Page 103 of Falling Slowly
Matthew smiled back a little cautiously, his eyes flicking between the two of us, quite possibly wondering about our relationship dynamic. Welcome to the club, I thought, my cheeks warming.
We returned to our own artworks, sneaking chocolates from a tray on the middle table as Leonie counted the votes. After I banned Celia from approaching the chocolates for the third time, she sent Charlie in her place, securing two more treats.
“Matthew’s going to win,” I said as Leonie looked up from her papers, beaming.
“He is good,” Charlie agreed. “But we’re great. We have the best story. And the cutest kid.”
I frowned. “It shouldn’t be about that.”
“Awards are never about true skill or achievement. Especially if it’s an audience choice. That’s a popularity contest, and you’re on the winning team.”
I huffed at the thought. Bess the Buzzkill. I’d never been popular. Not at school, on social media or at work. Appreciated, maybe. Depended on. And I’d always thought that was enough.
Clutching a little card, Leonie stood up and I held my breath. “Okay. In the third place, with eleven points, we have Angie Hutton with her delightful clay birds.
I swiveled to locate Angie’s beaming face. Her birds were cute, but not nearly as cute as her smile and her blond ringlets. Maybe Charlie had a point. Angie was chatty and seemed to be friends with everyone. We clapped as Angie received her gift card.
“In the second place, with fifteen votes, is Matthew Kendrick with his drawing, titled ‘Falling Slowly’.”
Multiple emotions rushed through me. I loved the title as much as the subject. But second place? How could it not be the winner? I was still processing as Leonie waved the last envelope. “And the grand prize goes to… you guessed it, our little family of artists, Charlie, Bess and Celia Wilde, for the pinecone sculpture titled ‘Spinny Rainbow Hurricane Unicorn’.” She stifled a laugh, turning to Celia. “Are you, by any chance, responsible for this title?”
She nodded in earnest, and the entire room erupted in laughter and applause.
“Here you go, Miss Wilde.” Leonie handed Celia the envelope.
I opened my mouth to correct her on our last name, but Charlie pre-empted my urge, squeezing my hand. “Let it go.”
Celia didn’t seem to mind the last name. Granted, she couldn’t yet spell her actual one, either. I swallowed my corrections and smiled, listening to the cacophony of applause and congratulations. Tears rose to my eyes, despite everything. If this was a popularity contest, it was the first one I’d ever won. And it was all because of Charlie.
“What is it, Mommy? What did we win?” Celia tried to open the envelope, and I grabbed it from her.
“It’s a trip. For one person, I think.”
Leonie stepped closer, lowering her voice. “It says for one adult, and we don’t really host families or kids here, but your daughter is welcome to join you, free of charge. I’ll make a note of it.”
“We can come back here? Another time?” Celia’s eyes widened to saucers as she whipped her head from side to side, trying to stay on top of the conversation.
“Yes dear, we’d love to have you back.” Leonie smiled, then stepped back to the front of the class and raised her voice. “Thank you, everyone. This concludes our official program here at Rubie Ridge. Enjoy yourselves until tomorrow. Kick back and relax. Consider visiting the Cozy Creek Fall Festival. It’ll be on until nine o’clock tonight.”
“Bunnies and cotton candy,” Charlie whispered to Celia, elevating her excitement to floating-off-the-ground levels.
Again, my throat clogged up, tears burning somewhere behind my eyes. I’d prided myself on being independent, keeping my heart and my daughter safe. But in one week, Charlie had pulled the foundation from under me. I was falling. Slowly at first, but now I was gathering speed, hurling down faster and faster. How much would it hurt when I hit the ground?
Chapter Forty
Charlie
Cozy Creek was dressed in its festival best, with cute little stalls lining Main Street, bunting hanging between trees and lampposts, pumpkins galore arranged on tables. Clearly, the mountain town knew I was trying to impress a girl, and needed all the help I could get. Like cheerful harmonica music and the smell of pumpkin spice.
We turned off Main Street before reaching the area that was cordoned off for foot traffic and parked on a side street. It looked familiar. As we got out, I recognized the thrift store. “Want to grab a pre-loved treasure while we’re here?” I asked Bess, nodding at the sandwich board sign where someone had penned the phrase ‘Come in and see our “pre-loved” treasures’ in shaky old-school calligraphy.
“No, thank you.” She smiled. “But it’s good to know where you can get an asthma attack if you need one.”
We returned to Main Street and approached the main hubbub of action, Celia running ahead of us. Bess’s mom walkeda few steps behind us. How she moved slower than Bess in her moon boot, I had no idea, but Kathy took her time, studying every detail of the decorative buildings around us.
Celia spotted the bunnies before I did, squealing and jumping by the cages, clearly frustrated with her mom’s slow walking pace. The foot injury had dramatically decreased Bess’s usual speed, and I could tell she was equally frustrated with the change.
The bunny cages were open from the top, but too high for Celia to reach in.
