The audience gathers a bit of courage, me included, to reply with a chorus of, “Yes!”
“You can do better than that!” John insists, grinning. “Are we ready to raise some money for the hospital?”
This time, the answer is deafening, blaring so loudly through the town hall with the added thump of stomping feet that I fear for the building’s structural integrity.
But I smile as I put my “yes!” into the mix, my dad shouting at the top of his lungs, my mom whooping like she’s at a concert.
The mayor waits for us all to simmer down again, his cheeks bright red, a glisten of sweat showing under the spotlights. “Then, let’s get the night started with an auction!” he shouts.
The crowd cheers, some murmurs of excitement rising up as if this wasn’t expected.
“Now, as most of you know,” he continues breathlessly, “I’m something of a painter, and I was going to donate one of my original pieces as the first lot.”
Someone boos, and he takes it in good humor.
“It was a painting of my dog, if that changes anything?”
Applause and cheers swell afresh. EvenIknow about the mayor’s dog: a talkative, one-eyed Frenchie named Nugget, more famous than I could ever hope to be. Worthier of her accolades, too.
“But…” the mayor pauses for dramatic effect, “… that all changed when I got wind of a town celebrity whirling back into Crown Hill! Who’d want one of my paintings when they could have three dates with a famous writer instead?Iknow which will raise more money.”
My smile vanishes, and I’m suddenly aware of countless eyes fixed on me, the room so painfully quiet that I swear they must be able to hear the rapid beat of my heart and the gurgle of mywrithing stomach. The mayor can’t be serious. This is just one of his silly jokes; it has to be.
“Surely, Crown Hill’s prodigal daughter won’t deny us this?” the mayor says, as a spotlight clumsily finds me, dazzling me with its retina-searing glow.
The room erupts, led by raucous howls from Mrs. Oakley and her book club dames. An entire town clapping fervently, whistling and hollering, until the wall of sound has me trapped in a position I don’t want to be in.
I should have stayed home.
“Youhaveto, honey,” Mom whispers, giving me a nudge.
“Think of the hospital, sweetheart,” Dad encourages, with so much pride on his face that I can’t stand it.
A sharp jab catches me in the back, and I turn to find Paige leaning forward, her brown eyes as wide as a cat that wants a bit of your dinner. “Please, Summer. There are kids being sent hours away because our x-ray machine only works when it wants to. And forget about MRIs.Thatconked out weeks ago. Folks having to share heart monitors, and don’t get me started on?—”
“Fine. Fine. I’ll do it.” I take a breath and stand; I’m not going to turn myself into the most hated woman in Crown Hill by refusing to be auctioned off, even if thisdoesfeel like an ambush.
Putting on what I hope is a convincing smile, I head to the front and step up on stage to join the mayor.
“Thank you,” he whispers in earnest as he shakes my hand and pushes me toward the microphone.
“Uh… well, this is… um… unexpected,” I say, laughing awkwardly. “But I’m… happy to help; it’s the least that I can do after such a warm welcome.”
As enthusiastic applause reverberates around the hall, and the mayor shouts for everyone to dig deep and get their wallets ready, a little shiver runs through me. The feeling of being watched, which sounds absurd when the entire town is staring atme, but this is different; it’s intense, prickling the fine hairs on the back of my neck.
Puzzled, I raise my hand to shield my eyes from the glare of the spotlights… and I see him, right there in the front row, the men from 59 around him.
A man I haven’t seen in three years, who ditched me with a measly note and never bothered to get in touch.
Zachary…
The catch of my breath is thankfully ignored by the mic, but there’s a shine in his eyes and a quirk to his lips that says he heard it anyway. He can smirk all he likes; I’m not worried. There’s no way he’s going to bid on me.
Right?
Chapter Four
Zachary