3. Sophie
SOPHIE
Pretending to be an event planner was hard. Trying to pretend to be an event planner while actually being expected to plan an event, well… that was a full-contact sport.
This morning, I’d woken up blissfully unaware of how much one’s life could deteriorate in eight hours.
If you’d asked me then whether I’d ever stand in the middle of Maplewood Falls, drenched in sweat, clutching a binder the size of a tombstone, and telling grown adults where to put extension cords, I would’ve laughed in your face.
A full snort-laugh. Possibly with choking.
Me? Run a summer festival? Never in a million years.
Yet here I was, standing in the middle of the town square doing exactly that. Or trying to. Mostly failing.
I squinted down at Helen’s binder, which looked like it had been assembled by someone with a deep love of tabs. Beside it was a stack of papers I was supposed to understand by now.
There was a vendor map. A safety checklist. A volunteer schedule that looked like it had been attacked by a highlighter. And my personal favorite: Livestock Holding Area Requirements.
Yeah. Super swell reading. Very comforting. No notes.
“You should sit down before you get a heat stroke,” announced one of the volunteers, standing near the folding tables with a clipboard of his own and a calm confidence that said he hadn’t accidentally lied his way into a municipal disaster. I’d already forgotten his name.
Stan? Steve? Stubert? It’d come to me in the middle of the night. Right after I finally fell asleep.
I shot him a look. “I’m fine. Thanks, Steve.” Total lie. I was tired. It was just after five in the evening, and I hadn’t even taken a break yet.
He shrugged. “Whatever you say, boss. And my name’s William.”
“Right.” Damn. Not even close.
I wanted to tell him to get lost. Or at least to take his clipboard and his reasonable tone and go be helpful somewhere else.
But he was technically one of the only volunteers who hadn’t quit, wandered off, or asked me where the bathroom permits were, which I still wasn’t entirely convinced existed.
Besides, I was pretty sure I needed him.
He lifted his clipboard, unfazed. “Also, I just wanted to point out that the rental company still hasn’t dropped off the animal fencing.”
“I know,” I said, flipping through Helen’s binder. “I called. They said tomorrow.”
“But the animals are coming tomorrow.”
I shot him a look. “I know that, Stan.”
He frowned. “William.”
“I know that too.” I absolutely did not.
This wasn’t going at all as I’d imagined it in my head. The fencing should have been here and set up, then when the animals arrived, everything would go smoothly. And Helen would congratulate me on my planning awesomeness.
A truck rumbled somewhere behind me.
The volunteer smiled. “That sound? That’s either progress or a problem.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. Part of me wanted to introduce Helen’s binder to his forehead. Repeatedly.
I turned around. A long trailer with slatted aluminum sides rolled up to the curb, its oversized tires crunching over the gravel. Dust coated the metal, and the unmistakable scent of hay drifted through the warm air.
Oh no. This was not happening.
“Looks like the animals have arrived early,” commented the volunteer, like he was announcing light rain instead of my complete professional collapse.
My heart dropped. “No. Nothing is ready yet.” If whoever was in that trailer expected me to know what to do with a petting zoo, I was going to have a stroke.
The trailer door clanked. Something inside bleated loudly.
A man stood there with a sturdy stance and an expression like he had already decided this was not his problem. Mid-fifties, gray beard, work boots, baseball cap, and a clipboard tucked under one arm. Behind him, something thumped hard against the trailer wall.
“You must be Sophie,” he said, walking up to me.
“Yes,” I said because my reputation as the woman accepting disasters had already spread. “And you are?”
“Earl,” he said. “Petting zoo.”
I stared at him. Part of me wanted to laugh, but then I remembered laughter was how people tipped into madness.
“You’re early,” I said instead, my smile tightening. “You’re actually a day early.”
Earl’s mouth twitched, and I could tell he was not at all bothered by this information. “Paperwork says today.”
Damn. Whose fault was that? Mine? Very possible.
The trailer rattled again. Whatever was inside was probably plotting my downfall.
“Thank you for coming, Earl,” I said, my voice climbing to a pitch no adult woman should use in public. “But the fencing isn’t here until tomorrow. So maybe you could just… come back then?”
“Can’t,” he said. “Got another delivery.”
I nodded like this information didn’t just derail my entire sense of reality. I might’ve had a brief out-of-body experience. Hard to say. I wasn’t entirely present for it.
So this meant I was now in charge of livestock with no enclosure.
Fantastic.
Nothing says “welcome to your new career” like unsecured livestock.
He lifted his clipboard. “I just need a signature.”
I grabbed his pen and scribbled my signature, not really seeing it.
Earl looked past me, already clocking the empty patch of grass, the folded tables, the pile of decorations, and my face. “Where do you want them?” he asked, already walking toward the back of the trailer.
“I…” I might cry today. It was looking increasingly likely.
Earl released the latch and swung open the trailer’s rear gate.
A goat leaped out.
“Wait! Are you crazy!” I stepped forward. “Have you lost your mind! You can’t unload them yet. There’s no fencing.”
The goat stood there, its black-and-white coat gleaming in the sun and its golden eyes calmly surveying its surroundings.
From inside the trailer came the clatter of hooves and the unmistakable sound of something much larger.
I spun around.
An alpaca appeared, easing down the ramp with surprising grace.
Its creamy white fleece bobbed with every step, and it paused at the bottom to stretch its long neck toward me.
Dark, curious eyes peered from beneath dark lashes while its pointed ears flicked forward and then back, catching every unfamiliar sound.
A second alpaca followed close behind, smaller and the color of rich caramel. It hurried to catch up, letting out a soft humming sound before pressing against the larger alpaca’s shoulder as if borrowing a little courage.
Then a miniature donkey picked its way down the ramp, placing each tiny hoof with careful precision.
Its shaggy gray coat was dusted with silver, a darker stripe running along its back and shoulders, while a tousled chocolate-brown forelock spilled over bright, watchful eyes.
Its oversized ears swiveled in opposite directions, listening to everything at once.
Reaching the pavement, it stopped in the middle of the street, lifted its nose, and released a soft, questioning bray.
For one brief moment, everything was still.
Then the goat took off toward a stack of colorful festival banners.
“Damnit.” I dropped the binder and rushed after it. “Get back here, you!”
The goat darted between two folding tables, dragging half a banner behind it while chewing enthusiastically.
“Should I… do something?” asked the volunteer from behind me.
“Yes!” I shouted.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know yet,” I yelled back. At least the goat had stopped moving. Progress.
I stood there breathing heavily while trying to come up with a plan on how to deal with this situation. I was supposed to be the event planner. This was an event. I needed to event-plan the hell out of it.
The sound of the scraping of asphalt pulled my attention behind me.
The largest of the alpacas started walking directly toward me. My first thought was, Will it spit in my face or headbutt me? I wasn’t particularly interested in either outcome.
I moved left.
The alpaca moved left.
I moved right.
The alpaca moved right.
“This is so weird,” I said out loud.
The donkey chose that exact moment to wander into the parking lot.
“You,” I called after it. “Donkey, I need you to stay near the trailer. Stay! Good donkey.”
Obviously, the donkey kept going. I wasn’t sure why I expected it to listen to me. My sister Margot was the one skilled with animals. She could teach an old dog to do tricks. Me? Animals mostly looked at me like I worked for them.
“Okay.” I took a deep breath and spread out my hands. “Everybody stay calm. That’s it. No more funny business.” Just as the words escaped my lips, the goat climbed onto a picnic table and started to jump off and then back on again.
I was in hell. The furry, hooved kind.
The volunteer looked at me. “Now what?”
“New plan, Stan,” I said, knowing that wasn’t his name but absolutely not caring at the moment. “I’ll let you know when it comes to me.”
The driver checked his watch. “I gotta go.”
My head whipped around. “What?” Irritation flared. I was going to strangle him. You know it. I know it.
“Another delivery.” The driver shrugged like he hadn’t just unleashed my new furry-hooved hell.
I stared at him incredulously. “You can’t leave.” My body leaned forward, like it was prepared to go full-on quarterback and tackle the son of a bitch. Yes, he was bigger than me, but I was going for the knees.
“Sure, I can,” said Earl.
I pointed to the animals. “You brought me livestock. Emphasis on the word live. They’re not stuffed animals. They are living and breathing creatures.”
Earl shook his head. “Technically, I delivered livestock. It’s up to you now.”
I clenched my jaw. “Where am I supposed to put them?”
He pointed vaguely toward the square. “Somewhere. Not my problem.”
Then he climbed into his truck, turned on the engine and pulled away.
Motherfracker.
I watched the trailer disappear down Main Road, feeling my blood pressure rise to an all new level of high.
The petting zoo area wasn’t ready. The fencing hadn’t been delivered. The tents weren’t up. Nothing was ready.
Something tugged at my shirt. I looked down as an alpaca nibbled the hem of my shirt.