“That was the last one,” Kate said.
Clark turned the key in the ignition and headed for town. Driving around today gave him a much better sense of the place, all of its hidden side streets and tangled roundabouts. Cell service cut out all over town, making his cell phone directions absolutely useless. Upon first arriving in Miller’s Point, the maps would disappear and reappear at will, sending him on crazy routes until he finally gave up. Finding the town square last night was nothing short of a miracle.
Michael, on the other hand, knew every inch of Miller’s Point and didn’t require battery life or WiFi.
Conversation flowed easily between the three friends, leaving Clark to feel a bit like an out-of-the-loop Uber driver, an experience he only knew from the one time his bike got a flat tire in downtown Dallas and the public transportation workers spent the day on strike, forcing him to use the car-sharing service. In a city with plenty of bike racks and trams, Clark saw no reason to pay seven bucks for someone else to ferry him around.
“Wanna stop somewhere and get lunch?” Michael asked. “I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving.”
“No one is starving. We all ate this morning.”
“We could go to the diner.”
“It’s closed.”
“You were literally there this morning.”
“Mel opened it special for Kate and Clark to sneak in. Mel felt too bad to tell him to get lost.”
The tips of Clark’s ears reddened. He hadn’t even noticed a closed sign. Was he really so entitled that he just waltzed in and assumed he’d be served?
“No.” Kate inserted herself into her friends’ conversation. Calm before the storm. “We can go back to Woodward.”
Oh, no. That sounded like trouble. To Clark’s knowledge, the kitchen hadn’t been stocked since the last time his uncle visited the place. What was she planning to feed him? Canned chicken and bagged rice?
“What’s at Woodward?” he asked, failing to hide his suspicion.
“You’ll see,” Kate replied.
“I’d really like to know…”
“You’ll see.”
He swallowed hard as the town passed by around him. Possibilities ricocheted against the walls of his skull. Was she going to make him go into the woods and kill a wild turkey or put him on a cabbage soup diet? Television ads around this time of year and NPR podcast sponsors assured him everyone ate instant stuffing and probably turkey for their holiday meal, but having eaten grilled cheese or zucchini lasagna on this day the last three or four years, he couldn’t be entirely certain.
“I don’t like surprises.”
“Really?” Emily snarked. “You seem like such a zany, seat-of-your-pants kind of guy.”
The burn effectively silenced Clark. No one was going to take his side in this. The urge to retort pried open his jaw, but when nothing came to mind, he closed it again. The board room at Woodward Headquarters had sharpened his wit, sure. Only no one there dared to take jabs at him. He mostly swung his verbal sword in their direction, not the other way around.
Knowing his own way back now, he turned into the town square. Without the festival, the streets opened themselves to cars again. In Dallas, the people would have thanked him for giving them the streets back, but not in Miller’s Point. Driving through the square gave off an almost eerie, end-of-the-world vibe. Half of the decorations were gone—most likely taken down to be strung up in his house—and the sidewalks sat empty and unused. The tree, a monstrosity of fir and ornaments he couldn’t even begin to calculate a cost for, lorded over the square, dark and unlit. Eerie, even for someone who hated this holiday and everything it stood for. The silence probably didn’t help. Clark usually drove to NPR and various podcasts about business and finance, but after they’d asked for Christmas music he’d panicked and said he preferred to concentrate on the road.
When they started talking again, he’d have given anything for the sweet release of some kind of background noise. Every word they uttered dug into his skin, sharpened arrows built to pierce him.
“I can’t believe everything’s over.” Michael clucked. “No more festival.”
“Don’t say that. Anything can happen.”
Kate’s reply embodied everything Clark knew about her so far. Foolishly optimistic. Beautifully wasteful. What did she think, he was going to cave and give in to their ridiculous whims? Waste money on something he saw no value in? Or did she think some other millionaire investor would sweep in and take the loss? Not likely. He’d already warned potential investors off the project when he decided to close the place down. Even keeping the place open for a few more nights, the rest of their season, would waste money in personnel and electric bills.
They finished the ride home without incident…until they pulled up to the house, and Clark’s worst fears about Kate’s “surprise” came to life through the clear wall of his windshield. During their brief time in the wilds of Miller’s Point, the long driveway had turned into a parking lot. At least thirty trucks and SUVs made themselves very much at home on the pavement stretching almost a hundred yards from the street to the carriage-house-turned-garage tucked away behind the manor.
Clark pulled through the center clearing—thank God someone gave a thought to how they would all get in and out—and fought the quiver of anger in his voice. Control yourself, man. You have always been able to control yourself before. Why can’t you control yourself around Kate?
“What’s all this?”
“You’ll see when we get inside.”
He parked and they headed for the back door of the house, with Michael and Emily at the lead and him and Kate trailing behind. If Kate disturbed or confused them with this turn of events, they didn’t let on. Clark didn’t think anything about Kate would faze them by now. From what he’d seen of their friendship, Kate charged forward and everyone else hopped on board without a second thought. He secretly admired that about her.
“Why are there are people here?”
“You’ll see. Just follow me. Everyone’s inside.”
Something
