16. Nate
Nate
Two Weeks Later
The seats fill in, slowly but surely. But it’s not until the spotlight illuminates the stage, practically blinding me, that I remember why I don’t do things like this.
I’m not used to being the center of attention or the focal point. But I shove any nerves down as I swallow hard, determined to shine.
This is for Rory and for her family.
I survey the other contestants. We’re lined up on stage, and for a moment, I wonder if they’re feeling the same way I am. From the way a few of them preen for the audience, though, it seems like this could very well be their comfort zone.
Looks like I have my work cut out for me.
"Is everyone ready?" Bob asks, holding a microphone.
“How did Bob get to be in charge of this?” I mutter to my neighbor.
“He's sleeping with one of the other judges,” Lionel mutters back. “Whole thing is rigged, if you ask me.”
I study the panel of judges, the five of them seated at one long table just behind Bob, who has somehow commandeered his own space at the front of the room.
Bob’s wife, Sue, is indeed there, along with Braxton and Marge. There’s also Donna, the school librarian, and Willard, the local fire chief.
I grin to myself. Brax and Willard both on the judging panel? Having the two of them on the panel seems like it would be in my favor rather than Lionel’s. Assuming Brax actually likes me, of course. He’s a tough one to read.
Bob taps the microphone in front of him. “Testing, testing. One, two, three.”
“We can hear you,” Lionel says. “Or are you practicing your counting? Might want to see if you can get higher than ten this time.”
“Shut up, you old bag,” Bob shoots back.
“Who you calling old?”
I press my lips together to stifle a laugh. Every cop in town has been called out to break up a fight between the two old men. At this point, I think they do it just for their own amusement.
Bob and Lionel have been next-door neighbors for over three decades. Maybe more, come to think of it. They’ve been at one another’s throats the entire time. Their wives are best friends, making the rivalry all the more comical.
Lionel raises his hand. Not sure why he’s doing it now, when he’s been talking nonstop. “I move that we remove Sue Kretchmore from the panel of judges.”
“On what grounds?” Bob roars.
“Hey, you’re just an announcer. Stay out of it,” Lionel says, pointing. “I move that she be replaced by a fair and impartial judge. I nominate Martha Dowd.”
“You can’t nominate your wife,” Bob says, struggling to stand.
“Why the hell not?” Lionel asks. “Your wife is on the judges’ panel.”
“I’m not a contestant.”
“Yeah, that’s ’cause you can’t hack it as one. We all saw your performance five years ago.”
As Bob and Lionel debate whether one’s wife can fairly judge a contest involving her spouse or the rival of her spouse, I survey the contestants again.
There are five of us in total. Obviously, there’s me and Lionel—clearly the frontrunners, at least in terms of who seems to have an in with the judges. Then we have Chip, a retired doctor who moved to town a few years ago, along with Joe, who was the principal of the high school before Dylan. Then…
I squint. Who is that at the end?
There was a time when I knew every person in this town. But apparently, that time is over. Maybe I’ve been too wrapped up in things with Rory because I have no idea who that guy is.
Dark hair flecked with gray. His lips are curled in amusement at Bob and Lionel. He must be new in town, just based on that.
Brax clears his throat again, and when that doesn’t pause the bickering, he stands. “Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the first competition of this year’s Mr. Lonesome pageant. Thank you all for being a part of this event and supporting our town.”
“That was supposed to be my line,” Bob mutters.
Brax fixes him with his patented boss stare. “Thank you to the judges. Besides myself, we have Sue, Marge, Willard, and Donna. We appreciate your time, folks. And thank you to our emcee for this event, Bob Kretchmore, who will stick to the cue cards provided.”
Bob mutters as he settles back into his seat.
“Now,” Brax continues. “Bob, would you like to introduce our contestants for the title of Mr. Lonesome?”
Bob takes the microphone from Brax. He taps it a few times, then clears his throat. “Thanks for that…introduction, Chief. Now, for our contestants for the title of Mr. Lonesome. We have Chip Hill, new to the competition after settling in High Lonesome a few years ago. Welcome, Dr. Hill.”
Chip nods his head in acknowledgement.
“Next, we have Joe Wiley, former principal of Lonesome Pine High School.”
Joe—or Principal Wiley, as most of us know him—is met with a smattering of applause.
“We also have Lionel Dowd, and High Lonesome’s own Officer Nate Patterson.”
I let Lionel tip his Stetson to the crowd before acknowledging my introduction with a wave.
Also, High Lonesome’s own? We have to live within town limits to sign up for this thing in the first place. Bob may be overselling it a touch.
“Last but not least, we have a newcomer. High Lonesome, please welcome Randy Pearson.”
“That’s my boyfriend!” a raspy voice shouts.
Amid the cheers, Mrs. Alpert stands, waving a flag with a man’s face on it. Randy, apparently.
Well, then. Go, Mrs. Alpert.
“I met him on eHarmony,” she says, loud enough for everyone in the hall to hear.
“Hi, sweetie,” Randy says, waving to her.
“Now, then,” Bob says. “EHarmony or not, we’re here for one reason. To determine who is fit to wear the crown of Mr. Lonesome.”
“There’s a crown?” Randy asks. “That’s fun.”
“There’s not a gol-darn crown,” Lionel says. “It’s a figure of speech.”
There’s a pause as Brax leans forward to say something to Bob.
Bob waves him away. “Fine, fine. Let’s focus, people. Now, each contestant can introduce themselves to check your mics, going in order from my right and continuing to my left.”
“My right or your right?” Lionel pipes up.
Bob slams a hand on the desk in front of him. “My right, for God’s sakes! Can’t you listen? Those goddamn hearing aids need to be checked!”
There’s a momentary scuffle as Brax and Sue converse. They’re joined by Martha, conveniently seated only a few rows back in the audience.
After a few minutes, Martha walks around the judges’ table to where Bob is seated. She whispers in his ear.
“Absolutely not,” Bob says, frowning.
Martha looks over her shoulder at Sue, who gets up from her seat to join them.
More whispering ensues, this time accompanied by a number of hand gestures. After a few moments, Sue leads a grumbling Bob toward the exit, and Martha takes his seat.
“Apologies for the delay, ladies and gentlemen,” she says, her voice the same steady cadence as the second-grade teacher I remember from elementary school. “Bob is no longer available to serve as the moderator for this event. I’m happy to step in for him as your emcee.”
“Now we’re cooking with Crisco,” Lionel says. “Go, honey. You’ve got this.”
Martha levels him with a sharp glare. “I’d remind all contestants that speaking is only permitted when it’s your turn to ask a question.”
Lionel sits back in his chair, chastised. It’s no secret who’s really the boss in those two relationships.
Martha taps a stack of cards in front of her.
“Our illustrious judge Sue Kretchmore will be otherwise engaged for the evening, and while we’d ask a substitute judge to sit in for some of the competitions of this pageant, the history quiz is judged solely on the number of correct answers from each contestant and thus does not require the full panel. ”
Here we go. This is my kind of game. No fancy costumes or anything weird. No nebulous answers.
Just facts.
“Now,” Martha says, pushing her shoulders back, “all of our contestants have been introduced, but to make sure your microphones are working, please state your names, one at a time. Randy, you may begin, and we’ll move to your left from there.”
Martha runs a tight ship. We go down the line, introducing ourselves one by one.
“Thank you,” Martha says, once we’ve all confirmed that our equipment is working. “Now, for those who’ve participated in previous Mr. Lonesome history quiz events, the rules will be familiar. If you’re new, here’s the rundown.”
I lean in to make sure I hear it all. It’s not the first time I’ve been at one of these, but it’s been a while. Hell if I’ll be disqualified over a technicality.
“The style of the quiz will be similar to Jeopardy, for those familiar with the award-winning TV show hosted by Alex Trebek, God rest his soul.” Martha pauses, hand on her heart as she offers a moment of silence for her dearly departed favorite prime-time game show host.
I look around, then bow my head since everyone else seems to be paying their respects.
After a few seconds, Martha’s attention snaps back to the present. She clears her throat, leaning toward the microphone to get the full attention of the audience and the contestants.
“Unlike Jeopardy,” Martha says once she has everyone’s attention, “you will not have to answer in the form of a question. Basically, I’ll ask a question.
If you would like to answer, hit your buzzer.
I’ll call on the first person to buzz in.
If they get the answer correct, they get the points.
If not, they lose the points, and another contestant may buzz in. ”
Randy raises a hand.
Martha looks at him but doesn’t otherwise acknowledge him.
Randy looks at the rest of us, like we might have any clue what to do. Or, perhaps, like he’s wondering how he ended up in this situation to begin with. He wouldn’t be the first newcomer to High Lonesome to get tricked into competing in a town event.
Lionel, in an apparent moment of goodwill, holds up the buzzer and mimes hitting the button.
“Oh!” Randy hits his buzzer, hand still raised.
Martha points to him. “Yes. Randy.”
“Is there a Final Jeopardy?”
At this rate, I’m not sure we’ll get through any of the questions. I look out over the audience. Most people have a limit when it comes to shenanigans like this. But Jim beams at me from the front row, Rory smiling right next to him.
With them cheering me on, I’ll be here as long as this thing takes.
“Thank you, Randy. To clarify the structure of tonight’s events, we will have three rounds.
After each of the first two rounds, the contestant with the lowest score will be eliminated.
If there is a tie among the final three contestants, there will be a tiebreaker question, much like Final Jeopardy. Are we ready to begin?”
I nod and grip my buzzer. I’m ready to win this whole thing.
At first, the questions are straightforward.
The name of the opera singer who called High Lonesome home.
The branch of the army that trained on skis just outside of town.
The year High Lonesome was founded, and what year it was incorporated.
Simple stuff, for someone who has been around town for a while. But Randy doesn’t have that luxury. Chip seems like he must have studied, doing better than I’d have predicted, but after the first round, he’s only a few points ahead of Randy, both of them trailing well behind the locals.
Martha sets the cue cards on the table in front of her. “That was a great round. Unfortunately, we will need to say goodbye to Randy for now. But Randy, thanks for being a part of the pageant, and we look forward to your comeback next week during the talent competition!”
Randy nods, then waves to the crowd as he walks offstage, a smile on his face.
He seems like a good guy. I hope he makes Mrs. Alpert happy.
“On to round two,” Martha announces. “I hope you’re all ready because those questions were just the warm-up. Now we move on to the hard stuff.”
I search the audience for Rory, planning to give her a wink, because heck yeah, I’m ready.
But when I meet her gaze, her brows are furrowed, her teeth worrying her lower lip.
“Are you okay?” I mouth, hoping she can make out my silent question.
She nods, but I don’t miss the way her throat moves as she swallows hard.
“Nate?”
At the sound of my name, my attention snaps back to the stage, where Martha is looking at me expectantly.
I clear my throat. “Can you repeat the question?”
As she does, I glance back at Rory, just long enough to see her wide-eyed expression, and I wonder if my face reflects the same worry.
Because I’m starting to realize I might be in over my head.