PROLOGUE
MONROE COUNTY FAIR
LARA
The lights are already flashing on the rides filling the Monroe County fairgrounds. The fair arrives every year and it’s become something I look forward to. I’m not the only one. The entire town of Dogwood Ridge, and most of the county, attends the fair to make memories and because it’s tradition.
I’ve learned a lot about traditions since moving to this small town. The community is threaded together with them.
One tradition is the final night of the Monroe County Fair. No matter what, you show up for the last night.
People don’t miss the chili cook-off or the cake eating contest. Both are entertaining. And I’m not just saying that because the nightlife around here would leave some people wanting more.
I don’t need my nights to be exciting. Quiet suits me just fine.
Especially because my ten-year-old daughter deserves a simpler life. Growing up is hard enough and some truths, hard to swallow as they are, seem to be universal. How those lessons come remains to be seen, but they’ll arrive in due time.
In Dogwood Ridge, Vanessa is learning about tradition.
She’s learning about loyalty. She’s learning about gentle rhythms which become constant and laughter without calculation.
She’s learning that people can see her and not judge her.
She’s also, finally, learning that the woman who gave birth to her is never going to change.
That last lesson hasn’t been easy on her, but now she fully understands what I’ve always known. Maybe she couldn’t understand before. Or maybe she didn’t want to believe it. I hate that the naiveté of a child had to be shattered, and that her birth mother was the one to do it.
You wouldn’t know how well she’s learned that life is not always fair by looking at her right now. She grins up at me and tugs at my hand. We’re matching today in denim skirts and white tank tops with the Bunz Out logo on them.
When you sponsor the cake eating contest on such a big day, you gotta get in all the marketing you can.
Vanessa chirps, “Can I try to win a goldfish again this year?”
“Sure,” I answer without hesitation.
She hasn’t won one yet. I don’t think this is the year it happens.
The beauty of the goldfish game is that it seems like it would be easy to do. You just have to toss the ping pong ball into a fishbowl. You win the goldfish.
Easy.
Simple.
But it’s a lot harder than it looks on the surface because of the type of ball and the open spaces left between the openings. The bounce will get you most of the time.
I’m more than willing to pay a few bucks for her to have fun. Not to win a goldfish who probably won’t last two weeks.
Thankfully, I haven’t needed to plan a goldfish funeral. I’m thinking funeral pyre if I need to do it. A shoebox burial is classic, as is a toilet flush send-off, but I think she’ll appreciate a pyre.
There are flashing lights from a game booth not far from where the goldfish game is set-up.
The workers are trying to entice people to play whatever scam they’re in charge of.
When I look up, the high school club’s tent, the same club Ezra is the faculty advisor for, is crawling with people.
It puts a smile on my face because it means the kids are closer to their fundraising goal.
They deserve it. Some of those kids are going to do big things, I can already tell. This year I was only going to donate one gift basket, but the kid that came by Bunz Out talked me into donating three of them. I didn’t even feel swindled by the end of it.
I probably should have.
“Hello there, little lady,” the guy working the fishbowl booth greets Vanessa. “You lookin’ to win a goldfish?”
When I look at my daughter, I can’t help but feel proud. She would have shied away from a stranger talking to her when we first moved here. It was a lesson she learned young—to be wary, to watch, to let someone’s actions speak for them instead of their words because those could be lies.
Now, she smiles at the man and nods enthusiastically. “Yup,” she pops the p. “I’m going to name her Ariel.”
She says it so confidently, I almost believe it myself. Which is worrisome.
And she already has a name picked out.
“I think Ariel was a mermaid,” the guy offers, amusement in his voice.
“She is. Considering mermaids don’t exist but goldfish do, and they have tails, I’m going to say they’re the same thing and just go with it.” Vanessa cocks her hip slightly, her hand landing there like she’s the authority on the obvious evolution from mermaids to goldfish.
The man takes the hint and raises his hands in surrender. “That makes perfect sense,” he’s practically genuflecting with his words. After I pay for her throws, he hands the ping pong balls to Vanessa and steps to the side. “Have at it, little lady.”
She tosses the first ball, and it hits the edge of a bowl with a soft ting. I let out a slow breath but know not to get ahead of myself. There are two more throws.
Her second attempt lands, but between four bowls. The sigh that comes out of me has Vanessa looking at me with narrowed eyes. I try and bat my lashes at her and look innocent, but her glare only intensifies.
When she turns back toward the fishbowls, her features become a mask of determination. I love seeing it, don’t get me wrong, but it also makes my stomach sink. She’s a force when she’s determined.
I keep my eyes on the ball as she releases it in a perfect arc to get toward the middle of the table. As much as I want to shut my eyes, I keep them open. My mouth falls open when the ball lands cleanly in one of the bowls.
“Holy shit,” I breathe out.
Vanessa whoops loudly and jumps up and down. She’s clapping and grinning. I can’t help but smile.
Even though I don’t want a goldfish.
I eye the man accusingly and bite out, “You don’t give us any food for them either, do you?”
“Can’t say we do that,” he drawls.
With a huff and a roll of my eyes, I focus on Vanessa who is doing a little happy dance next to me. “Ariel is coming home, Mama,” she exclaims and grabs my arm.
“Perfect,” I try to sound excited. It comes out a little flat.
Vanessa doesn’t care; she starts making plans as if she believes this fish is going to live through the night. I’m not sure it will.
“You have to order pink pebbles for the bottom. And she’ll need a bigger habitat, that bowl doesn’t circulate the water and fish tanks always have things for that.
” She looks up at me, and her eyes widen even farther.
“Can we get a treasure chest? Oh! And a unicorn. Ariel needs them so she doesn’t get bored. ”
I meet the eyes of the man who is now holding a fishbowl out toward Vanessa. He smirks at me and I almost reach across and slap him. I’m not sure how I’m capable of holding myself back.
“Enjoy the rest of the fair, ladies,” the man moves away from us. “Look over there, that little lady just won herself a goldfish,” he shouts out to people passing by.
The glare I shoot him would have him cowering. If he was even looking at me. But he’s not.
While leading Vanessa away and toward the stage, since it won’t be long until the cake eating contest begins, she chatters away about Ariel.
I nod and make noises of understanding while she talks, but I’m thinking about what I need to figure out tonight—like food—because it’ll take a few days for everything else to come in.
Am I really going to order everything she needs for this goldfish? I eye the fish swimming around the small fishbowl. I wish it could tell me if it’s going to last tonight or a week or even a month. Then I could plan better.
If only.
I set Vanessa up at a table near the stage. I’ll have to go up there for the cake eating contest. The local paper will run a picture. Even though I’ll glance at it and wish the angle was better, it’s damn good marketing for the bakery.
While the winners of the silent fundraising auction are being announced, I grab Vanessa a fair treat. You can’t make funnel cake like they do at a fair; it’s just not the same. I’ve tried.
Her attention flicks between Ariel, the stage, and her funnel cake.
“Before we get onto the main event,” the announcer’s voice carries through the area and people perk up, “can I please have all the cake eating contestants come up to the stage along with the sponsor of this feat of speed and deliciousness, the owner of Bunz Out, Lara Chapman.”
My heart starts to race the moment he says my name. I love helping every single customer who comes into my shop. I’m more than willing to spend time chatting with them.
What I do not like to do is be in front of crowds. It makes my skin crawl; it always has.
Vanessa kind of shoves me toward the stage while giggling, but I only vaguely hear the sound. I make myself take a deep breath and hope it’s enough for my hands to stop shaking. The smile on my face probably looks more like a grimace; it has to look forced as hell.
There are announcements about lost items, reminders for pick-ups from some of the vendors and then a review of when the fair is shutting down. I think I hear Bunz Out again when sponsorships are mentioned, but I’m only half listening.
Just based on the sheer numbers as I look out from the side of the stage, there are too many people out there. I have to close my eyes to stop myself from running away. The breathing exercises I’ve researched, on a wing and a prayer, come back to me.
I wish they helped more, but a little is better than nothing.
“You look like you’re about to puke,” a rough voice comes from next to me and I almost jump out of my fucking skin.
I don’t need to look to know who it is. I keep my eyes on Vanessa, the smile on my face feeling more brittle the longer he stands next to me. He smells like ink and danger with an undertone of smoke I should hate but don’t.
“Just make sure you don’t puke on me,” he sneers the words and the image of me doing the exact opposite and covering him Exorcism-style from head-to-toe flashes in my mind.