Chapter 39
Kelly
“Kelly, you really should stay here,” Nora says, her hands on her hips. She’s still wearing a robe over her pajamas, and thick fuzzy socks, her blond hair pulled back into a low ponytail. I can practically feel her eyes burning into me.
“Can’t,” I reply, already halfway out the door, pulling on my coat and jamming a beanie over my hair. “I’m needed there. I won’t be long, promise.” It’s a small misrepresentation of the truth. I’m the only one who needs me to go to work, because there has to be something I can do, something I’m missing that will save the festival.
“They need an event planner to handle a winter storm?” She’s not buying it, and I don’t blame her.
“I’ll be home soon.” I step all the way out and close the door before she can argue further, and head down the stairs to the front door of our apartment block, double tapping the bannister at the top of the stairs, pausing on the ninth with both feet, tapping again.
Through the walls, the low, constant roar of the wind shifts, its pitch rising and falling in eerie, unpredictable rhythms, as though what’s coming is alive, prowling. As soon as I step outside, the frigid air slaps me in the face, snow whipping against my cheeks.
My car takes a couple of tries to start, and the roads are already a slick mess of ice and snow. I slide more than drive to Town Hall, tires struggling for grip on a world fast turned gray and glassy.
I park right out front and hurry inside, my boots leaving wet tracks on the polished floor as I head toward my office. My thoughts jump in scattered bursts, grasping at half-formed plans and worst-case scenarios, each one slipping through my fingers before I can get a handle on it. What if I’ve missed something? What if there’s something I can do to turn this around?
“Kelly Charleston, what are you doing here?”
I turn my head to see the mayor looking right at me from one of the meeting rooms in full command mode, surrounded by representatives of various emergency response teams. I spot the sheriff with his distinctive silver hair and mustache, and give him a tentative wave. He nods back, serious as ever.
The mayor steps out of the room, clipboard in hand, and offers me a quick, assessing look. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Couldn’t stay away.” I try for lightness, though I can’t completely hide the fact my nerves are on edge. “I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to talk to you about the festival installations. Maybe some people could head out with me today, see if there’s anything else we can do—”
The mayor sighs, already looking weary. “You’ve put in so much work, and it’s not ideal, but our main priority has to be the town’s people. Shelters, power supply, safety measures—every available person is focused on that.”
I push down my frustration. “Right, of course. I just… if there’s any way, any extra hands, even just some additional tarping—”
She squeezes my shoulder lightly. “If we get a break, I’ll see if we can send someone to help cover the installations, but we’re stretched thin. So please assume we’re just going to have to deal with the fallout after the storm passes. You should go home.”
I’ve gone pale. “I will. I just need to get something from my office.”
The mayor gives me a sympathetic look. “Try not to worry too much. You’re resourceful, and you’re good at what you do. I trust you’ll find a way to make this work, no matter what happens over the next few days.”
Her words are meant to be encouraging, but I can see it in her eyes: she has more pressing concerns. To everyone else, this festival is just another event, just another line item on a long list of town events. But to me, it’s more than that. It’s so much more than that.
The sheriff walks over with a clipboard and leans in toward the mayor. She shoots me one last look, before her gaze moves to the clipboard. “Seriously, go home,” she says, not looking up. “Once the storm is over, you can worry about sorting this out.”
There’s a hurried pat on my shoulder. “Promise me you’ll head home now. Check in on your neighbors if you’re looking for something useful to do.”
She gives me a final nod before turning back to the sheriff. The two of them walk back into the room with the rest of her team, leaving me alone in the hallway.
I square my shoulders and head toward my office. Once I’m alone, an exhale shudders down the tense of my back, while the gritty taste of panic gnaws at my throat.
I glance around my office, the space suddenly too small, the walls too close, pressing in. My mind keeps circling back to everything outside, every gust of wind pulling my anxious thoughts tighter, a knot winding around itself. I close my eyes, fighting to reel it in, but the relentless what ifs only grow louder, refusing to let go.
I’m spinning, and all I can think about is the festival— my festival —getting swallowed by this storm, and all the things I should have done differently. A surge of something fierce and cold floods my veins, and for a second, I want to scream.
My hands start to shake, so I clench them into fists, nails digging into my palms as if they can anchor me, and count to nine, doing it nine more times until my breathing slows. I want to prove that I can do this, storm be damned. But old whispers slip through the cracks in my armor, telling me this is where I break, where I fail, and everyone sees what a fraud I really am.
I check my phone, and there’s a missed call from Jake. Probably the only other person in the world who comes close to caring about the success of the festival as much as I do. I call him back, and it barely rings once before he picks up.
“Kelly,” he says, his voice already sounding worn and tense.
“Hey. I saw you called. I was hoping you might have a minute to help out at the festival grounds. I know your guys were already there, but I just want to make sure there’s nothing else we can do—”
“I’m just working with the Valiant Hearts getting people over to the shelter at the high school,” he says. Muffled voices and the faint sound of wind howls in the background. “Are you at home?”
“No, I’m at work, but I’m just about to head out to the site.”
“Look, it’s not safe out there. You should go straight home, make sure you and Nora have everything you need in case the power goes out.”
I bite my lip, fighting back the surge of frustration and worry. “I just— if the installations are damaged like we think they could be, this whole thing will fall apart. We’re so close. If this storm ruins everything, then what was the point of all this work?”
There's silence on the other end. I can almost picture him, jaw clenched, trying to figure out what to say. “Look,” he says slowly, his voice softer now, “you’ve done an incredible job. We’ll deal with the fallout, but no one will blame you if we can’t pull off the festival as planned.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, the words hitting closer than I want to admit. “It doesn’t seem that way,” I say. “If this fails, then I fail. And I can’t—” My voice catches, and I quickly clear my throat. “Never mind. I can handle it.”
There’s a pause, and then Jake’s voice comes back, steady as a rock. “I’ll meet you at the festival site in an hour. At noon.”
“No, you don’t have to. You’ve got enough to worry about. I shouldn’t have even asked. Honestly, don’t worry about it.”
“Kelly.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “I’m coming. We’ll figure this out, okay? Just hold tight.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he says. “There’s probably not much I can do. But I’ve got a bit of time before I need to pick up Adele.”
When he hangs up, I clutch my phone, staring down at the screen. He’s out there doing real work, getting people to safety, keeping things calm and organized while I’m a spiraling mess.
He’s always so composed, so steady. He was built for this kind of crisis. And here I am, one bad weather report away from unraveling completely.
Doubt settles over me. This festival was supposed to be my chance to prove myself, to show that I could handle something big, something meaningful. But now, all I can think is how much of a mess I’ll look if it all falls apart—and it’s only a matter of time until Jake sees it, too.
Maybe he already does. Maybe he hears it in my voice, that small, desperate edge I tried so hard to hide.
God, he probably wonders why he ever agreed to be with someone who can’t keep it together. I’ve convinced myself I’m strong and capable, that I’m the woman my mother wanted me to be. But here I am, leaning on him for help when he has far more important things to do.
How long until he realizes I’m not as put-together as I pretend to be? That I’m not enough.
I press my hand to my forehead, breathing deep, forcing the anxiety back down. “Get it together, Kelly.” The last thing I need right now is to fall apart before the real storm even hits.
But there’s this nagging thought I can’t shake: what if I can’t handle this? And worse—what if Jake realizes it, too?