Page 27 of Every Little Kiss
“The parade is the kickoff for the weekend,” Shelia, the head of the parade committee, said, stepping out from behind Mavis. “It’s what gets people in town and ready to spend a day at the fair. Without a parade there is no fair. The schools count on the money. Last year’s event funded the kids’ music program.”
It also funded the academic-outreach program for kids who had a hard time merging into mainstream schooling. Kids like Paxton.
“Which is why we need to rethink our game plan. Give residents and tourists a reason to come here,” Irene, the Wagon Days chairwoman and Avery’s mother-in-law, said.
“Maybe we can bring back the Mango Mamas. I heard that the lead singer is almost recovered from her stroke,” Shelia suggested.
“Their mangoes are too ripe to stand up to Adelle’s tassels.” Mavis shook her head. “We need an overhaul.”
“Wagon Days is in three weeks, and there isn’t time to change everything.” Irene held up a three-inch worn leather binder. “This is every contact, sponsor, committee list, map, and booth that has been approved for this year’s Wagon Days.” She slid it across the table. “I’m not willing to do everything needed to change a year’s worth of work.”
A symphony ofamenanduh-huharose, and the room filled with suggestions and opinions, people dividing into two sides, arguing about patchwork quilts versus a party barge.
Liv wasn’t crafty or into boating, and she didn’t know who the Banjo Brothers with the flaming fiddle were, but there was one thing Liv did know. Years in the ER had taught her how to manage and solve problems.
As Dr.Brown had pointed out, Liv was great at finding common ground. What she needed to work on was her ties to the community. And maybe this was the way to do both.
She ran a finger down the spine of the binder and felt her heart give a little jump. Because it was more than lists and ideas—it was three generations’ worth of stories and friendships and traditions. Traditions Sam had been a part of.
Traditions she wanted her son to experience.
She picked up the binder to flip through it. The corners were worn, the leather touched until it felt like butter. But inside sat a treasure trove of connections and opportunities. Opportunities to grow and build roots, two things her little family needed.
“I’ll do it,” Liv heard herself saying. She even looked down to realize she was standing, her hands sweating from the sudden shift in attention. Meaning she was the center of everyone’s attention.
Instead of smiles of delight, Liv was met with horrified gasps, and Gretchen, their oldest member, checked her hearing aid. “Didn’t the girl just move here?” Gretchen asked.
“Two years ago. Long enough to appreciate the traditions, but fresh enough to have a new perspective,” Liv said, wondering when she’d become the kind of person to get involved. She looked at her friends. “Right?”
“You still walk around like a deer in the headlights when it snows and a neighbor asks if you need your driveway shoveled,” Avery said innocently.
“Because I can shovel my own driveway.” And clean her own gutters, mow her lawn, and when she really wanted to have fun, she changed the oil in her car. “And with your help, I can make this event representative of the entire community. The founders as much as the newest generation.”
“We need some young families to breathe new life into the event,” Mavis agreed. “Leapfrog races and panning for gold aren’t doing it anymore. Kids nowadays want interaction, adventure, thrills, and unless we give them something new, the State Line Seniors won’t be our only problem.”
To Liv’s surprise, a wave of bobbing gray buns flew through the room. A burst of warmth skated through her body, and deep down, Liv knew this moment was important. For the town and for her.
“What if we sprinkle some new booths in, add some local celebrities to the parade, and find some entertainment that would appeal to the whole family? If we play to our strengths, we can figure this out.”
“Backwoods Brewhouse has more than a dozen local craft brews on tap. I bet a craft beer booth would bring in the male demographic,” Avery said with an encouraging wink.
“People always tell me that they’d love to see more notable artists come,” Grace added. “If we played this off like more of a craft beer and art festival and less like a small-town fair, I know of several artists who would show up.”
Shelia frowned. “But we are a small town. That’s what makes us special!”
“What makes us special is our community.” Liv looked at the group, and a small spark lit in her belly. It wasn’t just hope, it was a challenge. And Liv loved a good challenge. “There isn’t a resident in town that one of us isn’t connected with. Why not ask them and then plan a day that speaks to everyone?”
“I think we just got ourselves a new entertainment chair,” Mavis said, and the circle of smiles was enough to make Liv feel as if she’d gained a gold star of approval, but that didn’t mean the commitment was any less terrifying.
“Finding help in this town is easy,” Irene said. “Especially with those mommy friends of yours.”
“Mommy friends?”
Liv didn’t have many mommy friends. Most of the moms in town with kids Paxton’s age were CMOs. Career mommy officers who played Supermom by day and Wonder Wife by night. Liv was a single working parent who pulled split shifts to pay the mortgage and fed her kid cheesy noodles and nuggets because she forgot to go shopping.
CMOs and SWPs didn’t live in the same space-time continuum, which was why Liv’s two closest friends were career women.
“If we have any hope of relating to the next generation of young families, we need to hear what they have to say,” Mavis explained. “And who better to do that than one of their own?”
