Chapter 24 Clara #2
Miss Celia fills me in on all things Matilda Brown until a dozen teenage girls come in looking for special editions.
I dodge strollers and dogs and cars until I safely end up at the part of Main Street that I never venture to.
I end up buying more chocolate and fudge than any one woman needs, as well as jewelry for Honor, a stress ball for Sahara, a crocheted hat and scarf for Honor’s dad, and a crocheted strawberry backpack for Paloma.
And those are just the things I remember.
The amount of bags and stamps I now have tells me I bought so, so much more.
The air smells like fried food as I approach the gazebo on my way back to Maggie’s to drop my collection of bags off. I thought I couldn’t like this town any more; I was wrong. The taco stand on the other side of the gazebo is practically calling out my name.
“Clara!”
It takes a second to work out if I’m hallucinating being shouted at by food, but I quickly realize it’s Flo. “Everything is looking great, Ms. Flo. It’s so busy!”
A compliment feels like the right place to begin this conversation after she kicked me out of her line earlier. “Clara, look, do you think we have enough seating?”
I scan the area around the gazebo; multiple people are eating from the food trucks on benches and there are still some spare spaces.
Large trash cans have been placed a foot behind the seating, close enough to be accessible but not too close to be off-putting.
I’ve attended corporate barbecues without this much attention to detail.
“I think you have enough. Why?”
It’s the first time I’ve seen Flo look truly stressed. “If we have a repeat complaint people will think we don’t listen to feedback.”
She makes a fair point. “How about you take the picnic tables from the tavern’s deck? People probably won’t want to drink outside in this weather, but they will sit and eat a taco or two. I do think it’ll be okay. People don’t mind eating street food standing up generally.”
“Maybe in New York City, but we like to offer our visitors an element of comfort.” That puts me in my place. “But the picnic tables were a nice idea. Thank you, Clara.”
She’s gone before I can say You’re welcome . I study the map and aside from Harry’s, I only have the antique store and the Frozen Spoon left on my list.
The B it’s on the road past the tavern heading toward the Christmas tree farm. I lost track of who I bought what for around five stamps ago, but I’m committed and also financially irresponsible.
Leaving the bags at the B & B makes me feel lighter as I start my walk. I put my headphones in beneath the earmuffs I bought somewhere between books and tacos and keep my head down as I weave through the visitors flooding the streets.
The Christmas tree lighting will happen tonight around 8 p.m. I did kick myself for not thinking ahead when I arrived and offering to find a minor celebrity to do the honors, but I’ve been pretty busy being unescapably helpful.
It’s starting to get dark as I reach the door of the antique shop a short time later. The second I walk in I spot a vintage butterfly brooch that my mom will love. This store is probably the busiest place in Fraser Falls right now and I have to fight my way to the cash register.
The room is thick with the smell of too many people and that musk that comes with old belongings.
I’m relieved to be out of there. I squint at my stamp, then shine my phone on it to make it brighter.
I have no idea what it’s supposed to be.
It doesn’t look like anything other than a black blob.
I make a mental note to take it up with Jack later.
After I wait in line for thirty minutes for a hot chocolate overflowing with marshmallows and cream, there’s a yellow ice cream stamp in my book.
There was a little girl in front of me in line clutching a stamp book between her mittened hands when something terrible happened: I realized that it would be unfair for me to get a crown as the creator of the book.
I must have been high on stamp-based adrenaline not to see it before now. The fact I even know the prize is a crown is based on insider information. Which means I also know there’s only a limited number due to everything being arranged on such short notice.
I feel like the Grinch at the end of the movie where he has his realization and his heart starts growing. I can’t take a crown from an adorably tiny mittened child. God, I hate having a conscience sometimes.
I practically stomp across the street to Harry’s, careful not to tip my decadent drink onto two women debating whether to buy a Holly doll near the doorway. “You should get it,” I say as I pass them. “It’s worth the money.”
Jack is unsurprisingly still in his workshop, this time bent over a large dining table inspecting something instead of sitting with his feet on it.
I sigh loudly. I wish that were me.
“I’m annoyed,” I announce when the workshop door closes behind me.
“I really need to start locking that thing,” he says, standing straight. “What’s got you all worked up?”
“I can’t get the crown,” I announce, possibly dramatically.
His bottom lip pouts out a little. See, I knew he could pout. I know he’s teasing me. “Why not, princess?”
I hate how not mad I am about being called princess. “It isn’t ethical. I was involved in the process. I shouldn’t take it from someone else.”
“But you bought all that stuff,” he says, telling me exactly what I want to hear. “It shouldn’t matter that you’re involved.”
I want to agree but there’s something stopping me. Morals or something ridiculous. This definitely isn’t a Davenport trait. I picked this up from school or summer camp or somewhere. “I can’t do it. I’m sad.”
“What can I do to make you not sad?” There are a lot of things. Many of them are the reason I’m still standing by the door, far away from Jack. “Do you want to go to the tree lighting? I’ll buy you tacos. Will that make you not sad?”
I nod. “I’ll meet you on the sidewalk in front of Maggie’s at seven forty-five? I’m heading to the town hall to help Dove with toy drive donations people have been dropping off all day.”
“Sure thing. I’ll meet you outside Maggie’s. Remember to get your stamp. You can’t leave your book unfinished, even if you don’t get the prize.”