16. Everett
Everett
It’s early morning, the day of the fundraiser. Standing in the center of the theater, looking at everything I have accomplished up to now, I notice the room is quiet in anticipation of the big event. String lights stretch across the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the freshly cleaned floors.
When I first walked into this place, it felt like a gamble. An old building with peeling paint, worn carpets, and more problems than solutions. But something about it stuck with me from the moment I stepped inside.
Back then, I couldn’t explain it. Now I can.
This theater wasn’t just a project. It wasn’t just a business venture or a way to prove to myself that leaving Lavender Creek all those years ago hadn’t been a mistake.
It is my future.
Not just the building itself, the late nights spent planning renovations, the endless lists of things that still needed fixing, or the risk of putting everything I had into something uncertain.
It was what the theater could become.
I imagined the seats filled with families on Friday nights, kids laughing during their first movie on the big screen. Teenagers sitting in the back row pretending they weren’t holding hands. Couples coming here on first dates, sharing popcorn and nervous smiles in the dim glow of the screen.
For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel like something I had to chase. It felt like something I was building.
Main Street is full of the sound of kids laughing and music playing.
The Flowerpot Café has set up a small stand outside.
Violet is bustling around with her usual energy, handing out pastries and greeting neighbors.
The scent of fresh popcorn has mingled with cotton candy, the faint aroma of Violet’s pastries, and a hint of hay from the petting zoo set up in the back corner of the square.
As I am looking around, I see two figures walking slowly toward the fundraiser.
Mom and Dad.
Mom spots me first, her face lights up instantly, the same way it always had when I was a kid running in from the fields after a long day.
Dad is looking around, taking everything in. The food trucks, the kids running around with cotton candy, the music drifting throughout the square, the petting zoo, and finally the theater standing behind me.
I wipe my hands on my jeans and walk toward them.
“Thanks for coming, guys. It’s a great turnout so far,” I say.
Mom steps forward and wraps me up in a hug. “Oh, honey, look at all of this, it’s amazing.”
I laugh quietly, pulling back. She keeps her hands on my shoulders as she glances around again.
“I didn’t know what I was expecting, but this is beyond my expectations. All those long hours you and Violet have put in have paid off,” she says.
Dad is still examining the fundraiser. Finally, his gaze settles on me. “You put this all together?” he asks.
I shrug slightly. “Not alone, Violet helped a lot, the local businesses put together some booths and items for the silent auction. It was a joint effort,” I reply.
For a moment, no one speaks. The old tension sits there between us like it always has since I left town.
“Looks like you’re doing something good here,” he says.
The words aren’t dramatic. They aren’t emotional. But coming from him, they mean everything.
I nod. “Thanks.”
Mom slips an arm through Dad’s. “We’re proud of you, you know that, right?” she says, gently.
Dad doesn’t correct her. He just looks at me and gives me a small nod.
It isn’t forgiveness, and the disappointment hasn’t magically disappeared. But it is something. A step.
“I should get back to helping,” I say after a moment.
“Oh, yes, of course, honey, don’t let us keep you,” Mom says.
I start to turn before Dad speaks again, “Son.”
Turning around, dad gestures toward the fundraiser and the theater. “Good work,” he says.
Smiling, I say, “Thanks, Dad.”
I walk back toward the booths, and notice Violet, who’s watching the interaction from across the square.
Feeling my heart quicken as soon as I glance at her, she’s wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, her escaping curls around her face, and the sunlight catching the freckles on her nose.
Even in a sea of people, she has this way of standing out, of drawing your attention without trying.
My stomach does a slow, nervous flip as I walk toward her.
She notices me. “Hey, Everett! Here’s a coffee for you,” she says, handing me a steaming hot cup of coffee and giving me a smile. The kind of smile that made my chest tighten and my head go slightly fuzzy.
“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, though I know it sounds anything but casual. “Looks like you’re busy.”
Her eyes sparkle like the ocean, and she brushes a strand of hair from her face. “Well, you know me, if I am going to do something, I’m going to do it right.”
I grin. “Well, you’ve outdone yourself.”
She tilts her head and laughs. “Outdone myself? It’s just a few tables, a stand and some pastries.
” But the way she says it, with that playful roll of the eyes, makes it clear she is pretending to downplay the work, even though I can see the careful arrangements of muffins and croissants, each lined up just so, and the little chalkboard sign listing everything.
“Seriously, you’ve got everything covered. Look at this.” She gestures to the petting zoo, where a couple of kids are giggling as they feed the miniature horses. “You started all of this by buying the theater. You have outdone yourself, Everett.”
Once things slow down at her booth, Maddie takes over, and Violet and I are walking side by side.
It’s taking everything in me not to hold her hand and pull her close.
I can’t stop stealing glances at her. The way she leans slightly forward to talk to a vendor, the soft tilt of her head when she laughs.
She has this way of making everything around her feel effortless, calm, like there is no rush.
As we pass the petting zoo, a little goat sticks out its head, just asking to be pet. We both bend down to show the goat some love and our hands brush. A tiny spark shot right through me. Her breath catches, just a little, but I notice.
We make our way to the theater, walking past the movie marathon setup. People can drift in and out as they please. Families sitting in the chairs, laughing and sharing popcorn, and teenagers sitting with their friends, pretending like they aren’t having fun.
“You look like you are in a deep thought,” Violet mentions, tilting her head up at me.
I let out a long breath. “You’ve challenged me to step out of my comfort zone, Violet. You have made me believe in myself, that I can succeed at something I’ve never done before. And seeing how much fun people are having out there, it reminds me why I wanted to do this in the first place.”
Violet’s smile softens, and she nudges my arm with her shoulder. “Well, I’ll take credit for that, I guess.”
I chuckle. “You can take credit for a lot more than that.”
We walk around the food trucks and games. She laughs with a vendor, talks with some townspeople who are regulars at her café, and she teases me as she beats me at a game of ring toss. It is effortless, playful, and I realize I don’t want this day to end.
Walking throughout the booths and games, I lean down slightly, “You make this all feel fun and easy, Violet. Like it’s supposed to be.”
She looks up at me, eyes warm, and I can almost see the trust she is starting to have in me, the way she lets herself relax around me. “You make it easy, too,” she says softly.
We pass by the silent auction tables. There is some artwork from local artists, baskets of fruit from a vendor, a basket of ground coffee, mugs, a french press, and a milk frother from Violet’s café, some handmade jewelry, some movie passes, plus some more items from local businesses in town.
“I think these are going to go fast,” I say. “People love supporting something they feel invested in.”
She nods. “They are going to love it. You’ve done a great job putting this together.”
I smile, catching her gaze. “We’ve done a good job. You have been helping me a lot.”
She smirks. “Fine, fine, I’ll accept partial credit.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Partial is better than nothing. I’ll take it.”
“I noticed you had some visitors,” she says as she looks up at me.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The music from the band drifted across the square while the kids ran past them toward the petting zoo.
“How did it feel talking to them?” she asks.
I let out a quiet breath. “Honestly, it felt strange,” I reply, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Strange good or strange bad?” Violet asks.
“A little of both,” I admit. “My dad looked around for a while before he said anything. Like he was trying to figure out what he thought of the whole thing.”
“What did he say?” she asks.
“He said I was doing something good for the town,” I reply, looking down at her.
Violet’s eyebrows lift. “That’s big, Everett.”
I nod. “Yeah, it is.”
I glance out at the crowd again, “For a long time, I think he thought leaving meant I didn’t care about this place anymore.”
“And you did,” Violet says quietly.
“Always,” I say back.
“Well, for what it’s worth,” she says, “I think he’d have to be pretty blind not to see how proud he should be of you.”
I chuckle. “Careful, Violet, compliments like that might go to my head.”
By the time we walk back toward the café, the sun is lower, casting long shadows across the square. Families linger, kids still running around, and the band starts playing a slower tune. Violet hands out pastries and smiles at a couple of kids.
“I can’t believe how busy it is. Word seems to have spread because there are people I have never seen before, so they must be from towns over,” she says, wiping a hand across her forehead.
“Small towns love a good excuse to gather and have fun, this is the perfect excuse to do that,” I say.