Page 65 of Story of My Life
They all looked at me expectantly.
Zoey elbowed me.
“We, uh, didn’t know him, but I heard he was a big dill.” I gestured toward the pickle jar.
“Oh my God,” Zoey muttered under her breath.
All three of them blinked at me. The man with the cane reached in his ear and cranked up his hearing aid. “What was that?” he shouted.
“I’ll have the chicken fried steak,” the one next to him said to me.
“You got a cigarette on you?” the woman asked. “That lady dressed like a buttercup took mine until after the visitation.”
“We’re very sorry,” Zoey said and dragged me out of the room. “A big dill?”
I snagged a cookie from the tray on our way out and stuffed it into my pocket for emergencies. “I got nervous. You know I say inappropriate things when I’m nervous.”
“Well, you better get unnervous fast or we’ll be run out of town by the end of the night,” Zoey said, nodding ahead.
The Sunset Room held more than twice the number of chairs as the Stewart visitation. Several of them were actually occupied. There was a riser on the far end of the room with a table and chairs.
People were turning and frowning at me.
“Where do we go? Where should I sit? Should I stand?” I demanded as new room anxiety tied my intestines in a knot.
“Let’s find a friendly face,” Zoey said, scanning the room.
“Good luck with that,” I whispered.
“There. The boy wonder mayor.” Zoey towed me in Darius’s direction. He was standing behind a folding table on the far side of the room, handling a cashbox.
“There’s Story Lake’s most famous resident,” he said. He was wearing a suit with sneakers and a violet shirt and matching bow tie.
“More like infamous,” I said, eyeing the crowd.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll clear up the misunderstanding and you probably won’t have to worry about a public dunking or the potato walk.”
“The potato walk?”
“A legal discipline that’s been on the books here for nearly two hundred years. The guilty are marched around the park while townsfolk throw potatoes at them. Have some punch. We’re fundraising for the elementary school math club.” He pointed at the hand-painted sign on the front of the table.Mathletes are athletes.
“I can’t do this,” I hissed at Zoey.
She pulled out her wallet. “You can and you will. Trust me. I won’t let you get pelted with potatoes.”
“Here’s your change,” Darius said.
The woman next to him handed over two cups with a smile.
“Hi, I’m Darius’s mom, Harriet. I’m a big fan.”
A friendly face. I wanted to fall at her feet and promise her an expensive birthday present. “Thank you,” I managed. “Where should I go? Can I hide in the back?”
Darius chuckled as he closed the cashbox. “You’ll be up onstage with me and the rest of the council.”
“Oh goodie,” I said and took a sip of punch. I choked as alcohol fumes snaked up my throat and into my sinuses.
“Sweet baby Jesus, what’s in this?” Zoey gasped.
