Page 97 of Just One More Thing
I reach down and lace my fingers through hers. She looks at our hands first. Then up at me. I tighten my hold before I ask it.
“Will you be my partner tomorrow?”
She tilts her head. “For what?”
“All the events.”
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
“Including the one where I crawl around blindfolded and trust you not to send me into a mud pit?”
“Especially that one.”
She tips her face toward the sky, tapping her chin with one finger. “Hmm... Okay.”
Across The Green, Wayne detonates. “WHEELER! BETHANY WON’T LET ME RIDE THE INFLATABLE FIRE HYDRANT.”
“Wayne,” Bethany calls calmly without looking up from her clipboard, “yell one more time at full stadium volume and I’m assigning you to scoop shit.”
“Threats don’t work on me.”
“It’s not a threat,” she says. “It’s volunteer redistribution.”
He squints at her. “You can’t redistribute me.”
“Watch me.”
Mo laughs. Head tipped back. Full laugh. Unrestrained.
Happy.
I hold it to memory.
That laugh. This morning. Her hand in mine. My hoodie on her. The whole town acting like our business is municipal property.
I hold all of it.
I’m getting good at holding things quietly.
I know better than to trust a good thing too fast.
Doesn’t stop me from wanting to.
CHAPTER 26
EMORY
By eight in the morning, Blue Crab Bay has transformed into a dog-themed Olympic village with the emotional intensity of a playoff game and the regulatory oversight of a lemonade stand.
The Point is lined with chalk lanes that look official until you notice every single one drifts slightly right. Orange cones stand in uneven rows. Dogs bark from every direction. Somebody’s playing eighties rock loud enough to count as community outreach, and a banner flaps between two live oaks:
3RD ANNUAL DOG DAYS OF SUMMER
BIG DOG RANCH RESCUE
The humidity is heavy enough to make my shirt stick, while the smell of funnel cakes being advertised as breakfast waffles makes my stomach growl.
