Page 38 of No Words

Perfect. Just perfect.

Things only went downhill from there. The croissant, I soon realized, had been a poor choice, since I noticed after Itook my seat that I had croissant flakes all down the front of my black dress.

Yes, I’d been talking to Will Price while covered in pastry crumbs.

Not only that, but the weather outside was so warm and sunny that it had seemingly attracted every tourist from every wintry corner of the globe. And all of them had emerged from their hotels at the exact same moment our bus left for the library, darting out into the street without looking (because apparently they thought downtown Little Bridge was like Main Street in Disney World, and not a real street with actual vehicular traffic that might run them over, so they could just wander out into the middle of it).

So Will kept throwing on the brakes to avoid hitting them, making the milky coffee and not-yet-digested chocolate croissant inside my stomach lurch.

But then, as if all of that wasn’t bad enough, for some inexplicable reason Garrett, who was sitting on the seat in front of me, decided to remove his ukulele from its case, turn around, and begin playing (and singing) the song “You Are My Sunshine.”

“‘You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,’” he sang, directly into my face. “‘You make me happy when skies are gray....’”

For a few seconds, everyone on the bus, including me, sat in stunned silence.

Then, just when Garrett got to the part about “please don’t take my sunshine away,” I lost it.

“Garrett,” I snarled.“Stop it.”

Garrett did not stop.

“What’s the matter, sunshine?” he asked, continuing to strum away. “You don’t like fun? Hey, everybody: Jo Wright doesn’t like fun!”

What was wrong with this guy? I was ready to pour what was left of my coffee over his head.

“I like fun,” I snapped.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Garrett said.

“I do. I do like fun. Just not someone singing in my face ateight-thirty in the morning.”

“Really, Garrett.” I was glad that Frannie felt compelled to intervene on my behalf. “It’s a bit much. Why don’t you save the song for the festival? I’m sure the children there will find it delightful.”

“Oh, come on.” Garrett continued to play. “Everyone loves this song. We’re all young at heart, aren’t we? Saul, I know you agree. Come on, everybody, let’s sing together!” Then he leaned halfway over the back of his seat and began strumming while singing even more loudly into my face. “‘You are my sunshine, my only sunshine—’”

It was right then that the bus lurched to an abrupt stop—abrupt enough that Garrett, who’d been sitting facing backward so he could sing to me, lurched heavily into the seat in front of him, losing the grip on his ukulele and causing the strings to clang tunelessly.

“Hey!” he called out in irritation to Will.

“Sorry,” Will said. But I could see his face in the rearview mirror above the driver’s seat, and he didn’t look sorry at all. He was wearing a little smirk. “But we’ve reached our destination.”

I turned my head. Out the window, I could see a large, graceful brick building surrounded by lovely thick-trunked banyan trees, with a full parking lot and a soaring porticoed entrance, below which hung a banner that read:

WELCOME TO THE1STANNUALLITTLEBRIDGEBOOKFESTIVAL

Above that, carved into the stone façade of the building, read the words, NORMANJ. TIFTONPUBLICLIBRARY.

Festive helium balloons in multiple colors had been strung everywhere, and people were streaming into the many double doors leading into the library, all wearing happy expressions and carrying swag bags much like the ones we’d been given and that Garrett kept dragging around everywhere. I was relieved to see that the majority of the people were women and young girls, which meant that my panel with Bernadette was going to be well attended—although many of them, I was sure, were coming early to grab seats for Kellyjean and Garrett’s panel, or for Saul’s or Jerome’s, the final speakers of the day.

Will had stood up in the driver’s seat and now turned back to face us.

“Here we are,” he said. “If you follow me, I’ll show you to the auditorium. We’ve got a green room where you can sit and relax before your panel, or, if you’d like, you can explore the festival. We hope you’ll find a lot to entertain you.” Then his gaze flicked to Garrett. “You can leave that here on the bus.” He gestured to Garrett’s ukulele.

Garrett had wrapped his hands protectively around his instrument. “But I—”

“I promise it will be safe.” While Will’s tone was perfectly pleasant, there was something deadly serious in his dark eyes. “We’ve already hired local musicians—as well as face painters and jugglers—to entertain the children attending the festival, so I don’t think you’ll be needing it... unless it’s part of your presentation?”

But before Garrett had a chance to reply, Kellyjean interrupted in her loud Texas drawl, “Oh, no, he won’t be needing that thing. We’re going to be talking about writing and magic. You don’t need a ukulele for that, do you, Garrett?”