Chapter Twenty-Four #3
Billy gestures, almost forcefully, for Cash to go ahead.
Kaylee flips her hair behind her shoulder and pops a booted leg up as she leans in.
My heart races. I’m consumed with jealousy and humiliation and force myself to look away, feeling like a fool for so many reasons.
I turn my attention back to the judges. Focus, I tell myself.
I reach shakily across the table to offer the next judge their sample, but the jar is heavy in my sweaty hand.
There’s a split second when I know exactly what’s going to happen, but I can’t get my other hand there in time to stop it: the jar slips through my fingers.
It falls to the table and rolls off. Glass shatters.
Cherries erupt from the jar, their ruby syrup splattering all over me, the tablecloth, and the dirt floor.
Blood drains from my face. “I’m so sorry,” I say to the judges.
They aren’t looking at me, though – they’re all wiping juice splatters from their legs. I stand frozen, mortified to the ends of the earth. Mom rushes over, and Mildred brings a roll of paper towels.
I snap into action, tugging the tablecloth off to help them clean up. On bended knee, I take a large piece of the broken jar from the ground, hoping I can salvage some of the cherries, but it’s no good – glass shards are in everything. My eyes sting with panic.
Mildred puts a wet floor sign near the tent opening, and I notice the scene outside has changed.
Cash is no longer at the booth. All I see are confused faces looking around.
Billy pulls off his cowboy hat and looks up and down the sidewalk.
He rants to himself and stomps his foot. Did Cash up and leave?
The male judge uses his finger to wipe juice off his clipboard and tastes it. A pleased smile crosses his face. He’s unbothered by Mom wiping down his khaki pants while he licks his lips. I might chuckle if I was able to feel anything but terrible.
“That was my only jar.” I pull a tear from my cheek and stand. I’m under a microscope as everyone in the tent looks my way. “I can go home and get more?”
“Unfortunately, we don’t have time.” The only judge who has a dish of cherries chimes in. “How about we each have one?” she says, giving me a reassuring smile and handing the others a toothpick to spear a cherry.
The judges chew slowly, and the man’s eyes pop wide.
“Dahlia, these are delectable. We won’t deduct points for the accident, but I’m not sure we had enough of the sample to make a fair call.
We’ll discuss, tally points from the public tasting and let all the contestants know the results within the hour. ”
“Thank you very much,” I say, genuinely grateful.
As the judges walk away, Mom steps over the broken glass and stands before me. “Dahlia.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Are you OK?”
I wipe my face, my head spinning. “I don’t really know. Everything happened so fast.”
After an arduous clean-up, a pep talk from Mom and a painful wait, the judges make their way to the centre of the tent and the place goes silent. They give a spiel on how hard the contestants worked and begin announcing the winners.
“And the second runner up…” Mildred says, “winner of a five-hundred-dollar gift card to Buckaroo Billy’s, is Sadie White with her pickles. Congratulations, Sadie.”
Applause fills the tent as Sadie makes her way to the centre and each judge shakes her hand.
I fidget and drum my heels against the ground.
The chair is hard beneath me and the air is hot and stuffy.
Images of for sale signs and auctioneers calling out prices for the ranch and the desk and Daisy’s saddle muddle in my mind until I hear:
“And the first runner up, winner of two thousand dollars, is … Dahlia Rhodes at Cherry Tree Ranch.”
I didn’t win.
Mom pats my back.
Mildred waves me forward. “Dahlia, come on up here!”
I’m dumbstruck, and everyone’s eyes are on me. It takes everything I’ve got to walk up there, half numb. After that disaster, I know I should be grateful. The money is great, or it should be, but the irony is Dad will get every last cent. What I really needed to save the ranch was to win.
“And the winner of our grand prize – a booth at the Colorado State Fair and two thousand dollars is…”
I zone out as the winner is announced. I spin myself into a web of pessimism – about myself, about thinking I could win, about losing the ranch and about Cash kissing his fake, or maybe not-so-fake, girlfriend.
After accepting my cheque and a giant red ribbon, Mom hugs me.
“Congratulations, my love. You’re one step closer to your dream! I’m so proud of you.”
“But I didn’t win.”
“No, but every little bit helps.” She picks up the cheque and ribbon, looking tired. “I’m going to rest in the car until you’re ready to leave, OK?”
I go to say goodbye and thank you to Mildred and the judges.
“You’re most welcome,” says the male judge kindly. “Your website loaded on my phone in the end. You’ve done a great job there – your ranch is clearly very special.”
Then I head to the parking lot, clutching my balled-up tablecloth to my chest, exhausted. My phone buzzes. Lani wants to video call. It buzzes again. Lani sends a voice note. Again. Lani sends a text: What’s happening?
I’m surprised she’s so curious about the competition. Before I have a chance to answer her, I hear my name being called.
“Dahlia!” Cash comes jogging up behind me.
“Hey…” I say. “Where’ve you been?”
He looks down at my free hand and, to my surprise, gently takes it in his. “I couldn’t do it, Dahlia.”
I stare down at his hand holding mine and tip my head in confusion. “Cash, what the heck’s going on? You couldn’t do what?”
“I couldn’t fake it with Kaylee any more. I left the booth and the interview. I had to find you. I hid out and waited until you were done, because…” He looks hopefully at me, shifting awkwardly in his boots. “Well, there’s a dance tonight after the awards ceremony. I’d really like you to come—”
“There you are!” someone shouts.
We whip round. Billy’s marching towards us. Instantly, I feel like I’m a little kid in trouble. His eyes bore into us both.
“Cash. We had a deal,” Billy growls. He takes Cash’s sleeve, pulling him away from me.
Cash yanks his arm back. “I’m not doing this any more, man.”
“Cash, you don’t need to—” I begin, hoping to diffuse the situation. I don’t want any of this drama. Cash can’t throw his sponsorship away just to ask me to a dance, or whatever it is he’s trying to do.
I step to the side, needing to escape this disaster of a day and look for the car.
“The hell you aren’t!” Billy yells at Cash. “This is unacceptable. First you abandon mid-interview, on film, and now this?” Billy points an accusatory hand at me.
I jerk my head back, shocked to be treated like I’m just a piece of arm candy.
“You’re jeopardizing the whole campaign, my reputation, the brand. Get back over there with Kaylee and patch this up, you hear? Fulfil the duties of your contract. May I remind you it stipulates you give thirty days’ written notice of any changes to your relationship—”
“There is no relationship, Billy. We told you we broke up and you made us fake it. I kept it up until semi-finals, I did the interview, the photo shoot, everything… I even won, man. Come on.”
The tension amps up between them. My heart thrums in my chest. Cash is about to take a step towards Billy, but stops and reaches for my hand. He holds it tight and opens his mouth to speak when suddenly, as if from nowhere, we’re swarmed by strangers with phones and cameras.
All around us people talk over each other.
“There’s Cash!”
“What did he say to Billy?”
“Who’s that girl?”
Then people point their phones at me and ask more questions than I can process, let alone answer. Cash lets go of my hand, looking startled, trying to keep people back. I clutch my cherry tablecloth to my chest even tighter.
Billy speaks loudly over everyone, telling them to step back, but no one listens. For the second time today, all eyes are on me. Heat flushes my cheeks.
The woman who did Cash’s interview pushes in. “Sally Hunter here, journalist for Colorado Rodeo Insider. Are you aware that Cash Cortez, face of Buckaroo Billy’s, is refusing to comment on his relationship with Kaylee Watson?”
I draw back. “No,” I say, wondering why she’s asking me.
She steps closer. “Are you the reason he refused to kiss her?”
A woman next to me turns to her friend and sneers. “She’s pretty, but she’s no Kaylee.”
They look me up and down like I can’t hear them. Like I’m only an object for their entertainment. Never before in my life have I felt the scorn of strangers.
“Yeah, I’m not going to be following her,” the friend snorts.
“Cherry girl, what’s your name?” someone else calls.
My heart thumps into my throat and voices echo in my ears as people push in and call out. The chaos makes me dizzy. I back away and turn to the parking lot. As soon as I spot Mom’s little car stuffed between two pick-up trucks, I break into a jog.
I almost trip when part of my cherry-covered tablecloth trails underfoot. The corner tears off. I pause for a moment, tears of overwhelm filling my eyes, and bundle the fabric to my chest. For a second, I turn and look back at Cash.
His gaze finds mine through the crowd. My heart aches when I see his rueful expression. I put my hand over my heart and shake my head. Then I turn once more and run.