22. The Highest Bid
The Highest Bid
"Dude, it's called catch, not drop ." Andy laughs as Zack stumbles backward and nearly trips over Carlos.
He picks up the dusty baseball, huffing before tossing it back to Andy.
The ball flies over the heads of a swarm of people zigzagging between booths and carnival games.
Andy catches the ball in her mitt. "Not bad.
Maybe you're more of a pitcher than a catcher.”
Zack rolls his eyes. "Yeah, regular old Kershaw over here."
Andy smiles at him. "You could be."
I get lost in a comforting daze as I watch Andy, Carlos, and Zack toss the ball back and forth.
The boys look like boys. Like normal teens enjoying a beautiful sunny day.
A few other kids gather around, and Andy invites them to play.
It's a rare sight; Andy being kind. If only that kindness extended to those beyond the age of sixteen, maybe we'd actually get along. Maybe we'd even be friends.
"Hey! "
"Dang it!" I gasp, jolting in my chair as Jesse creeps up behind me. "Don't do that!" I swat at his thigh as he sits down beside me, grabbing one of the few remaining cookies from the platter. "Hey! This is the last batch. You eat it, you buy it."
"Yes, ma'am." Jesse sandwiches the cookie between his lips and tilts his hips up, prying out his wallet from his back pocket. He tosses two dollar bills on the table. "Happy?"
"Yes," I say, adding the bills to the money pouch. "So..." I face Jesse and wiggle my shoulders, grinning as he scarfs down the gingersnap. "Guess how much I've made today?"
"Mmm..." Jesse's lips twist up as he does some impressively fast calculations. "Around four hundred bucks?"
"Yup!" I beam. "Four hundred and four, to be exact. Well, four hundred and six now."
"See?" Jesse leans back into the lawn chair. "I told you that you'd kill it."
" We're killing it," I say, unable to take all the credit. "This was a fifty-fifty effort."
"More like seventy-thirty, but fine." Jesse smiles, popping the last bite in his mouth. A distant glimmer of nostalgia glistens in his depths as he sighs and scans the festivities surrounding us. "We got a good turnout this year. I was worried people might not show."
"Why wouldn't they show up?" I follow his sightline to the dozens of local families from neighboring towns. "Everyone seems to be having a blast."
"Well...we didn't do it last year—" He pauses, stiffening as he swallows.
He's unable to look at me as he continues slowly, carefully, uncertain, "My mom headed up all charity initiatives.
Last year...we didn't do it last year." He clears his throat, uncomfortable.
"Jo really stepped up, though. My mom would lose it if she saw how much we've raised today. "
There's a longing in his voice. The way the word mom slips from his lips.
There are fond memories attached to her existence and deep sadness attached to her absence.
A highlight reel of my own momma plays in my head, and I don't think I've ever done anything my mother would lose it over.
Not in a good way, at least. It's a sorrowful thought; to one day look back and have no precious memories to pull from the magician's hat.
Act's not over yet, but the hope sure is dwindling.
"Jo told me we almost raised ten grand." I place my hand on Jesse's restless knee, my voice cracking a smidgen.
Jesse glances at me, and I lock on his guarded gaze, my own behind bars.
"Your momma would be proud of you, Jesse.
Real proud." I bite back a rush of potential tears as I force a smile.
"Today has turned out perfectly. It really has. "
"Nothing's ever perfect, Sav," Jesse muses, his charged gaze bouncing around my melancholy expression. He places his hand on top of mine and gives my fingers a meaningful squeeze. "Once you've accepted that, life becomes much easier to live."
"Have you accepted it?" I ask, nibbling on my bottom lip. "That nothing's perfect?"
"Long time ago," Jesse hums, leaning closer to me as he scoots his chair toward mine.
"When I was little, my mom would always drill it into my head that no story worth telling ever came without a set of hurdles.
" He chuckles to himself, boyish and innocent.
"She'd always say, 'Make mistakes, Jesse, or else you'll be forgotten . '"
"That must have been nice," I whisper, stones upon stones of weight stacking up on my shoulders.
"I was raised to avoid mistakes. I remember one time my momma made me stay at the gym for like three days or something ridiculous like that before a pageant.
Couldn't go home until I perfected my routine.
" I let out an incredulous scoff. "She wouldn't even give me dinner.
Almonds and electrolytes. That's all I needed . "
"That's cruel." Jesse's face falls. "How old were you?"
I shrug. "Thirteen, I think? I mean, it wasn't that bad, and I ended up winning the pageant, so her umm... style of coaching paid off in the end, I guess."
"Yeah?" Jesse's brows furrow. "What did you win? Was the prize worth it?"
"Umm...it was a trophy." I swallow, frowning as I attempt to rationalize my answer. "I won a trophy." I pull my hand away from Jesse, my stomach churning and pained. “Just a trophy..."
"Hey," Jesse whispers, reaching for another cookie.
He waves it in front of my face as I dig into that damn hat, looking, searching, calling out for one happy memory.
Just one. "I know I just said nothing's ever perfect, but these?
" He takes a giant bite. "Mmm...these are as close as you can get to perfection. "
"Yeah?" I manage to glance over at him, covering my mouth and giggling as tiny little crumbs get caught in his beard. I reach over, dusting them away. "You like 'em?"
"Taste just like mom's," he says as feedback from the microphone screeches through the speakers. "You did a great job."
"Thanks," I whisper with a grateful smile as we turn our attention to the podium in the center of the abandoned lot as Jo takes the stage.
"Good afternoon, everyone," Jo begins, addressing the converging crowd.
"On behalf of The Sons, I want to thank you all for coming out and supporting a cause very near and dear to our hearts.
Toys for Tots was started over ten years by our beloved sister Laura Paxton.
May she rest in peace. In her memory, we hope to continue this charity and keep her vision of love, care, and selfishness alive.
" The crowd roars in applause. "Before we announce the final tally, we have a few items here we'd like to auction off, starting with a vintage 1973 Fender Strat donated by our very own Billy Paxton.
We'll start the bidding at one hundred dollars. "
"One hundred!"
"One fifty!"
"Two fifty!"
"Your dad plays guitar?" I ask Jesse, grabbing his hand and examining his calloused palms. "Do you?"
"Fuck no." He laughs. "My old man gave me about three lessons before we both learned that I've got no business holding a guitar."
"Really?" I ask, tracing my nails along his rough fingers. "You seem like you'd be good at guitar."
"Why?" Jesse smirks at me. "Cause I'm good with my hands?"
My cheeks flush. "No..."
He cocks his head. " No?"
I roll my eyes, sidestepping his attempt to corner me into a compliment. "I've always wanted to learn how to play the guitar."
"Yeah?"
"Yup," I say, chuckling to myself. "I figured if I learned how to play, then my chances of becoming the next Taylor Swift would skyrocket."
"Taylor Swift?" Jesse blinks. "Have you heard yourself sing, princess?"
I glare at him. "I'm aware of my vocal shortcomings, Paxton. No need to rub dirt into my wound."
Jesse chuckles. "So, is that what you wanted to be as a kid, then? A little country star?"
"Or a mermaid," I say, wincing as the words escape my mouth.
Jesse snorts. "A mermaid?" He chuckles, shaking his head. "Pretty sure you gotta know how to swim to be a mermaid."
"Funny," I chide, glaring at him. "You gonna run out dirt real quick there, darlin'."
"Hey, my offer still stands." Jesse shrugs. "That pool ain't going anywhere. Come on, Sav. One lesson."
I chew the inside of my cheek. "What if I drown?"
Jesse sighs. "You're not going to drown."
"I could drown!" I insist.
"Not likely."
"I've been known to accomplish the impossible," I say. “And impossible is not always positive. This one time, I got prescribed antibiotics, and there was like a .0005% chance I'd get a rash as a side effect, and guess what? I got a rash. See? I defy odds. "
Jesse pinches the bridge of his nose. "Okay, but I'm telling you right now that the odds of you drowning on my watch are zero percent . Ze-ro."
"Zero?" I lift a brow. "Surely even you're not that arrogant."
"Don't confuse arrogance with confidence, princess.
" Jesse grins. "Have a little faith in me.
" He trails his fingers down my arm, my body shivering as his eyes light up with dirty ideas.
"Plus, we haven't had nearly enough fun for you to go and die on me.
" His voice drops to a luring and lascivious rumble.
"There's lots I still want to do to you. "
"Oh really?" I ask, butterflies fluttering around my heating core. "Like what?"
"Many things..." Jesse leans closer to me, fingers floating across my mid-drift as he whispers, "I want to?—"
"Savannah? Savannah!" My head snaps to the podium, and I jerk back away from Jesse, startled to find dozens of people staring at us. Shoot . "Savannah! Get up here!"
"Crap," I mutter, springing out of my chair. Jesse looks up at me, frowning. I ignore him, jogging up to the stage, cheeks blushing from all the attention. Jo puts her arm around me. "Sorry 'bout that. I was distracted."