Page 10 of Loving Carter

For a moment, we all sit quietly, stunned. Then Carter laughs. “Excuse me? 1933?” He looks at me. “Not exactly the century you had in mind.”

Bill closes his folder. “Yes, 1933. After that, the town no longer held it. I gather the local businesses weren’t interested.”

I can’t believe what I just heard. I’d thought this expo had only stopped a few years ago. Okay, make that quite a few years ago since they haven’t had an expo in all the time I’ve lived here. But 1933? The only person who doesn’t seem stunned by the date is Bill.

In addition to getting exposure for the businesses, the expo we plan to hold is going to raise money for the library to expand the audio book section.

“Did Endearing even have a library in 1933?” I ask.

“The expo raised money for the town in general in 1933,” Bill explains. “But now we should consider making this an annual affair. The library will profit, the town will get excellent publicity, and people will love it.”

Bill’s right. The event could do a lot for Endearing and the people who live here. Expos, such as this one, pull in crowds from all around. Lots of food. Lots of games. Lots of chances to meet new customers.

Ideas for decorations on my booth start popping into my mind, so I jot them down in my notebook. “So this show—”

“Expo,” Denise says. “The Endearing Business Expo needs to be spectacular. We want to wow everyone who attends.”

“What do we do at this expo?” This question comes from Hugh. “I bet there wasn’t a car repair shop in town then.” He laughs loudly and slaps the table. “Maybe there was a blacksmith.”

“Hardly,” I say. “In 1933, people drove cars.”

“True,” Carter says.

I wonder what he’s really thinking about this expo. He’s hard to read. The man keeps his cards close to his chest.

With more flourish than necessary, Bill takes another piece of paper out of his folder. “This is a printout of an article that appeared in the local newspaper the day before the last expo. It lists the various activities scheduled. Looks like all the local businesses had booths, plus there were games and activities for the kids in the afternoon. And finally, local bands played music.”

“They had bands back then?” Tina asks.

Now we’re getting silly.

“Of course. Y’all need to stop assuming 1933 was the dark ages.” Bill waves the paper in his hand. “The article lists a few musicians who were scheduled to play, and then it says the music will be followed by frivolity.”

“Followed bywhat?” Carter asks.

“Frivolity.”

The room erupts with laughter.

Finally, Bill admits, “Not sure what they meant by that, but maybe we can skip that part.”

“I kind of like the idea of frivolity,” Carter teases. “Sounds like fun.”

“I think games and bands count as frivolity,” one of the sisters says.

Carter looks at her. “You’re right, Tina. They should count as frivolity.”

When he turns his head and smiles slightly at me, I realize what he’s doing. He knows I can’t tell the sisters apart, so he’s trying to help me out.

See what I mean about him being nice?

“During the day, we can focus on helping people remember Endearing,” Bill says. “I think it’s important that we work on pulling people into the town. It’s a shame your ranch is always booked. If it weren’t, we could suggest visitors stay there.”

“Sorry,” Carter says, but we all know he isn’t. Why would a business be sorry for being popular?

“Still, we should be able to convince people to come back. We also can convince them to tell others. We can use social media in addition to other forms of advertising to get the word out,” Denise says.

“Exactly.” Bill glances around the room. “Is everyone okay with us following the previous agenda, even though it’s from 1933?”

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