5. Chapter 5
Chapter five
Brandy
Today, I wore flats, and my feet thanked me.
I stopped at the little home goods store on Main Street before work because I wanted to support local businesses for my office décor.
An hour later, I walked into my office carrying a small succulent, two throw pillows in a deep teal that looked excellent against the chair in the corner, a sparkly picture frame to hold a photo of my first event, and a purple wall calendar so large it could probably be seen from space.
I placed my new items, including hanging the calendar on the wall across from my desk where I could see it from my chair, stepped back, and nodded.
“Now we're talking.”
The rest of the morning I spent doing what any reasonable person does when they have no idea what they're doing — I made it look like I was super busy. I opened my laptop, pulled up a fresh document titled June Event Ideas, and stared at it.
The cursor blinked at me.
I blinked back.
“Okay,” I said. “Let's see what other towns are doing.”
After hours of looking, I'll tell you exactly what other towns were doing: nothing that worked for us.
Waverly, Ohio was hosting a Founder's Day Parade with a float competition that had apparently been running since 1987.
Based on the photos, the event involved a lot of crepe paper and varying levels of enthusiasm.
Which sounded great, only we already had a parade planned for the Fourth of July, and two parades in a month is one too many parades.
Plus, I had no idea when the town had been founded.
One call to Connie told me it had been in January.
So much for that idea.
Westbrook Falls was doing a flower festival, which sounded charming until I read that they were surrounded by fields and fields of commercial flowers. A flower festival sounded more like an event for the seniors than the families in town.
Not for us. Next.
Millbrook had a Cardboard Boat Regatta, which I spent ten full minutes reading about because the idea of grown adults paddling cardboard boats down a river is objectively wonderful and also had absolutely nothing to do with a fire department's Safety Week.
And we lacked one important detail.
A river.
Scratch that one too.
I tried community events in June Midwest and got a farmer's market guide and a listing for a tractor pull.
Nope.
I tried fun June events for families and got Fourth of July planning guides, which — I glanced at my purple calendar — we were not there yet.
Sigh. I sat back and drummed my fingers on the desk. Think, Brandy.
I typed unique June events and hit Enter and scrolled. Then I stopped completely, reading my screen. I reread it again.
This could be it.
Summerween, which was the celebration of the year being halfway to Halloween.
The event was held on the second-to-last Friday in June.
Decorations that were bright colors mixed with orange and black.
Skeletons on front porches sitting in beach chairs.
Bats in flower beds with blooming petunias.
Cobwebs on mailboxes. And children in full Halloween regalia trick-or-treating.
And the best thing of all, jack-o'-lanterns were carved out of watermelons.
I clicked on a video of a decorated neighborhood that had apparently gone completely all in on the Summerween idea.
Every single house decorated, residents in costumes handing out candy, a DJ playing Monster Mash at two in the afternoon.
Watermelons everywhere, lawn displays, even someone's golden retriever trotting by dressed as a ghost.
I watched it twice.
“Oh my God,” I said out loud to no one in my empty office. “This is it!”
More research showed me that the event was always held on the same day in June. One quick glance at my new calendar and I saw it just happened to coincide with the last day of Safety Week.
I couldn't believe it.
Worried I’d messed up somehow, I opened three separate internet windows and Googled the date independently.
All of them came out the same.
“Hot damn.”
More searching showed me this was a wildly, wonderfully, enthusiastically populated thing with Facebook groups, Reddit threads, and entire Pinterest boards dedicated to it. People LOVED it. Most planned for it like they did for Halloween.
I found that big stores offered all sorts of Summerween-themed products.
And then I saw a parking lot with cars lined up, their trunks open and transformed into haunted scenes and spooky displays. One absolutely unhinged setup that appeared to be a full graveyard emerging from a minivan.
Children in costumes were going trunk to trunk, collecting candy in the middle of what appeared to be a perfectly sunny afternoon.
I sat very still for a moment.
Summerween trunk-or-treat.
I sat back in my chair and looked at the ceiling.
This is perfect, exactly what the mayor wanted.
I snapped up and grabbed my notebook to begin scribbling, printing off example pages as fast as I wrote ideas.
Summerween trunk-or-treat — the last night of Safety Week used as a community party to end Safety Week.
Have decorated car trunks in the parking lot of the fire department.
Decorate the fire station in the spirit.
Police car trunk — yes, must have. Ruthie's bakery — maybe haunted treats?
Like donuts with teeth? Bounce house? — check the cost. Halloween music — no doubt.
Costumes encouraged to be worn by everyone.
Where to find large watermelons to carve?
I stopped writing and looked over my notes.
“This is without a doubt perfect. It incorporates everything I need. An event for families, it has the sparkle the mayor wants, and most importantly I can get it done in time.”
I may have giggled.
Just a little bit.
As I was opening PowerPoint.
“Now to sell it.”
Three hours later, I was eating leftover lasagna with a Diet Coke while admiring my presentation.
I wasn't going to pretend I wasn't proud of it because I absolutely was.
Fourteen slides filled with enough information and photos of Summerween celebrations from across the country to put even the fire chief in the spirit.
I had neighborhoods, trunk-or-treats, decorated storefronts, carved watermelons glowing in the dark. A proposed timeline and a rough budget, which I made sure to say was subject to change.
I had a list of local businesses who might want to participate.
Slides with a suggested Halloween music playlist because details mattered and I had strong feelings about Monster Mash being non-negotiable.
My crowning photo was of a fire truck decorated for Summerween, covered in cobwebs, spiders of all sizes hung everywhere, including an enormous one on top.
And the best part was the crew were dressed as exterminators.
How could the stick in the mud not love it?
I saved the presentation, leaned back in my chair, and peered at my purple calendar.
I had to have everything done in three weeks, including getting the word out to the public.
“Sure, that's completely doable.”
Probably.
Maybe.
No, stop that. It’s totally doable. If you can handle perimenopause, you can handle this.
I called Connie and asked to be squeezed in to see the mayor tomorrow, but could he come to the firehouse during that time for a presentation? She said he would be there at nine.
Taking a breath, I called the fire station.
“Chief Carson here.”
His image in his uniform jumped into my head.
Damn, he's good-looking.
“Chief,” I said in my cheerful voice. “This is Brandy Wilson. Do you have time tomorrow morning at nine for a presentation? I'll come to the fire station.”
“Presentation? What kind of presentation?” I could hear a skeptical tone in his voice.
“It's important,” I said, not answering his question. “The mayor will be there too.”
I threw in the mayor part in hopes it would carry some weight.
“Well—”
“And the fire personnel are welcome to sit in on it too. Please?”
There was a pause.
“Alright.”
I thanked him, hung up, and danced in my seat.
Okay, now what?
I needed to tell someone or it was quite possible I was going to vibrate out of my skin. And since it was her idea that started me on my search, I owed it to her to be the first.
I grabbed my purse and my keys.
I hope she's still there.
Ruthie's bakery was called Rise & Shine, and it was on the corner of Main and Elm, and smelled exactly the way a bakery should smell, gloriously delicious.
The window display had three-layer cakes and a sign advertising sourdough on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
I made a mental note because I would, without a doubt, be here.
The little bell above the door announced me.
“Hello, can I help you?” A lady with a welcoming smile in a pink apron greeted me.
“Brandy! What a nice surprise,” Ruthie called from the back.
“I was worried you might not be here this late in the day.”
“Normally I'm not, but I had a wedding cake to finish. How are you?”
“I'm great. Do you have a couple of minutes? I need to tell you something.” I glanced in the direction the lady had walked away. “Something secret.”
“Oh, I love secrets. Come back. You can tell me while I make roses.”
I lifted the counter where the hinge was and hurried to her.
In front of Ruthie were piping bags full of white- and red-colored icing. Sheets of parchment paper covered with roses were lined up on almost every surface.
“Wow,” was all I could say.
“Roses. This bride is obsessed with roses.” She rolled her eyes. “Wants her cake covered in roses.”
“They’re beautiful,” I said, glancing around. “How many do you have to make?”
“Oh...” Ruthie swiveled on her stool and counted the parchment pieces. “At least a hundred more. But you didn’t come here to admire my piping abilities.”
“Right. Okay, I need you to swear to me that what I’m about to tell you stays between us until tomorrow because I’m presenting it then. You’re the only other person who knows, and since it was your idea, I wanted you to be first.”
Ruthie set down her pastry bag. Looked at me with the full attention of a woman who couldn’t resist knowing something interesting first.
“Shoot, let me have it,” she said.
“I'll tell you. Just swear you won't tell.”
“Sure. How can I not swear now? I'm captivated.”
“Since you recommended I find something that would work with Safety Week...”
I told her everything. The Googling rabbit hole I went down. Then about finding Summerween. I included the trunk-or-treat, the watermelons, the fourteen-slide PowerPoint with Monster Mash on the playlist.
I showed her pictures on my phone — the decorated cars, the carved watermelons glowing green and red in the dark, the neighborhoods going completely all in with skeletons and cobwebs next to their summer petunias.
Even the fire truck.
Ruthie's eyes got wider with every photo.
When I finished, she was quiet for exactly two seconds.
“Brandy, I LOVE this,” she said, at a volume that suggested the two seconds of quiet had been a significant exercise in restraint.
“This is the best idea I have ever heard.
People are going to love it. Count us in.
The bakery will absolutely have a trunk.
I'll do Halloween-themed treats. Oh, I could do cookies shaped like little watermelon jack-o'-lanterns—”
“And donuts with teeth,” I said, causing her to laugh.
“That's perfect.” She took out her phone. “What day did you say?”
“June twenty-second. I'm a bit nervous. I’m giving my presentation to the mayor and the fire chief tomorrow morning.”
Ruthie made a face like she smelled something bad. She quickly changed her expression to a smile.
“You’ll do great,” she said. “If it helps, tell them you already have a business who wants to participate.”
“I will, thank you. I know it's a lot asking you to keep this from Jo,” I said. “But please don't tell her. I don't want any of it getting to the chief. I wouldn’t want him to start hating it before the meeting. Right now, I want the element of surprise on my side.”
“I usually never keep things from my wife. But I can understand why you're asking. So, since you're giving the presentation tomorrow, my lips are sealed today.”
“Thank you.” I picked up my purse. “If it helps, we can pretend I was never here. You didn't hear any of this, and we've never spoken.”
“Spoken about what?” Ruthie said innocently, winking at me.
“Exactly.” I winked back.
The bell above the door announced my exit, and I pranced back to my car in the Denture sunshine, feeling like a woman with a plan.