Chapter 20
Quinn
The Bathtub Party Day festival has arrived. I can’t believe the big day is finally here. The gods are shining on us today with clear skies and unbelievably warm temperatures for the 5 th of December. The early turnout has been better than expected. Guests are mingling about, taking in all the day has to offer.
Walking through the Winter Village, I check in with everyone to verify they have all they need. They’ve really outdone themselves, decorating their stalls in festive winter colors as well as using bath and Christmas items to pull together the theme of the day. Many of the vendors and food trucks have included red and green rubber duckies in their décor. While others offer supplies like soaps, towels, bath salts, and shower caps. I hadn’t thought of that. I type in my notes app on my phone to encourage using those next year.
Even before lunch, the smell of fried food, funnel cake, popcorn, cocoa, and peppermint permeate the air. 78 degrees or not, it smells like a Christmas festival in Magnolia Point.
As I drive my golf cart to the other end of Main Street, I marvel at the large tree covered in ornaments. A few depict animals in bathtubs while multiple rubber ducks wearing Santa hats dangle from branches as well. Clasping my hands together in delight, I make a mental note to personally thank the women’s club for their attention to detail.
As I approach the starting line of the duck race, I see the coup de grace for the event. The boys from station 803 are on the scene with their fire engine, ladder truck, and ambulance, providing the perfect backdrop.
“Hey, Quinn.”
Looking to my left, I find Corbin and a few volunteers from the shelter with arms full of felines, dogs, as well as my friend, George, the rabbit. “Hey. Look at all of these guys.” I walk over to Henrietta and stroke her little white beard. “I hope you get a forever home today.”
“Everything looks fantastic, Quinn. Regardless of the outcome, I’m really impressed.”
“Thank you, Corbin.” Turning toward the fire truck, a large table and chairs is set up with all the calendars ready to go. One by one, each of station 803’s finest, and not so finest , come front and center as upbeat music starts to play. They each make quite the show of strutting for onlookers.
“Why don’t I help out?” Callie says as she flings herself into a seat behind the table. “I’ll take care of calendar sales and picture taking.”
“Such altruism.” I laugh.
Layton leans over and whispers something into Tripp’s ear as “Gonna Make You Sweat” by C + C Music Factory begins to play. One by one, the men of #803 take their shirts off. Even in the early hour of the day, a crowd starts to form as the men dance, shaking their hips, flexing their biceps, and posing with the animals. Before long, Callie is scrambling to keep up with sales, but people remain patient as the boys take pictures and sign calendars for anyone who requests it.
I make another pass through the festival and greet Charlie, who’s preparing to take the first set of partygoers through town on the trolley, before spotting Dad and Calvin near the concession stands. “Figures this is where I’d find you two.” I laugh.
“Best seat in the house,” Calvin says.
“Awe, honey. You’ve done an amazing job. I can’t thank you enough. And from what I saw of the crowd around the firefighters earlier, that bonus is as good as yours.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I definitely feel like I earned my keep on this one. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot two teenagers who seem to be hovering around my golf cart. Not on my watch, boys.
Hopping back in, I drive to the front entrance and carefully drag my weary body to speak with one of the volunteers. She confirms we’ve sold an enormous number of ducks for the race along the May River. Between this and the calendar sales, it’s enough to consider this day a victory. If we can get some of those sweet animals adopted, it’ll be a win-win.
“Hey, short stuff.”
I spin to find Jason staring down at me. I could drown in those ocean blue eyes. They’re so magnetic, I’m almost too distracted to notice his beautifully tattooed chest and arms.
Almost.
“I know how busy you are. There’s so much happening, and you’re probably putting out your own fires left and right. I just wanted to make sure I told you how amazing you are. You should be really proud of yourself.” He looks left and right and shakes his head in awe. “This is phenomenal. You’re phenomenal.”
“Oh, stop.” A blush warms my cheeks.
“Can I meet you here for the tree lighting later? I’d really like to see you and talk before I head back home.”
Back home. My heart physically aches at the statement. My inside voice is screaming, I don’t want you to go. Schooling my features, I try not to let my feelings show. “Of course. I’d love that.”
“Good. I’ll be waiting with hot cocoa by the tree to celebrate your accomplishments.”
“Extra marshmallows?”
“Is there any other way?” He chuckles before heading back to his post, “It’s Raining Men” by the Weather Girls playing in the distance.
* * *
Even with the use of the golf cart, all of this walking has done a number on me. I can barely put one foot in front of the other. Just a few more hours, and I’m taking a hot soak and a three-day nap.
I head over to the front table to ensure the volunteers have all the information they need to announce the winners of the duck race.
“Yes. We’re all set. This event was incredible, Quinn. I hope you’ll keep this going next year.”
“I’m hoping next year we can open the Winter Village and do the tree lighting as Magnolia Point’s official start to the holiday season, and then have the Bathtub Party Day events close the festival on the fifth. It will extend the time tourists may want to visit Magnolia Point.”
“That’s a great idea. Oh, I have to run. I’m supposed to grab my grandkids after the tree lighting to watch them tonight.”
Tree lighting.
Looking at my watch, I gasp. I need to get a move on, or I’ll miss it. Turning to climb into the golf cart, I find nothing but a gravel path. Frantically looking left and right, I don’t see it anywhere. Am I losing it? Then it hits me. Had those rowdy boys from earlier absconded with it?
I angrily get on the radio, asking security to investigate its whereabouts, giving them as much detail of the two boys I’d spotted earlier as I can remember. Once I’m done, I glance up to discover I’m all alone. The surrounding area is quiet and still. Everyone must be at the tree lighting. Peering at my watch, I realize it started over twenty minutes ago.
Now what am I going to do? I’ll never make it down there before it’s over. My feet are so sore I can barely stand, much less run. All of a sudden, my eyes land on that trolley. But Charlie’s nowhere in sight.
This is stupid, Quinn. Like, the dumbest idea you’ve ever had. But I can’t miss him. I attempt to make a dash for the trolley parked only a few feet away, but each step feels like I’m walking on broken bones. Once I finally step inside and take a seat, I take inventory of the switches and levers. What am I doing? If I can even figure out how to start the thing, I could get someone killed.
Placing my foot on the brake, I turn the key and slowly lift my foot off of the pedal. The trolley starts to move in a jerky fashion. The path is all downhill. I just need to keep it straight and let my foot hover over the brake. If need be, I’ll blow the horn if anyone is near the path. Is there a horn? That’s right, there’s a bell. Who knows where that is?
Suddenly, the old trolley is picking up speed. My heart’s in my throat as it dashes down the dirt road along the river, “Gimme Some Lovin’” by The Spencer Davis Group playing on the radio.
I just need to get there before it’s over. And not take out the town Christmas tree.
And half the town.