32. Nate
Nate
Everything is riding on this.
I take a deep breath, peering through the curtains at the assembled audience. The seats are packed, and so far, they seem to be enjoying the show.
I think back on my competitors who have gone so far, wondering if I can top their acts.
Randy as Jon Bon Jovi may have scored a few points.
Chip and his piano solo? Maybe a few more. Hell, the man is talented.
I watch Lionel on stage as he bows, his blue velvet suit almost sparkling beneath the bright lights.
With a flourish, he pulls off his top hat.
He reaches in and pulls out a bunch of plastic roses, holding it up for the audience to see.
Ah. Exactly like a magician.
I try to pay attention as he waves his wand and pulls scarves out from his sleeve, the colorful fabric squares knotted together so they come out one after another.
It’s entertaining, I’ll give him that. And the audience doesn’t have the vantage point that I do, which gives away a few of the tricks.
I have a clear view of the covered table he wheeled on stage. From my angle, the rabbit is clearly visible beneath the black tablecloth. It hops back and forth in its cage, clearly wondering what the hell is going on.
I’m not entirely sure, honestly. The cage is on the floor, far below the tabletop. I wonder how Lionel plans to produce the rabbit for the audience.
But even the dramatics that Lionel puts on—he’s a great showman—and the amusement of the behind-the-scenes view can’t completely erase my nerves.
Like I said, everything is riding on this.
“May I have a volunteer?” Lionel asks, scanning the audience. “How about you, ma’am?”
“You can’t pick your wife!” Bob yells as Lionel points to Martha. “She’s probably in on your little tricks. This whole thing is a scam.”
Lionel rolls his eyes. “I thought judges were supposed to be impartial.”
Sue is less than subtle as she elbows her husband, who jumps at the contact.
“What?” Bob says, looking at her.
She leans over and whispers in his ear.
Bob crosses his arms over his chest and sits back in his seat, looking chastised.
Sue leans forward to speak into her microphone. “Our apologies, Lionel. Please continue.”
Lionel puffs out his chest. “Thank you, Sue. Appreciate that.”
Bob mutters something.
Sue gives him a look.
“As I was saying, I’ll need a volunteer, and if it matters all that much, I’ll pick someone else. How about you?” Lionel points. “Can you help me out?”
The woman who joins him on stage is vaguely familiar. She looks like she would have been a few years behind me in school. Maybe from the small town next to ours. The tiny village isn’t large enough for its own school system, so the few kids from the town go to school in High Lonesome.
Lionel continues his dramatics as he offers to make his volunteer, whom he “has never met before,” disappear.
He holds up a sheet, hiding the woman from the audience. With my vantage point, I’m privy to all of the behind-the-scenes as the volunteer quietly hides beneath the table without any instruction from Lionel.
Never met before, huh?
I cover my mouth, holding back a laugh as the woman pulls the rabbit from its cage and sets it on top of the table, just as Lionel drops the sheet.
Okay, that’s a decent one. Turning a woman into a rabbit. He’s a tough act to follow.
But it’s one I can handle, especially with what I have planned.
It took me a while to figure out what my talent would be. What I have, though? Total winner, even if I’m up against Lionel and his magic.
It’s not the original idea that Rory suggested, although I’ll admit that the idea of narrating an audiobook was intriguing.
Plenty of folks love audiobooks. I know a good number of women who enjoy spicier books on audio, too, from Rory and Allie to good old Gladys. She thinks we don’t know that she spends her days listening to H.D. Carlton and Shantel Tessier.
Once, she put her headphones in but somehow forgot to connect them to her phone before she hit play. Maybe one of us should have told her right away, and if Brax had been there that day, I’m sure he would have.
But Jake and I let it go for a few minutes, just to see what holds old G’s attention for hours on end.
In retrospect, we should have just told her it was playing out loud, because now I can’t look at her without thinking about the very explicit scene. Guess that’s what they mean when they say the punishment should fit the crime.
Scandalous audiobooks aren’t a part of tonight’s presentation, though. I have something better. As long as it goes the way I hope it will.
From my spot backstage, I have a direct view of Rory, although I don’t think she can see me.
She’s nervous, her lower lip trapped between her teeth and her brows drawn together.
It takes most of my strength to keep from hopping off the stage and running to her. I just want to pull her into my arms, tell her that everything will be okay.
Because it will. Regardless of tonight’s outcome, we can get through anything together.
Martha announces my name.
I straighten my shoulders as I walk onto the stage, carrying a three-legged barstool that I set down at stage left.
Stage right? I’m not really sure, to be honest. I was never a theater kid.
Whatever the terminology is, the barstool is to one side, allowing an unobstructed view of the stage.
And, as it descends, of the large screen.
I sit on the stool and cross one leg over the other, microphone in hand as the lights dim and a projector illuminates, spelling out my name on the screen.
I clear my throat and turn on the mic. “Some of those in town may know that I’ve dabbled in photography over the years. For tonight’s talent portion, I’d like to share three photos that highlight my work.”
I nod to Jake, who volunteered to run the projector.
Well, it was more coercion than volunteering, but that’s a story for another time.
The rookie advances to the first slide, my photograph larger than life.
In the still image, the fire chief salutes the mayor, with the town hall in the background. Snow-capped mountains make up the backdrop, perfectly capturing the essence of High Lonesome: people, community, mountains.
I give it a few minutes before nodding to Jake, who advances to the second photo.
This one is a shot of the elementary school playground, from a vantage point near the ground.
Once again, mountains feature prominently in the background against blue skies.
In the foreground, three children laugh as they run through the playground, their teachers looking on. It captures the innocence of youth and an aspect of nostalgia, and as the audience murmurs, I know I got that one just right.
I take a deep breath before I give the signal to move on to the last photo. This one is the reason I wanted my talent to be a surprise, and I wish I could see Rory’s face, but the room is too dark for me to make it out.
I let out a breath and nod.
The final photograph fills the screen, and there’s a collective sharp inhale.
It’s impossible to look at this and not be moved. It’s one of the best pictures I’ve ever taken, capturing pain and love and hope and a hundred other emotions in one.
It’s a shot of Rory, one I captured on my phone.
The background is blurred, but it’s not hard to figure out that the setting is her mom’s funeral. It was after the burial, when she asked for a minute alone. I reluctantly gave it to her but stayed close enough that I’d be there if she needed me.
Light reflects off the tear that runs down her cheek, and the depth of emotion in her eyes is something I could stare at for hours.
But instead, I search the audience.
I don’t want to look at her picture. I want to see her.
As I lift the microphone, my gaze locks on hers. I take a deep breath.
“I struggled with whether to share this photograph,” I start, my gaze never moving from her face. “I wondered whether this was too personal, the emotions too raw. But this picture means everything to me.”
I pause, making sure my words come out right.
“The woman in this picture isn’t just my beautiful girlfriend.
She’s everything to me, and in this moment, I managed to capture something special.
” I swallow as emotion starts to build in my throat.
“When I look at this, I see her beauty, but also her strength. The love she has for her friends and family.”
Rory’s eyes shine with tears that glint in the light.
“More than that, though, I see my past. My first love. The best part of my childhood. And I see my future. Because she’s the one I want to raise children with. The one I want to sit beside at the nursing home.”
In the audience, Rory raises a hand to wipe at her cheek, but I’m not done.
Please let this be perfect.
“Someone once told me that a marriage proposal should be special. That it should involve a bunch of daisies or lilies or other flowers.”
This is it. This is the moment.
“So, with that in mind.” I nod to the audience, where a dozen people stand from their seats, bouquets in hand.
I wait as they carry them to the stage and stand in a line, flowers held in front of their chests, just like we practiced.
And then I continue. “Aurora Kelley, I may not have thousands of flowers on hand because this is High Lonesome, and we’re limited to what I was able to get from the market.
But I’m here with our friends, family, and neighbors, and somewhere in the neighborhood of two hundred flowers.
And all I can do is hope that it’s enough. ”
Rory’s hand covers her mouth as Mandy takes her free one, pulling her from her seat, and walks with her up to the stage.
The two hug, and Mandy whispers something in Rory’s ear before she turns and heads back to her seat.
“Rory, will you come up here?” I hold out a hand.
Rory takes it, climbing the two steps of the makeshift stage.
“Nate?” she whispers, looking out at the audience, at the people holding the bouquets.
Marge is in the center, which seems appropriate, given her position as the center of gossip for High Lonesome.
She’s flanked by Mrs. Alpert in her neon-pink dress; Martha and Lionel, still in his magician costume; Sue and Bob; and most of the High Lonesome police department: Brax, Travis, Lawton, Conrad, and Jake, with Gladys grinning widely at the end of the row.
I turn to face Rory, setting the microphone on the stool. “Rory, I love you so much. You’re everything in the world to me.”
“I love you, too,” she says, another tear running down her cheek.
“We can’t hear you!” someone yells from the audience.
Probably Allie, if I had to guess.
I ignore her, all of my attention focused on Rory. “I’ve wanted to marry you since we were in high school, since the day you showed up on my doorstep with Spam and a streak of pink in your hair.”
She brings her hand to her hair at the mention of the highlight, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You like the pink?”
“I love it. I’d love any color, Rory. Because I love you. I can’t imagine my life without you. I know you thought the other times weren’t serious because they seemed impulsive or like I blurted it out without thinking. But really, getting you to marry me is all I can think about.”
I reach into my back pocket as I drop to one knee.
Rory covers her mouth with her hands again as I hold up the ring.
“I know a proposal should be special, and I hope this one is. If not, I’ll keep trying. Over and over, as long as it takes. Because I love you, Rory. Will you marry me?”
My heart beats so loudly that I’m sure the entire audience can hear it, even without the microphone, as I wait for her answer.