Page 32 of Forty and Fighting Dirty
Walking across the room, I nodded greetings to familiar people, stopped to chat with a local contractor, and then got in line to get myself a drink. I sipped from a bottle of water and stood to the side as the emcee, David, began making his way toward the small stage at the far end of the big room.
David was the town Santa Claus, and he took his job seriously by making sure he had the right look: a big round belly, a thick white beard and mustache, and an ever-cheery disposition. He owned a moving business and had lived in the town his whole life. He was a good man with a big heart, and I was only pretending.
“Rhett!”
I turned and lifted my chin at Ollie, who cut through the milling crowd toward me. We shook hands, then turned tosurvey the room. Before long, Ollie was pulled away into an animated conversation with the woman who ran the used bookstore in town, his usual flirtatious smile solidly in place. A few acquaintances stopped by, and we talked about the weather, the ski resort, and the construction that really had to wrap up soon or else it’d get snowed in. I smiled and said what was expected of me, cracked jokes, and felt nothing.
In a room filled with half the town, with familiar faces all around, I was alone.
A squeal announcing the presence of a microphone made everyone in the room wince and turn toward the stage. David stood there, tapping the mic and lifting his hands apologetically.
“All right, folks,” he drawled, red cheeks bulging as he smiled. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”
A few whoops rose up from the crowd, and the energy in the room became charged. A low murmur rose to a hum, with everyone shuffling to get their tickets ready. My eyes strayed to Piper, who had a ticket in her hands and was smiling at the two young boys crowding around her. She showed them her ticket and pointed to the numbers, laughing at their excitement.
But when she stood, her smile faded, and a pained expression crossed her face. It only lasted a moment, but it made me start. I wondered just how much of her stubbornness and strength was a mask just like mine.
“We’ll start with the runner-up,” David announced as the projector flickered to life above him. A video came on-screen, the camera shaking for a moment as Meredith Merchant, the recent high school grad they’d enlisted as the audiovisual expert, adjusted the view to show the customary gigantic fishbowl full ofticket stubs. That fishbowl was used every year for the raffle, and nothing else.
“Here to do the honors is none other than the winner of the Lovers Peak Middle School talent show, Becky Tallow!”
A little girl with gangly limbs climbed up the steps to the stage, smiling out at the audience like she was born to be in front of the one. She marched over to the fishbowl, listened to the words David said as he bent near her, then dutifully stood still as a black eye mask was slipped over her eyes.
The ritual of the charity raffle had expanded over the years. Every moment of it was familiar and a little over-the-top in the way that a high school theater production might be when an enthusiastic director decided to go all-in. But just like last year and the year before, a little shiver of anticipation went through me.
Becky dipped her arm into the fishbowl, spun it around to send the ticket stubs fluttering against the round sides, and pulled out one ticket. The fishbowl was projected on the big screen, with Meredith taking her role as camerawoman very seriously. She followed Becky’s hands as they came out of the fishbowl, then panned over to David as he took the ticket.
Everyone in the room inhaled and clutched their tickets a little tighter. I patted my pockets, found my wallet, and flicked it open. As David read the numbers, the screen changed, showing the numbers David called out. I looked through my wallet and frowned. Where were my tickets?
A shout sounded to my left, and a laughing woman ran up to claim her prize—a brand-new cordless vacuum. She hugged the box onstage and posed for a picture, shufflingback to her friends to show off the appliance. I laughed along with everyone else, then turned back toward the stage.
“Okay, folks,” David said. “This is the big one. The house on Lovers Lane is up for grabs. Thank you to every single one of you who bought a ticket. This time next year, we’ll be standing in a brand-new community center paid for by your generosity. And one of you will have a beautiful new house. Becky, are you ready?”
The girl nodded, her face solemn.
This time, there was no shuffling in the room. Silence descended upon us like a weighted blanket, all eyes on the girl with her arm in a fishbowl as big as her torso. She whirled her hand around the paper stubs, her teeth flashing as she bit her bottom lip in concentration.
Finally, her hand came out of the glass with a single ticket stub clutched between her thumb and forefinger.
David, having a keen sense of drama, put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed her for a moment before taking the ticket. He looked at it, the microphone clutched in his other hand, which dangled at his side. Then, slowly—too slowly, as it felt like all the air was slowly being sucked out of the room—he brought the microphone up to his mouth.
“The winning ticket number for this year’s Lovers Peak Charity Home Raffle. Folks, are you ready?”
A groan sounded, with someone calling out, “Get it over with already!”
David flashed a grin, and I thought his eyes flickered over to me.
Ollie leaned over. “Where’s yourticket?”
“Must have left it at home.”
He huffed, rolling his eyes. “Typical.”
David took a deep breath, casting a glance over the assembled crowd. Everyone in the room leaned in. “Listen closely. The winning numbers are…”
TWELVE
PIPER
