Chapter 16
HANNAH
Another float rolls past, and this one is even more patriotic.
For an Easter parade, there sure are a lot of parade entries that seem to celebrate our American heritage.
I'm not averse to it. I just think it's strange.
But this is America, and we will find any reason on Earth to call up our patriotism and heritage.
"That one sure is pretty," Mayor Grant says from the booth next to me.
She's deep in the heart of her reelection campaign, urging voters at today's Easter parade to vote for her by handing out T-shirts and buttons.
I stand next to her, just on the other side of her banners, watching folks filter past.
"Probably cost a pretty penny," Mr. Dorsey chimes in, and I have to agree, as much as his presence here today seems out of place.
The float has all the bells and whistles, decorated in red, white, and blue colored roses.
One of the mayor's opponents sits on a stool probably bolted down to the float, waving at the cheering crowds while children run toward the street to collect candy thrown by his volunteers.
"I'm sure you know a thing or two about costs for these things," Evelyn says to Dorsey.
It's odd that they're being so chummy, but with him sinking his teeth into every bit of my festival prep and my backing off to let some stress off my plate with my growing concern over being pregnant, it's left the mayor and my benefactor to dialogue quite often.
"Oh, a thing or two," he says, winking. "Hannah, you're being awfully quiet over there.
" He hands a passerby a button and smiles at me broadly.
Sometimes, that saccharine smile makes me wonder what he's up to.
Things are going smoothly, but I've seen his ships coming in at odd hours and I'm not sure what festival supplies they're even bringing.
He hasn't let me see a single ledger since I handed over the supply lists and asked for approval.
"I'm feeling a bit off this morning…" I sigh and turn back to the patriotic float, thinking of how the festival could honor our heritage too.
But more so, it could honor heroes of Bandon.
The first responders do such an amazing job for us, like they did for Nick all those years ago.
And if I'm thinking of honoring them, I have to think of the servicemen who've retired here or whose families still live here while they're away.
It wouldn’t be a nod to Luke, in particular, but his part in helping make this festival possible deserves that nod, even if he doesn't want it.
"You know, Mayor Grant," I say, turning to look more fully at her.
There is a lull in people at the booth because the parade is in full swing, and that gives me a much-needed moment to tell her my thoughts.
"I was thinking, this town is so patriotic.
I wonder if it wouldn't be a good idea to honor servicemen and first responders at the festival.
Just a little ceremony on the main stage to show this town we support them and their families for all they do for us. "
Her face lights up as she presses her palms together under her chin and grins.
"That's a wonderful idea, Hannah, and don't forget our fishermen lost at sea.
Without the fishing industry, this town wouldn't be half what it is.
If we just take a moment of silence… Ah…
" She can't stop grinning madly, almost like she's beside herself with glee.
No doubt, she's going to try to spin this in her campaign like it was her idea, but if it honors heroes in this town, who cares?
"Evelyn is right, Hannah. How thoughtful of you to think of that.
I've worked with servicemen a lot. It's such a kind thing to honor their service.
" Dorsey's input wasn't asked for, but he gave it anyway.
I refrain from rolling my eyes, but I feel the bitter tang of annoyance on my tongue.
Maybe it's the pregnancy hormones, or maybe it's just the fact that I've handed over control of my plans to him.
Either way, it's because of my secret that seems to loom over me at every turn.
I turn toward a passing hot dog vendor, riding his bike with hot cases on either side of the back wheel, and my stomach growls.
It's been hours since I ate, and I know if I leave it too long, the nausea comes at me like a freight train.
So I buy a hot dog from him and have a bite while I try to distract myself from how easily annoyed I get with Mr. Dorsey.
When a few parade watchers stumble past, eager to talk to the mayor about her reelection, I turn toward the marching band playing a block down the street, loudly enough that every note carries over the din of conversation.
They're pretty good this year, though they’ve had all school year to practice together.
I wonder if they would all come together this summer to play a concert at the festival on their summer break, and I'm thinking about how I would coordinate that as Mr. Dorsey walks out of the booth to stand beside me.
"Mr. Dorsey," I say cordially, but I'm not feeling very cordial. Something strange about this man has my nerves rankled.
"Great parade, huh? The festival will be even better."
His mention of the festival has me tied in knots.
I've seen less of him than ever but more activity by his crews. It doesn’t add up.
"I'm sure… What with all those crates you’re hauling into the city.
" He claims he's putting them into a storage unit on Route 42 east of town, but I'm not sure which of my supplies they could be.
"Lots of things to think about when planning a festival," he mumbles, which is just vague enough to be a response but too vague to be an answer.
"Do they always ship at night?" I haven't seen a single parcel carrier come to town either. Usually, things get brought in on trucks, but everything Dorsey has brought in has been through the marina.
"Oh… well, you know. Traffic out there on the water makes it easier to navigate late in the day.
" He straightens his tie and changes the subject, though I'm not happy about it.
"Well, how are you feeling?" he asks me, puffing his chest out.
He's dressed in a light grey suit with a powder-blue tie.
Not exactly parade casual, but then I've never seen him wearing anything but an expensive suit.
"I'm fine, why do you ask?" My face scrunches up in annoyance again, though I try to stay detached. Why is he asking me that? Is it that obvious that I'm living with constant nausea and frustration?
"Well, you asked me to help more because you were feeling stressed. I'm sorry if I made an assumption that you felt anything other than fine." He looks genuinely confused and hurt, and now I feel like an ass. My shoulders drop and I heave out a breath.
"You're right," I sigh. "I'm sorry." Tears almost brim in my eyes. I'm too damn emotional. I hate these hormones raging through my body like a bull in a China shop. What did I do to deserve this torture? "Thank you for asking. The stress is less, but it's a lot."
Mr. Dorsey smiles kindly as I take a bite of the hot dog and feel my belly roiling. I should not be feeling this but I am. "I just know how stressful big events can really be, and I'm grateful I have the chance to help you out a little."
It's a sweet sentiment and I am rude for being so snippy with him.
My mother didn't raise me to be so short-tempered, and I can't hide behind the excuse of pregnancy hormones when no one can ever know I'm pregnant.
And getting emotionally worked up isn't good for me or the baby, but I find myself blinking back tears and chewing this overcooked hotdog as my stomach roils.
"That's so nice of you," I manage to mumble around a mouth of food, but the tide is turning and my stomach isn't happy with street meat.
"Hannah?" he asks, and before I realize my face has contorted, the vomit is rising.
I rush a few strides to the trash can teaming with flies and honey bees and vomit the contents of my stomach up in a heaving mess.
The hot dog remains on the ground at Dorsey's feet, and my dignity may as well be in the shitter.
When I feel his hand on my lower back and another hand in my hair, holding it back, I don't know whether to cringe or cry. I need my mom, and I need her to make this creepy man stop pretending we're friends when we're not.
"Hey, shh… You're okay," he coaxes as another round of heaving shakes my body. Lucky for me, the mayor is still busy with her constituents and most other people around me are watching the parade.
When I straighten, Mr. Dorsey produces a napkin from somewhere and hands it to me.
I glower in shame and turn away from him, wiping my mouth sullenly as my stomach rolls again.
It's embarrassing enough to feel so out of control in my own body, but add to that the shame of someone like him seeing me lose it is humiliating.
"Are you sick?" he asks me, but he doesn't step away like I have the plague or anything.
"Must have been the hot dog," I mumble, wiping my mouth as I bite back the aftertaste of bile and the anger I feel in my chest.
My cheeks burn and I can barely look up at him, but when I do lift my eyes, I see Luke approaching in the distance. I don't think he's seen me yet, and as soon as that red flag starts waving around in the air, I am ready to bolt.
"You know, I think I’m gonna go home," I rush out, backing away from Mr. Dorsey.
I don't want Luke walking up seeing me hovering over a trashcan full of my own vomit, then smell that vomit on my breath. He knows I’m not sick, and I won't be sick tomorrow, either.
This isn't some flu bug I can dismiss and excuse. This is pregnancy stuff he can't find out about. I don’t even know if I’ve decided to tell him or what to say if I do.
"Yeah, maybe you should go lie down," Mr. Dorsey says, and I continue backing away, keeping my eyes on Luke's head which hangs as he walks closer.
"I'll, uh… We can catch up and chat about the festival soon. I've gotta run," I blurt out, and then I'm gone, weaving through the busy crowds that are starting to disperse as the parade comes to an end.
I sure hope Dorsey doesn't talk to Luke about me at all, especially not that I just threw up and ran off like a lunatic.
I was an idiot for having sex with Luke to begin with, but not using protection was even more foolish.
This mess I've made for myself is going to blow up in my face sooner or later, but I'm hoping for later.
Right now, I just want to hide from him until I've decided how to handle this, and I want to brush my teeth.
I hate the taste of vomit.