Chapter 19
Each summer Hume Community Council hosted the annual Sweet Summer Jubilee. It was a weekend-long event with crafts, petting zoos, cook-offs, and contests for the biggest squash or tomato. There was music, games, and food … tons of food. When I was a child, my family attended each year. Our parents would give us each twenty dollars and let us lose. The first thing I’d do was grab a turkey leg, because it’s not a festival without meat on the bone.
Fancy and I walked around with a sample of Mr. Williams’ collard greens. Another perk of this event was all the free samples. And even if they weren’t free, if you stood around shooting the shit long enough, you’d be offered a sample. In my opinion the greens had way too much vinegar for my liking, but I was partial to my father’s recipe.
“I forgot how crazy these things could get.” Fancy discreetly chucking the rest of our uneaten greens in a nearby trash receptacle.
“I think each year the council dukes it out trying to find ways to top the prior year. Dial’s a member and she doesn’t tolerate mediocre. What was once balloon animals and the mayor’s son performing his family friendly raps has morphed into massive bounce houses, carnival attractions, and hot-air balloon rides.”
Her face lit up with recognition. “I remember the mayor’s son and his God-awful raps. What was his stage name again?”
“Hines the Holy Roller.”
“Yup, because he was rapping for the Lord. Is he still doing that?”
“No, he retired years ago, so now we get real local talent.”
“Well, if Hines the Holy Roller has one fan, it’s me and if he has zero fans it’s because I’ve died.”
“I think he still signs autographs. So, you just let me know and your Christmas gift is secured.” I winked.
Fancy unleashed a hearty chuckle.
“Edison?” I turned to find Willa with Teddy Britell.
“Hey Willa, Ted.” Wasn’t there some kind of etiquette about the protocol when you run into your ex at the community event? Perhaps hightailing it in the opposite direction was an option.
Willa’s lips curved into a half smile. “Francesca, I hoped you were still in town and we’d cross paths again at some point.” Willa pulled Fancy into a hug.
“It’s good to see you again. You look amazing. I love your dress.” Fancy wasn’t lying. Willa was a knockout.
“Thank you. I could say the same. Your boots are like art. Where can I find them?”
Fancy looked down at her sequined boots, which I could only imagine cost thousands of dollars. “Uhm, they’re from a New York based designer. His name escapes me now, but I can text it to you.”
The long uninterrupted stare as Willa drank the sight of me holding Fancy’s hand was like tiny paper cuts all being inflicted at the same time. Willa finally turned her attention back to me and me alone. “I thought you hated these things?”
“Edison? He loves fairs, especially the turkey legs,” Fancy chimed in.
Willa’s gaze was carrying on a private conversation with me. Last year when she suggested we come to the festival together, I lied and said I hated the crowds and smell. “Hmm, so you two?” she asked.
Fancy pinged between me and Willa, sensing the building tension. “Teddy, do you think you could walk with me to get a lemonade? I’m parched, but I want to give Edison and Willa a chance to catch up.”
I interjected. “Are you sure? I could?—”
“I’m positive. Teddy doesn’t mind.” Fancy was right. Ted’s smile grew three times bigger. Willa and I watched as they walked away.
“I’m not ready for a relationship. Those were your words. I guess the part about not wanting one with me was just silent.”
“Can you keep your voice down?” I didn’t like drama and rumors spread like wildfire in Hume.
“No, I will not. You picked Fancy over me?” She was shouting, and sweat was dotting my forehead.
“You’re acting like this was some kind of competition. What happened between you and me has nothing to do with Fancy.”
“Bullshit,” Willa yelled. We were outside, but I really needed her to use her inside voice right now. “She comes to town and then you break up with me. How convenient.”
“We were never a couple. And you seemed to have rebounded nicely with Teddy.”
Willa pointed her finger in my face. “You’re an asshole.”
“I never … not once … lied to you about where we stood.”
Willa moved closer so only I could hear. “No, you just fucked me until my knees were weak and held me while I fell asleep.”
I’d already had two beers, so my filter was slipping. “Do you want me to apologize for making you come?”
Willa planted her hands on her hips. “Lose my number. Because when Fancy heads back to Hollywood, I don’t want you even thinking about calling me.”
“I respect that.”
Willa’s eyes grew misty. “How can you act like you never cared?”
“I did care, I really did. Just not as much as you.” I didn’t do well with endings, whether it was initiated by others or myself. And oftentimes to protect myself I could come off as cold, but I ended things with Willa for this exact reason. I didn’t want to see her get hurt.
Willa shoulder checked me before walking away, sparing me from the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. All I could muster was a stuck on stupid stare silently analyzing our conversation and all the ways I could have communicated better. But in my defense, accosting me in public wasn’t going to foster an honest discussion. I just wanted the yelling to cease and for passersby to stop staring and whispering.
Fancy came bounding back over, lemonade in hand. “How did it go?”
“Horribly. She’s mad at me.”
“Oh no, someone in Hume doesn’t see you as the perfect gentleman.” Fancy chuckled.
I flashed a hard, irritated expression. “No, I’m serious, she called me an asshole.” I reached for Fancy’s arm, turning her to face me. “Am I an asshole?”
“Probably.”
My shoulders rounded into a heap.
Fancy cupped my face. “Edison, romantic relationships are complicated. And most men suck at it. Don’t beat yourself up. No one is perfect. If I had a dollar for every heart I’d broken, I’d have forty-two dollars. You know what will make you feel better?”
“What?”
“A turkey leg.”
“I mean it’s kind of difficult to be upset when you’re holding a medieval-sized turkey leg.”
“That’s the spirit. We can pretend to be pirates enjoying our smoked serving of meat.”
We walked laps around MetCalf Park enjoying our food and people watching. In truth, people were watching us more than anything else. We couldn’t walk but a few feet and someone new would come up to Fancy gushing about her music, asking her to sign their shirt, ball cap or take a picture. Picture taking usually fell to me and I was happy to do it. She deserved all the admiration and earnest words of affirmation.
Whiskey Wild was world famous, and this type of fan adoration wasn’t just reserved to Hume. It made me wonder what the duo was going to do now. Dancing around and singing duets with someone who’d betrayed my trust would be a non-starter for me. Hard truth, the amounts of money Fancy and Darla were making wasn’t easy to turn down. I wouldn’t fault her if she decided to stay with the group. But how do you move past it?
One highlight of the festival was the musical acts. The west end of the park was home to the new amphitheater. It’d taken years to get approved and was only completed last year with Cyrus overseeing the ribbon cutting. Our amphitheater was probably the only state-of-the-art structure in Hume. Talent from all over came to perform at the festival and now, with a stage worthy of a show, bigger named acts were sure to follow.
Fancy and I weaved through the crowd to get as close as possible. Jace Montgomery was in the middle of his set, singing a slow ballad about the one that got away. Standing behind Fancy, I wrapped her in my arms, and we swayed back and forth. Reality washed over me, Fancy was all mine. Burying my face in her hair, I breathed deep. The hair products she’d selected during our shopping trip were worth it because she smelled like horchata, fresh salt water, and rum all mixed in one.
Jace’s song ended, and he addressed the crowd. “This is a great night to forget your worries and just allow the music to move you. And there is no one better than moving a crowd than Fancy Palmer of Whiskey Wild.” Jace pointed at Fancy and a spotlight landed on us. “I’m gonna ask a huge favor. Ms. Palmer would you grace us with a song?”
The crowd cheered while Fancy waved off the attention. She found my hand and squeezed it tight.
“Now Fancy we go way back, and you know I’m not above begging,” Jace joked.
The crowd spurred her on with applause and hooting.
Fancy glanced up at me, uncertain whether to accept the offer. “I think you should do it. The people have spoken.”
Nodding, she planted a quick peck to my lips before releasing my hand. The crowd was already electric by the time she strutted onto the stage, her white sequined boots emblazoned with pink flowers caught every flicker of light like a firework in motion. Fancy’s smile lit up the night, a mix of genuine joy and unshakable confidence, and when she grabbed the microphone, it was as if the whole world tilted in her direction.
“You know I love it when you beg, Jace,” she teased, a spark in her eyes. The crowd ate it up. Turning to the audience, which had grown bigger as word quickly spread, she said, “Hume, how y’all feeling?”
The response was resoundingly affirmative. When the hoots and hollers died down, Ozzie could be heard screaming, “That’s my baby sister!”
Fancy turned to the band and whispered to the guitar player. She started with a few handclaps, the band kicking in with a fast-paced guitar riff for one of Whiskey Wild’s biggest hits “Good Time Girls,” and the crowd erupted, stomping and cheering as if their collective energy could lift her into the sky. From my spot in the center of the crowd, I felt like I was holding my breath, not wanting to miss a single beat of her magic.
She owned the stage, moving with a rhythm that matched the pulse of the music and the heartbeat of the audience. Fancy performed the perfect two-step while whining her hips, causing a blush to overtake my face at the thought of what those hips were capable of. Her voice was rich and twangy, soaring effortlessly through the lyrics of her chart-topping anthem about chasing men and raising hell along the way.
Fancy threw playful kisses at the crowd, twirling and stomping in perfect time, her curls bouncing like they had their own choreography. The hometown crowd sang back every word, their voices blending into a powerful wave of pride and love. She wasn’t just a star; she was theirs. And for all her glitter and glow, you could see the girl who grew up here shining through, the one who used to sing in her church choir and this exact fair.
Darla who? I meant it when I said Whiskey Wild was nothing without Fancy. She was a superstar. Tooling around the farmhouse, it was easy to forget just how much of a powerhouse she was. Sure, this was Hume and everyone was going to love her because she was our hometown favorite. But she lived up to the hype. Fancy could put on a show and when she was on stage, it was like you were on a joyride in a stolen F-150.
At the final chorus, she grabbed a nearby banjo and began to play, inviting the audience to join in. The air was alive with sound, a sea of clapping hands and stomping feet shaking the ground. I caught her eye for a split second, and she winked at me, a moment so fleeting and intimate it felt like our secret in the middle of all this commotion. When the song ended, she threw her head back, laughing as if she couldn’t believe this was her life. And watching her, I knew something she didn’t, she wasn’t just the star of the show tonight. She was our collective hopes and dreams, and I was the luckiest man alive to love her.
Fancy bounded off the stage and into my arms. “That was amazing,” I gushed.
“Really? It’s better with Darla next to me.”
“I didn’t notice, but maybe that’s because I only have eyes for you.”
“I will admit it was nice being on stage again. Performing was always my favorite part, feeding off of the energy from the crowd. Witnessing them sing along word for word. I’ve missed it.”
“You were born for the stage.” A lump the size of a grapefruit settled in my chest. It wasn’t lost on me that annual festival performances in Hume weren’t enough to fill the urge nestled in Francesca’s core to entertain. Hume would never be enough. As much as she loved me … I couldn’t replicate the adrenaline rush her career provided.
Once the crowd of fans disbursed, we made a beeline for the beer garden. We ordered two beers each so we wouldn’t have to wait in line a second time. I made quick work of my first one, and Fancy wasn’t far behind. In the center of the tent was a makeshift dance floor and from the swing in her hips, I could tell she wanted to dance. I nodded my head in the direction of the dance floor, and she beamed in agreement.
Line dancing in Hume wasn’t like most line dancing, maybe because the city was founded by Black folks and remained predominantly Black to this day. Our line dancing was a bit honky tonk with a whole lot of rhythm. We’d performed that soul filled line dance to Megan Moroney or Juvenile; it didn’t really make a difference. And that shit was an art form. The basic steps were simple, but everyone had their own little spin on the parts in between. So, if it was one, two, dip, spin, shimmy, you were going to get fifty variations of the same move executed in sync.
Right now, Fancy was dipping her hips with each movement. Occasionally she’d back her ass up against me and we’d dance close, performing the moves like we were connected. We clinked our bottles, taking long gulps while rolling our bodies to the beat. Not going to lie, I felt like the big man on campus because everyone knew Francesca Palmer was here with me. And when Fancy claimed you, she acted like there was no one else in the room.
Francesca was a free spirit, and you could see it in the way her body moved across the dance floor. Arms in the air grooving side to side. I loved her adventurous nature the most, maybe because that was a quality I was lacking. When we were younger, Fancy talked me into skinny dipping in the lake. Truthfully, I opted to keep my boxers on. Now Fancy, was buck naked and didn’t care. I stared for an unusually long time before averting my eyes. That woman kept me on my toes, and I relished every minute of it.
Life is short and long at the same time. And we remember our life in moments. Our memories like photographs sealed in time. You don’t remember the mundane day-to-day tasks. Watering and feeding the animals, driving to and from work, Sunday dinner with the family. But we remember the special times. The days when we were really happy. Like the day my father bought me my first horse. I named him Turpentine because I thought the name sounded bad ass.
You also remember the days of immense sorrow like when our parents sat Cyrus, Dial, and me down and told us about Momma’s cancer diagnosis. I remember breaking into tears at my big age because cancer sounded like a death sentence. Luckily our mother survived and was currently thriving. But fear of the possibility of life as you know it being over is scary as hell.
Right now, two stepping on the dance floor with the woman I loved was etching itself in my brain as a fond memory. The type of memory you call up when your head hits the pillow to help lull you to sleep. I was luckier than most because I had a healthy family, a town I could call home, and a woman who made me feel special even on the most ordinary days.