Such a Bad Influence: A Novel, page 23
“No,” I interrupted her before she could continue. “I told you, no more of that.”
“They started it. We have to do something.”
She stood and paced the length of the kitchen. Her footsteps calmed my apprehension because I still had one person in my corner. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I meant it when I said we were doing this the right way.” I couldn’t say I wasn’t tempted to go along with her plans to temporarily make myself feel better. But deep down, I knew revenge wouldn’t solve anything.
This competition wasn’t about the town, or the votes, or the events that I would surely lose. The Emoty meant putting myself out there for the world to see—even if that meant criticism. For so long, I’d been quiet, afraid, and unwilling to risk anything. But not anymore. I’d see this competition through to the bitter end.
Because I was done running away from the things that scared me.
The art auction had been a disaster because it was a gimmick—I’d taken the easy road, choosing an elementary school painting over rolling up my sleeves and doing the work to win.
People noticed effort, or lack thereof. They’d want a mayor with fortitude, someone who could make hard decisions and solve problems. To earn their votes, I’d need to show them how hard I’d work as their mayor. No more choosing the easy way out, or quick fixes, or disingenuous behavior. That had never been my style anyway.
If I was going to fix my reputation, make my mom proud, and keep the farm from foreclosure, I’d have to eat some humble pie.
I smiled, thinking that pie was exactly where I should start.
The smell of baked blueberries and sugar drifted through the house. I lifted the pie dish from atop the oven, where I’d set it to cool, and headed toward the door. As I passed Alex’s bedroom, I stopped and said, “I’ll be back in an hour or so. If you’re hungry, there’s leftover hamburgers in the fridge.”
She was on her bed, scrolling through her phone. “Where are you going?”
“Somewhere I should’ve gone a while ago.” I didn’t say more than that. Alex might not understand, but this was something I had to do.
“Whatever,” she said, sitting up and grabbing her backpack.
Now it was my turn to ask. Anytime Alex left the house after six p.m., I got nervous. “Where are you going?”
“Bingo starts in twenty minutes.”
“Bingo?” I asked, laughing. Oh, I needed that laugh. It had been a horrible, rotten day, but the thought of Alex sitting with a bunch of middle-aged and senior Elswood residents, hovered over multiple cards and randomly shouting “Bingo!” was too much for me to handle. Like any proper Midwestern town, bingo was expected at any carnival, fair, or festival, but it wasn’t something I’d pictured Alex doing.
“You’re going to play bingo? Are you in your mid-sixties with four grandchildren?”
“Shut up.” She smiled at how hard I was laughing. “I think of it as gambling.”
“Have fun,” I said, still amused as she went to the door. I followed her outside, a huge smile on my face. I planned to tease her about this for quite a while.
My next stop was Wade’s house. He, too, inquired about the blueberry pie’s destination, but I kept it from his reach. “Can I borrow your dog?”
“In exchange for the pie? Absolutely.”
“You’re not getting the pie, Wade.”
He stopped trying to snag the dish from my hand. “What do you need Juno for? Alex already walked her three times today.”
“There’s someone who could use a little canine company.” I didn’t want to say more than that. I wasn’t doing this for attention or to win back the love of the town. I wasn’t even doing it for my mother, though I knew she’d approve. This one was for me.
The quiet ten-minute walk into town, with the copper sun hovering at the horizon, brought me into the present. My lungs filled with fresh air. It was a perfect evening. I almost didn’t want to knock on Edith’s front door, hating to be inside on a night like this.
But with a leash in one hand and a pie in the other, I hit the wood several times with my elbow. Edith answered, surprise etched across her lined face. “Felicity?” Her eyes found Juno through the screen door, and she said, “Why, hello there, sweetheart.”
Juno’s tail wagged in response to her high-pitched voice.
“Juno and I were wondering if you wanted some dessert?”
Edith adjusted her pink robe. The sun was setting, but it wasn’t after eight yet. I’d made an effort to get over there before she went to sleep. “It’s blueberry,” I said, holding up the dish.
Edith smiled and held the screen door open. She petted Juno as we entered.
“I thought we could cut a slice for Charlie, too,” I said. “Do you have any pictures of him?”
Thirty-Four
“Alex, what’s this?” I held up the pink T-shirt, twisting it to see the front and back. We needed to leave for the football toss in five minutes.
“Your football-toss uniform,” she muttered like it was obvious. “Someone called last week asking about the color and what number you wanted.”
“And you just happened to pick the number four?”
“I thought that was your favorite number,” she said innocently. A little too innocently.
“No, but it does happen to be Wade’s. It’s his old jersey number.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize.” She turned away to hide her grin.
“Alex . . .”
“It’s a number, Felicity. All the other participants had an old football number they were using, and seeing as I couldn’t track down a jersey number from your Purple Team softball days, I picked the number four. It’s no big deal.” She handed me a water bottle. “Now, if you and Wade see this as a sign and get together, that wouldn’t be a big deal, either.”
I took a sip of water, shaking my head at her absurdity. I must’ve told her a hundred times we were just friends.
My stomach dropped when we walked through the festival grounds toward the football toss. The crowd was five people deep, all standing on tiptoes to see into the roped-off space before them. Didn’t these people have anything better to do?
Alex followed me to the front, and I ducked under the rope. Five targets stood across from us—tall, inflatable maroon targets with holes cut into the center. The holes were roughly the same size as the middle of a tire.
“Felicity! Felicity!”
I turned. Lauren and Ben were standing behind the rope. Between them were the girls, each wearing a pink shirt with white lettering. When I approached them, I read the shirts.
Elswood (Wo)Man of the year
The girls waved at me. Willa jumped excitedly, her cotton candy nearly falling to the ground.
“Turn around, turn around,” Lauren told the girls. A large #4 was printed on the back. I looked pointedly at Alex. Her feigning-innocence routine was up.
She shrugged, unashamed. “Okay, so there may have been some coordination with the jersey number.”
I returned my attention to the girls. It meant a lot that there would be friendly faces in the crowd. This day was already better than the art contest. But I didn’t share in their enthusiasm. Expectations had to be managed for my upcoming performance.
“Greet your fans later. It’s time to focus.” Wade purposely shoved into Ben as he ducked under the rope. “If you’re going to wear that number, there are expectations of success.”
“He’s referring to Brett Favre,” Ben said to the girls.
“Who’s that?” Kate asked.
“A very successful quarterback.”
Wade’s jaw clenched, but he ignored them, grabbing my arm and leading me a few steps away. He pulled a football from the bin. I would have a total of sixty seconds to throw as many footballs as I could through the circle.
Wade placed the football in my hand, spreading my fingers across the laces. “Remember, aim and throw. It’s simple: Aim and throw.”
I nodded, trying to pump myself up. The loudspeakers were blasting Kip Moore, so that helped. Should I stretch? Jog in place to loosen up my muscles? I looked around at my opponents to copy their pregame routines.
Immediately to my left was the mayor, in a navy University of Akron jersey. He didn’t look the least bit nervous. Last year, he threw seventeen footballs through the target. I hadn’t attended the spectacle, but that was the rumor around town.
Next came Joseph, and then Patrick, who wore a ridiculous headband that only accentuated his receding hairline. He was doing high-knee jumps but looked like an idiot. My eyes traveled past Patrick and found Rodney on the far end. There was no mistaking his scarlet-and-gray OSU jersey. He tossed a few footballs, letting the crowd cheer him on.
Wade snapped his fingers, reclaiming my attention. “It’s going to be fine,” he said. I looked behind him, where Mary and Jeff had joined the group. This was not going to be fine. I was going to embarrass myself, at a charity game where people were eating fried dough on sticks and barn animals were a hundred feet away.
“What if I don’t get any footballs through the target?” I whispered. I ran a hand through my hair, messing up my ponytail and not caring. I had bigger concerns than how I looked.
“You will.” The corners of his mouth twitched as he looked me over. I knew that smile; my stomach fluttered. “Do you need some help getting into the correct throwing position?”
I flushed, remembering that day in the yard. “Control yourself. There are children present.”
Wade winked and my stomach dropped. Oh man, this was not good. My legs felt like Jell-O, and I forgot for a second what football was.
The sun beat down on me as the loudspeakers cut the music and Margo’s voice rang out. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our five Man of the Year candidates as they compete in their second event: the Elswood Football Toss!”
The crowd roared. I covered my ears. People took this way too seriously. If I didn’t have to participate, I wouldn’t have been caught dead at a football toss. Now, that fried-dough stand was a different matter . . .
Margo introduced each of the candidates again, the loudest cheers coming for Rodney and the mayor. I didn’t cringe at the boos that came after my name; that was expected. But even among the boos came a couple of cheers. I turned to see Lauren, Ben, Jeff, Alex, and Wade’s nieces cheering for me. Mary clapped twice, then abruptly stopped. My heart swelled with gratitude.
“Let’s go, Felicity!” Lauren yelled, encouraging the girls to clap, which they did. I smiled at them in their pink shirts, trying not to think about how I was going to fail spectacularly.
“Focus,” Wade said, standing right behind the rope. “Left foot back an inch.”
I followed his directions, nervous that everyone was watching. The crowd might have cheered for the others, but all eyes seemed to be on me. Shoulder to shoulder, everyone moved to get a better glimpse of the only female participant.
I breathed deeply, trying to ignore the taunts that were being hurled in my direction. Whoever said there was no such thing as bad press hadn’t pissed off an entire town in Ohio. They couldn’t have hated me more if I’d been wearing a University of Michigan jersey.
It had been so much easier with just Wade, me, and the tire swing. My mind wandered back to Wade’s hands on my waist, his lips at my ear, and the feel of his chest against my back. Abruptly, I jerked, trying to dispel the sensation of his hand roaming down my arm.
The loud buzzer pulled me from my daze. Sixty seconds. People screamed—whether it was for or against me, I couldn’t tell. I was so nervous that I tossed the first football wide by about ten feet. It hit the mayor’s target instead.
Laughter erupted through the crowd.
My second toss was closer, but still two feet below the target. My third toss sailed wide again. The clock ticked, and my hands shook.
“Slow down!” Wade yelled above the crowd. “It’s fine. Slow down.”
I pictured Wade standing across from me and threw the ball to him. It hit the red target but didn’t go in the hole. I tossed another, and the football struck the outside rim of the circle but bounced outward. I groaned. Why couldn’t that have gone in?
In my anger, I looked down the line. Next to me, the mayor sent two footballs straight through his target. My spirits deflated.
Thirty seconds left.
“Aim and throw! Aim and throw!”
I grabbed another football, adjusting my fingers as Wade had taught me. I took a deep breath and threw it, pretending that the center of the target was the mayor’s face. The moment I let go, I knew it would be close. My breath caught when the football bounced into the side of the circle, then disappeared. Yes! I jumped, hands in the air, celebrating as the crowd cheered behind me. Maybe they didn’t hate me so much, after all.
I twisted around to smile at my cheering section, but Wade pointed straight ahead. “Keep going!”
Quickly, I grabbed another football and threw it. Then another and another. All told, I got two footballs through the circle before the buzzer sounded.
I smiled triumphantly, though I’d no doubt done the worst of all the participants. But I didn’t care. And neither, it seemed, did the crowd.
I raised my arms in victory, and the roar nearly knocked me over. Dang, no wonder Wade had liked this feeling so much. This must be what it’s like to be an athlete.
Whack!
Something hard hit the side of my face. I fell to the ground, clutching my cheekbone, where the football had struck me.
My knees collided with the grass, and my vision spotted around the edges. I couldn’t make much sense of what was happening. I felt someone’s hands on me, trying to get my attention, but all I could hear was Wade shouting.
“What the fuck, Callaway!”
“It slipped.”
“Alex, no, get back!” Wade yelled.
Alex? Oh gosh, what was happening?
“Felicity, can you hear me?” a closer voice asked. Ben sounded calm, even as the shouting continued around us. Wade unleashed a tirade of swear words. I hoped his mother wasn’t listening.
“Is she okay?” a voice squeaked.
“He hurt her, Daddy.”
“We’ll help her!”
“No, girls, get back. Give her some air. Lauren, will you grab them?”
Fingers gently touched the side of my face. I winced.
“I don’t think it’s broken,” Ben said. I blinked, and he turned to get someone’s attention. “We need an ice pack.”
“I’m okay,” I said, registering what had happened: Jonathan Callaway had thrown a football at my head when he realized the crowd had turned in my favor. The sharp pain seemed to grow worse. I lifted my fingers to examine my cheek and make sure it was still there.
“Felicity, can you sit up?” Wade’s voice inspired me to move. He looked relieved as he hovered next to Ben.
“What’s the date?” Ben asked.
“August twenty-fifth.”
“What’s your address?”
“1 Clementine Lane.”
“Who’s the mayor?”
“Jonathan Callaway,” I said with disgust. That jerk had tossed a football at my head. It was bad enough that he and his wife were sabotaging my business to steal the farm, but now they were physically injuring me.
“Can you count back from ten?” Ben asked.
“Why are we playing fifty questions?” Wade cut in with impatience.
“I’m making sure she doesn’t have a concussion.” Ben’s eyes flicked to Wade with annoyance. “But I think she’s all right.” Ben took something from a person behind him with a thank-you. He placed the ice pack on my face. The cold, along with the pressure, made me jump.
“Give me that,” Wade said, snatching the cold compress from Ben. “Don’t need a medical degree for an ice pack.”
Ben shook his head, but stood and left my field of vision. Wade moved closer, pressing the ice pack to my face as I sat in the grass. I lifted my hand, holding his as he put it on my face.
I vaguely worried that everyone was staring at me. Only, there seemed to be someone missing.
“Where’s Alex?” She should have been hovering, and in a worse mood than Wade. My heart raced and I tried to stand, hoping she hadn’t done something to get herself into trouble. If she knew Callaway was responsible for hurting me, I doubted anyone could restrain her.
Wade pushed my shoulder down, keeping me seated. “She’s fine. Mary’s got her. I’m pretty sure the two of them scared the mayor all the way to Michigan.”
“Maybe the wolverines will get him.”
“Fingers crossed.”
The initial shock had worn off, and I was feeling better. I wiggled my jaw; it hurt, but the searing pain had faded. I was going to be fine.
With that realization came an idea.
“Get my doctors, Wade.”
He sat back on his heels and looked slightly offended. “Is it getting worse? Do you need Ben?”
I smiled, then stopped when it made my cheek hurt even more. He was so sensitive about his older siblings. “No, Wade. My doctors.” I emphasized the plural, and it clicked in his head.
He removed his hand from my shoulder so he could turn and yell, “Bethany!” He chuckled with relief. “We’re going to need a full assessment, Doc. Get your team ready.”
Thirty-Five
We took the long way toward the fried food, stopping once so Wade could play a game where he threw a baseball at a bunch of bottles. He won a stuffed bear, and Willa cried when he offered it to me instead of her. And so, with empty hands, I waved goodbye to Ben, Lauren, and the girls.
“They like you,” Wade noted as his family disappeared around the corner.
“You sound almost upset about that.”
“I’m not used to spending so much time with them.” He put his arm around my shoulders as we walked. I almost rebuffed him because we were in public, but I realized it was Wade. Hopefully, people wouldn’t think anything of it.
