

  “Save some for your brother. He’s working too hard this weekend to be left with nothing but scraps.”

  “Come on, Mom. Seriously? I mean total props to Calypso on these green beans. The bacon and onion are perfect. Five stars.” I pointed at our bikes. “I’m gonna need the energy from these for the ride home tonight.”

  Mom gave me a long look before shaking her head. Every strand of her silver hair was in place. I sent a thank-you to the spirits above that she hadn’t done anything to it, yet. Then she looked at Calypso.

  “I have to say these are some excellent green beans. They remind me of the kind my mom made when I was growing up.” She turned to me with a mischievous smile. “Which is all the more reason to leave plenty for your brother. Who’s working until midnight to make sure all the parks in town stay tidy today.”

  “Ooh, she got you on the whole ‘hardworking dude’ angle.” Sloane slid a forkful of the delicious side dish into her mouth. “I’d wave the white flag before you dig your grave any deeper, Allie.”

  I looked to Brent for help. My fiancé had suddenly decided that he needed to busy himself by giving Sammy some fresh water. The coward.

  “Fine, whatever.” I put my hands up in surrender. “I see how you all are. You better remember this day when you all want signed copies of S. A. Cosby’s latest book.”

  My threat fell on deaf ears because before I could say anything else, two girls from the high school band program came by. They had ice cream sandwiches for sale.

  “One for everybody,” Brent said. He must have decided he couldn’t keep freshening Sammy’s water bowl forever. The traitorous golden retriever, whom I loved with all my heart, barked his agreement.

  And so, I joined my family and friends in devouring our frozen dairy treats. Not only was the purchase going to help pay for new uniforms for the marching band, but it also brought what came to be known as the Great Independence Day Green Bean Standoff to an end.

  Luke 1 – Allie 0.

  A little later, Brent and I were wandering among the vendor tents with Sammy at our side when police officer Ollie Watson approached.

  “Brent, my boy. How are you?” He extended his hand, grinning ear to ear. When they were finished shaking, he turned to me. “Always a pleasure, Allie. Looking forward to seeing your beau in the spotlight tonight?”

  “I am.” I bounced up and down on the balls of my feet. Brent let out a tiny groan at my enthusiastic response. “I appreciate you bestowing the honor on him.”

  “Excellent.” He gave Brent an overly exuberant slap on the back. “Well, gotta go. Time to fire up the grill. Talk to you later!”

  Officer Watson ambled away, his belly jiggling like his own bowl full of jelly. Today was his last day as a member of the Rushing Creek Police Force. He was a kind enough soul, but I wasn’t mourning his retirement. In the years since I’d returned to Rushing Creek from my decade in New York, I’d found him to be a lazy police officer who lacked attention to detail.

  My misgivings about him notwithstanding, he raised oodles of money for Rushing Creek Youth Sports by hosting Cooking with a Cop every July Fourth. He spent the day selling burgers and dogs hot off the grill while overseeing a silent auction and raffle. It was an hours-long affair, culminating in a local big shot drawing the winning raffle ticket right before the fireworks show commenced.
r />   This year’s big shot was none other than my beloved Brent. Every year, a local community organization was selected at random to receive twenty percent of the proceeds raised during the event. This year, the Victoria Napier Memorial Library at Rushing Creek, or the Napier, as I liked to call it, had been chosen. Since Brent was the library’s director, it was his honor to draw the name of the raffle’s grand prize winner. This year the prize package was a weekend getaway for two at the historic French Lick Springs Resort and Casino. By the time the hotel stay, choice of golf or spa, gambling, and complimentary dining were rolled together, it was a package worth fifteen hundred dollars.

  A grand prize, indeed.

  “Do you have your speech ready?” I bumped my shoulder against his arm. Since he was fifteen inches taller than me at six foot four, the only way I’d ever be able to bump my shoulder against his was if I was standing on a step ladder.

  “For the last time, I’m not giving a speech. Nobody wants to hear me prattle on about the library. It’s about the money raised and the people who will benefit.”

  Brent had a lovely voice. He also had an easygoing demeanor that made him a natural at public speaking. He didn’t like being the center of attention, though. Even when his library was about to receive a donation that was going to be in the range of five thousand dollars.

  Which was going to buy a lot of books.

  Hopefully, works by my authors would be among them. As a literary agent, it was my job to always be thinking about my clients, after all.

  “Fair enough.” I put my arm around his waist as we resumed our wandering. “That’s one of the things I’ve always liked about, by the way. You work hard but it’s never about you. It’s always about something else. I find that humility very sexy.”

  “Sexier than being able to refer to me as your fiancé, Dr. Brent Richardson?”

  “Yes, actually.” In May, Brent had successfully defended his dissertation to earn his Ph.D. in Library and Information Science. “I mean, you’re not the first doctor in my family. Don’t get me wrong. It’s an amazing accomplishment. I just really like my mild-mannered librarian.”

  He kissed me on the crown of my head. “Not bad. Keeping me humble while propping me up at the same time.”

  “That’s why we make a great team.” We were approaching the dessert stand operated by Rushing Creek Elementary’s PTO. “Let me buy you a chocolate chip cookie in case I bruised your ego.”

  “If it will get me chocolate chip cookies, you can bruise my ego any time.”

  We hung out at the open mic stage while we munched on the cookies. The poem that Calypso’s friend recited, an ode to the beauty of Southern Indiana, sent chills down my spine. Then, Jax Michaels performed an acoustic set of John Prine tunes. The man wasn’t my favorite person, but there was no denying he was a decent singer and accomplished guitar player.

  The day flowed by like a float trip down a lazy river. We ate our fill of sweets, and then some, drank more lemonade than I could remember, and had a grand time with my family and friends.

  It was one of the best days ever.

  Around eight o’clock, as the sun was beginning to set, I finally caught sight of Luke. His green Rushing Creek Parks Department baseball cap was ringed with sweat. I wasn’t sure what color his polo shirt originally had been, royal blue maybe, but now it was ash gray from the grime of a long day working in the heat and humidity.

  He plopped into one of the camp chairs at our home base with a groan. Before he uttered a word to any of us, he slammed a thirty-two-ounce sports drink, then doused his head with a bottle of water.

  “I take it you’re having the time of your life today,” Calypso said. She was an expert at the deadpan comment. I was a little jealous of it.

  “Actually, never better, kid.” He propped his feet up on a cooler. “People are behaving themselves and actually using the trash cans. So far, I haven’t had to call the cops to haul away someone who’s had too much to drink.”

  “Music to my ears,” Jeanette said. This was her first Independence Day off duty in three years. She’d confessed to me she was worried that if something crazy happened, like a big fight, she’d have to report in. “You’re going to keep it that way, right?”

  “Hope so.” He helped himself to a heaping pile of Mom’s barbecue and all of the remaining green beans. “A lot of folks with little ones will leave when the fireworks people brought with them start going off. If things are gonna get dicey, that’s when it’ll happen.”

  As if on cue, the high-pitched whistle and pop of a bottle rocket pierced the air. It wouldn’t get dark for a couple of hours but the pace, and noise level, of fireworks going off would only increase as the evening proceeded.

  “Can’t anyone do something about that?” Calypso asked as she pulled a pair of earplugs from a pocket in her shorts. “I mean, the real fireworks show is cool, but this amateur stuff is annoying.”

  “We can.” Jeanette took a drink of her soda pop. “If it becomes a problem. The issue is how one defines that. Last year, we had a chat with a guy who was shooting things off at two in the morning. They were so loud, the neighbors’ windows were rattling. Most of the time, we ask the community to remember that it only lasts a few days and is mostly harmless fun.”

  I understood Jeanette’s position. I also agreed with Calypso. The loud explosions scared Ursi. Like Jeanette said, though, it was only a few nights out of the year.

  While we were discussing the fireworks, Brent wrapped a fabric hood around Sammy, to cover his ears. The dog seemed to relax immediately. His tail started wagging and he gave his human lots of sloppy licks. I guess everyone, both human and not-so-human, had their way of dealing with loud noises.

  At nine thirty, Ollie came by to fetch Brent. Amid the pops from firecrackers and other minor explosions, he had to shout to be heard.

  “Time for the final drawing. This is so exciting. Allie, why don’t you and Sammy come along, too. For moral support for Brent.”

  “You mean the head of the library needs help picking a piece of paper out of a jar?” Even in the darkening conditions, it was impossible to miss Calypso rolling her eyes.

  “Ignore her, everyone,” I said. “I want to be there to make sure he draws my name. Let’s go, Sammy. Mama wants that weekend trip. The spa is calling my name.”

  We followed Ollie to a makeshift stage at the foot of the Memory Tree, a towering white oak estimated to be around one hundred and fifty years old. According to local legend, the centerpiece of the park was planted by a soldier returning home at the end of the Civil War. Regardless of the tree’s origin, it was magnificent, soaring to over one hundred feet in height and providing ample shade to park visitors.

  Calypso and I stopped twenty feet from the stage so we could get some good photos. A table and microphone stand were positioned center stage. Speakers hanging from eight-foot-high poles flanked the platform. The second Brent and Ollie stepped onto it, two spotlights flared to life and a round of applause broke out, just like a rock concert.

  Ollie greeted the excited crowd by thanking them for their generosity and hoping everyone had enjoyed a wonderful day. Then police officer Gabe Sandoval stepped out from a nearby shelter that served as the headquarters for the fundraiser. The crowd formed a tunnel of sorts as he strolled to the stage. With an ear-to-ear grin, he placed a wide-mouthed two-gallon glass jar on the table. It was filled to the brim with yellow ticket stubs, the fullest I’d ever seen. And Ollie had been using the same jar during the entire three decades he’d run it.

  It had been a fantastic year for the fundraiser.

  Ollie, his apron still draped around his neck, tapped on the microphone to get the attention of the crowd that had gathered to watch the drawing. This was one of the top three major moments on the Rushing Creek calendar.

  “As you know, this project has been close to my heart. I’m so happy we have such fine weather for the final time I get to do this.”

  There was a round of polite applause. When it died down, Ollie spent a few moments thanking key fundraiser sponsors and supporters. Brent did a good job of smiling and keeping still while the retiring cop enjoyed a final moment in the spotlight. Sammy sat by his side, like a sentry. He barely even flinched when a loud boom echoed through the crowd and showered us all in red, white, and blue sparkles.