31. Rory
Rory
My palms are sweating, and I’m realizing that the first two events might have given me a false sense of security.
With a second-place finish at the history quiz and a definitive win at the bachelor auction, Nate is a front runner. But everything could change tonight with the final event of the competition.
The official winner won’t be announced until next weekend. That’s when the crowning and all of that happens. It’s conveniently planned at the same time as a bake sale.
But most years, it’s obvious who the winner is at the end of the talent night.
I dig my nails into my palms.
I want Nate to win.
I mean, this whole thing isn’t really about winning, and I get that. It’s about supporting the town and having fun. Raising some money for charity.
But if Nate happens to win? I’d be more than okay with that. He’s Mr. Lonesome in all the ways that count with how involved he is with everything that goes on in this town.
Hmm. If he’s Mr. Lonesome, what does that make me? Mrs. Lonesome? It does have a nice ring to it.
If we were to get married someday, of course.
But as I take in the setup for the talent portion of the competition, I’m not so sure that it’s a lock for my boyfriend.
Nate won’t even tell me what his talent is.
“It’s a surprise, not a secret,” he said, and I’m doing my best to trust him.
But looking around at the setup the other contestants have in place for their parts, I wonder if he’s in over his head.
A grand piano sits to one side of the stage. If I had to guess, it’s there for Chip, who I saw sporting a tuxedo that looked at least one size too small.
Randy, on the other hand, is wearing a pair of too-tight jeans, a vest without a shirt underneath, and a wig that looks like it was lifted directly from Dolly Parton’s dressing room.
“What do you think Randy is going for?” I mutter to Allie, who’s seated next to me. “1980s pop star?”
She munches on the caramel popcorn she bought at the door, ambitiously priced at ten dollars for a very small box. “Dolly Parton lookalike contest?”
I study Randy and his outfit. Unlike the other contestants, who are sequestered backstage, Randy is wandering through the audience, working the crowd.
Mrs. Alpert struts along beside him. There’s no sign of my old, stuffy history teacher in sight.
Instead of the khakis and sweater set she wore every day of her thirty-plus-year teaching career, Mrs. Alpert’s clad in a neon-pink dress, the fabric almost skin-tight.
The skirt hits a few inches above her knees, and the neckline is somewhat modest, but she’s wrapped a teal and black feather boa around her neck.
Talk about a statement.
It makes me wonder if I’m doing enough to support Nate. I didn’t even realize I should have dressed up tonight. I managed to pull on a pair of jeans—no small feat after abdominal surgery—and a Lonesome Pine High School sweatshirt. It’s standard HiLo apparel, and I felt okay about it at the time.
Seeing Mrs. A, though, I wonder if I’m underdressed. I’m not even wearing nice shoes.
I steal a glance at Mrs. Alpert’s feet, expecting high heels to go with the outfit, but when I get a good look, I breathe a sigh of relief.
She’s paired her impressive outfit with her usual sneakers, the ones with the orthotic insoles. It’s strangely comforting. If she were in heels, I’d wonder if I’d crossed over into the Twilight Zone. As it is, just seeing the older woman in the flashy outfit is throwing me for a loop.
“Ladies!” a familiar voice comes from behind me.
I turn in my seat as Mandy makes her way up the aisle between the folding chairs and slides into the seat on my right.
Allie, as expected, squeals with excitement, jumping out of the chair on my other side to give Mandy a hug.
“How are you?” she asks, like it’s been years since she saw Mandy instead of a couple of days. “How are the horsies?”
“Oh, the usual. My geldings are angels. There are a couple of mares that were in a mood today, but you can’t help but love them.” Mandy grins, her smile lines creasing. “Rory, how are you feeling?”
Before I can answer, the lights flicker, saving me from coming up with an answer, because I’m honestly not sure.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats,” Martha says into the mic.
She’s front and center tonight, apparently reprising her emcee role from the history quiz.
Some might worry about bias with the spouse of a contestant serving as the master of ceremonies.
Those people have never seen the way Lionel and Martha turn on one another at bingo night. I have faith that she can be an impartial judge, even if Bob is still grumbling about it.
Allie returns to her seat, and Mandy reaches out an arm and slides it around my shoulder for a quick hug.
“Good to see you, Rory,” she whispers. “You good?”
I nod, because while I have so many things to talk to her about, this isn’t exactly the place.
Mandy has always been a source of wisdom for all her barn girls. She’s not as old as our moms, which meant that as teenagers, Allie and I saw her as more relevant, more in tune with the modern world in a way that our moms couldn’t possibly understand.
But looking at her now, I realize she’s not so different from me. And from Allie.
Not just in how we love horses and our loyalty to High Lonesome.
But in how we keep certain things shielded from the rest of the world.
I think back to when I first started hanging out at the barn.
I’d taken a few riding lessons, learning how to tack up a horse, the parts of a saddle, and how to get a horse to stop and go.
But when I started spending time at Lonesome Acres—not just an hour for a lesson, but a few days a week—it was the first time I felt like I was part of something. Something bigger than just me or the horses.
It was the first glimpse of freedom and independence. The first small bits of responsibility and accountability.
So often, those hours at the barn felt like we were just wasting time between chores. But those hours shaped me into who I am today, and Mandy was a big part of that.
Her quiet leadership showed me that it’s not always the loudest person in the room who should be listened to, and that you don’t have to be the center of attention to be the one in control.
When Allie and I got into a fight about saddle pads, she showed us that it’s possible to enforce consequences without getting mad: instead of yelling, she simply banned the use of personal tack for a month.
And she’s always been a voice of reason, the one who filled in those gaps when I was too embarrassed to ask my parents.
Maybe I’m finally gaining the wisdom that comes with age or the maturity of being an engaged woman. Who knows.
But as I study Mandy’s profile, I wonder just how she knows everything she seems to know. If there are parts of herself she doesn’t share.
But then, this is Mandy. I shake my head to myself, holding back laughter. Of course she isn’t hiding some deep, dark secret. Sure, she holds on to her stories until sharing them is relevant, but that’s her thing.
She nudges me with her leg, drawing me back to the present.
“You okay over there?” Mandy asks, leaning over.
I find her hand and squeeze. “I’m good. Thanks for being here.”
“Anytime, kiddo.” She gives me a friendly smile.
Even though I don’t think she’s holding on to some big secret, I wish I had more details about some of the stories she’s shared. Sometimes it feels like she’s leaving out details on purpose, and it makes sense that she would if those don’t contribute to the point she’s trying to make.
But I’m dying to know more about the story she shared not that long ago, now that I know exactly how my own situation turned out. Like, who exactly was her friend with the whole pregnancy debacle? Was she really pregnant? It seems like it, from the way Mandy told the story.
Was this friend someone I’d know? Someone from town? Or did they leave HiLo, the scandal of a teenage pregnancy following them as they tried to make a life? And what happened to the baby?
“Mandy, I—”
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Martha’s voice, amplified over the PA system, interrupts my attempt at a heart-to-heart. “Welcome to the final competition of this year’s Mr. Lonesome pageant.”
She pauses as applause sweeps through the assembled crowd, along with a few whistles.
“Tonight, our contestants will showcase their various talents. We look forward to seeing what they have in store!”
Yeah, Martha, me too.
Because I have no clue what Nate’s planning to showcase tonight. Since we came home from the hospital, he’s seemed almost distant. I know he loves me, but it’s hard to ignore the way he’s treating me with kid gloves.
Martha waits for the applause to die down, then continues. “First up, we have Randy Pearson with his lip-syncing talent. Take it away, Randy!”
Randy takes to the stage as the opening chords from “Living on a Prayer” fill the room.
He clasps both hands around the microphone, his wig swirling around his head as he mouths the words to the Bon Jovi classic.
I’ve got to hand it to him. For an old dude, he’s got some moves.
Mrs. Alpert claps and sings along to the entire song, her enthusiasm infectious, and soon Allie and Mandy and I are all standing, clapping and singing, too.
“Encore!” Allie yells as Randy bows, the music fading.
Dad, on the other hand, remains seated, his loyalty firmly with Nate.
I mean, obviously I support Nate, too.
But there’s nothing wrong with applauding the other contestants, right?
Especially one who was knocked out in the first round of the history quiz. He has a lot of ground to make up. And hey, it was a good performance.
Besides, we can cheer for the underdog without compromising our support for Nate.
When the applause dies down, Martha taps the mic. “Next up, it’s Doctor Rodriguez, known to us all as Chip!”
Polite applause all around. It’ll be tough to beat Randy, if I’m being honest. He was Bon Jovi for those few minutes.
Chip walks onto the stage and crosses to the piano.
His tuxedo still seems not quite right in its fit, too tight in some areas and a little loose in others.
I suppose it doesn’t really matter. I mean, I don’t fit into my prom dress or even the jeans I bought last winter. Who am I to judge?
Besides, this isn’t a contest of who looks best in their outfit. If it were, Randy would have already won by a landslide, anyway.
Chip sits on the bench and takes a moment, hands hovering above the keys, before launching into one of the most hauntingly beautiful melodies I’ve ever heard.
With every note, something inside me shifts, and tears spring to my eyes before I realize what’s happening.
I take a breath, trying to rationalize it.
It’s a minor key. That’s all.
Besides, anything or anyone would seem serious after Randy did his best to channel Jon Bon Jovi.
But as the haunting melody swirls around us, I think it’s more than that.
Right? There has to be more. Maybe he spiked the drinks or manipulated the audience some other way. Something to make us all have this visceral reaction to the way he plays the piano.
When he finishes, there’s a second or two of silence before the applause. I look around and realize I’m not the only one under Chip’s spell.
Over half of the audience and a couple of the judges are alternating between clapping and wiping their eyes.
Shoot.
Good for Chip, of course. That was amazing. Like, really amazing.
So far, the competition for this portion is steep. If I was nervous before we got here tonight, that’s paled in comparison to the nerves that twist and turn in my gut now.
“Next up, we have Lionel Dowd!” Martha announces.
I pull in a breath as butterflies swirl in my stomach. Nate is next.
It’s a town competition. It doesn’t even mean anything in the grand scheme of things. It’s just for fun and to raise money for charity.
At least, that’s how I try to convince myself.
But when I look over at Dad, his fingers laced together and his gaze laser-focused on the stage, I realize that I’m wrong. This doesn’t mean nothing, even though he’s tried to pretend it’s all for fun.
I don’t think Dad would be upset if he didn’t win, but he’s taking Nate’s efforts to heart. He’s passing his legacy on to Nate. Like a son.
I push a hand against my stomach to quell the butterflies, wincing at the pain that slices through my still-healing belly.
On one side of me, Allie reaches out a hand, and I take it without thinking.
A few seconds later, Mandy taps my thigh, offering her hand, too.
I hold them both tightly, waiting.
Nate said he was ready. That he could handle this talent portion, no matter what the other competitors brought as their talents.
I want to believe him.
But as Lionel and his top hat take the stage, all I can do is hope that whatever Nate has planned is enough.