Chapter 10 #2
“The drive-in, of course,” Aiden replies.
Oh yeah. How could I forget? The biggest social activity of Friday night in Harvest Hollow is going to Mrs. Lawrence’s drive-in movie theater.
It may be a little old-fashioned, but so is Harvest Hollow.
And frankly, during the Covid pandemic I’m sure the drive-in was a solid choice for entertainment. “What did you tell her?”
Aiden doesn’t have a chance to answer because a female voice suddenly says, “Is that you, Ellie?” It’s Mrs. Wilkins, the co-owner of the hardware store. The older woman is busily knitting behind the counter like she always does when her husband is at the diner.
I turn away from Aiden. “Hi, Mrs. Wilkins. What’re you knitting today?”
“A chicken,” she tells me. She holds up the white and red yarn in her lap. “Got the idea from YouTube. A woman there sells them after that insane trial in South Carolina.”
A person less acquainted with true crime might have no idea what she’s talking about. “The Murdaugh case?” I ask.
“That’s the one.” Mrs. Wilkins points a knitting needle at me. And suddenly, jobless or not, I know I’m gonna need a knitted Murdaugh-trial chicken. I am also impressed that Mrs. W is familiar with YouTube. I mean, good for her.
“Ooh, can I buy one from you?” I ask, nearly clapping with glee.
Aiden is frowning at me. He frowns too much. Maybe owning an orchard that isn’t doing well does that to a person, but he’s not going to harsh my vibe right now.
Mrs. Wilkins shuffles around under the desk for a few minutes before pulling out a fully formed knitted stuffed chicken. It is about three inches high. I immediately love it. “How much?” I ask, reaching for my bag.
“Your money is no good here,” Mrs. Wilkins says, shooing my hands away from my bag.
I spend a few minutes arguing with her before it’s clear she’s not going to take a dime, so I thank her instead. It really is nice of her to give me a true crime chicken out of the kindness of her heart.
Mrs. Wilkins proceeds to tell us that her next knitting project will be an ear-of-corn costume for her toddler granddaughter’s Halloween costume, and we all agree it’s going to be adorable. Honestly, I’m gonna need to see a picture.
She allows us to post a flyer in the window and to leave a small stack of them on the counter.
“You know, Homer and I always thought the two of you would get together one day,” Mrs. Wilkins says, nodding toward me and Aiden.
I just about swallow my tongue. Why do people say stuff like that? I mean, how are Aiden and I supposed to respond?
“Anything is possible,” Aiden says with an exaggerated shrug, and before I have a chance to process that , he points to the door. “Let’s go to town hall next.”
We’re back out in the crisp fall air when I say, “Why did you say that?”
“What?” There’s that frown again.
“Anything is possible?” I repeat his own words.
He shrugs. “Isn’t it?”
He gives me a side-grin and jogs ahead of me to open the door. He’s kidding, right? He’s got to be kidding.
The Harvest Hollow Town Hall has smelled like janitorial supplies since the dawn of time. It’s an ageless mix of lemon wax and floor cleaner that brings me back to childhood because it is the aroma of, like, every public school ever too.
Mrs. Jackson, the receptionist, has worked here my entire life. She’s wearing a bright orange sweater. She’s always loved to dress for the season. And I do not blame her.
“Ellie!” she exclaims as Aiden and I enter the familiar old building.
“Hi, Mrs. Jackson,” I say, smiling. Her son, Max, was one of my good friends in school. He’s a high school history teacher now in another town on Long Island, but we keep in touch on social media. He’s married with three kids. I’m thrilled to see his mom.
“How are you doing, sweetie?” she asks.
We chat for a few minutes before she busts out pictures of her grandkids on her phone. Aiden and I ooh and ahh over them. They really are cute, and there’s seriously nothing more heartwarming than a grandma’s pure joy when showing pictures of or talking about her grandkids.
I tell Mrs. Jackson about the festival and the flyers, and she says she’ll post one on the door for me and I can leave a stack on her desk.
“Have you met Millie?” she asks.
I blink. “Millie?” Oh crap. Yet another unfamiliar name.
“Millie’s the new mayor. She just took office this summer. Just graduated from high school last spring,” Mrs. Jackson informs me.
“What? The new mayor is eighteen?” That’s interesting. How have I not heard about this from Mom? I need to have a serious chat with Mom about what she finds newsworthy.
“That’s right,” says Aiden. “And Millie’s one of the best mayors we’ve ever had. She took to civics class her sophomore year, started coming to the town meetings and calling out the previous mayor, and once she turned eighteen and could legally run for office, she did.”
“She’s fabulous,” Mrs. Jackson agrees. “Knows a heck of a lot more than that last idiot did, and she’s got the energy of a puppy. It’s a great combination. She’s taking night classes to get her degree in government. Want to meet her?”
“I’d love to meet her if she has time for me,” I say.
“Oh, she’ll make time.” Mrs. Jackson nods. “She loves to meet citizens. She’s going to run New York one day. Maybe even the country. Mark my word.”
Mrs. Jackson picks up the phone, and when she hangs up, I’m expecting us to all go into the mayor’s office. Instead, a few seconds later, a young blond woman comes barreling into the reception area.
She’s wearing jeans, a blazer, pearls, and tennis shoes. Her eyes are bright blue, and her hair is cut in a crisp bob. “Ellie Lawson?” she says as if she’s heard of me, though I suspect she just learned about me from Mrs. Jackson’s phone call. “I’m Millie Adler, nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you,” I reply, impressed that she didn’t immediately inform me that she’s the mayor. “Mrs. Jackson tells me you’re very impressive.”
After greeting Aiden also, Millie hands some paperwork to Mrs. Jackson before turning back to me. “Oh, it’s not so impressive to care about your work. I have big plans for this town.”
A smile spreads across my face. I immediately adore Millie. First, she’s obviously notable as a young mayor, and second, I love her saying she has plans for the town, because that means she’ll encourage our ideas for the festival. I rip a flyer off the top of the stack and hand it to her.
Millie studies it for a few moments before exclaiming, “Oh, this sounds great! I’ll be sure to let the town council know at the meeting tonight. We’ll all make some calls.”
Mrs. Jackson winks at me as if to say, “I told you so.” And Aiden and I finish our talk with the mayor by inviting her to the Harvest Ball as our guest.
“I’d love to!” she says. “My girlfriend, Kaylie, and I could use a night off.”
“Great!” I shoot off a quick text to Mom letting her know to reserve a room for Millie and Kaylie. Mom sends back a heart emoji. “It’s all set,” I tell her.
After we leave town hall, we make stops at all the other businesses along the street.
Mr. Peyton is sitting in the front of the combo firehouse/police station.
He’s technically the fire chief, but the man does what needs doing, which, more often than not, is getting cats out of trees.
He’s a real, live animal whisperer. Even Pumpkin acts right when Mr. Peyton comes to the inn.
Hmm. I wonder if he can work his skills on Miss Guin.
We tell him about the festival, and he takes a short stack of flyers and tells us something about the fire code and how he’ll have to come out and look things over. I thank him and don’t mention Miss Guin, but when he shows up, I’ll definitely introduce the two.
“Your mom still boiling cinnamon out there?” he asks just before we take our leave.
“You know it,” I reply.
He shakes his head and grumbles.
I need to warn Mom that she’s about to get another cinnamon lecture.
After the library and the general store, our final stop is the pharmacy, where Mrs. Goldman, the pharmacist, still stands atop a foot-high dais behind her counter.
She has exactly two employees: Missy Stanton and Bob Gillingham.
Bob is a middle-aged man who was never young, from what I can remember.
He’s worked here forever. He’s working today, and he goes into the back to get Mrs. Goldman for us.
Mrs. Goldman soon emerges from wherever pharmacists go when they aren’t lording over the counter. She has the thickest New York accent ever. It’s pure, delicious Long Island at its best.
“Ellie, sweetie,” she drawls. “Where ya been? It’s been an age. Hasn’t it been an age, Aiden?”
“It’s been an age,” Aiden agrees in an exaggerated tone. I want to kick him, but I don’t.
“You need anything, sweetie?” Mrs. Goldman asks. “Allergy medicine? Candy?”
“I’m good, Mrs. Goldman,” I say.
“So happy to see ya, sweetie,” Mrs. Goldman says, waving. “Tell your ma I said hullo.” Before we leave, she hands one of the flyers to Bob and asks him to post it on the front door.
“Thanks, Mrs. Goldman. See you at the festival.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” she assures us.
We’re back on the street, and I glance at my watch. It’s nearly five. We’ve been here all afternoon. “I’m exhausted,” I tell Aiden.
“Honestly, I am too,” he says. “Let’s go home and take a nap. We need to be ready for tonight.”
“Wait. What’s tonight?” I frown.
“Drive-in night.”
“Oh yeah.” With all the socializing, I’d totally forgotten about what Mrs. Lawrence said. “What’s playing at the drive-in tonight anyway?” I ask.
“It’s the Gilmore Girls festival.” Aiden says this as if I should have already known it.
I step back in surprise. “There’s a Gilmore Girls night at the drive-in?” This is news to me. Excellent news. But news.
Aiden nods. “It was Charlotte’s idea, actually.”
“Truly?” It’s official. Charlotte is the absolute coolest.
“One of the biggest moneymakers all year, according to Mrs. Lawrence,” Aiden continues.
I don’t doubt it. “I love Gilmore Girls ,” I tell him.
“Yeah, well, every Friday night from September through November, the drive-in plays two episodes.”
Okay, that totally sounds like my jam. I am in. “I’ll have to ask Mom and Dad if I can borrow the car.”
“Why do that when you can ride with me?” Aiden says, and I swear he winks at me.