Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(107)

Holly figured, If I drill holes in the bottom of the boots for drainage, I can buy two daisy plants before leaving the festival and plant them in the boots when I get home.

“Because I think ‘cute’ would be a great look for your porch,” Mary-Margaret was saying, trying to slip inside Holly’s psyche and become a voice inside Holly’s head. Peekaboo! “All of the houses on Petunia are so cute. Doing ‘cute’ on Hopscotch Hill is difficult. We have fewer choices. Must maintain the status quo.”

Holly didn’t respond. Like Ella with her new glasses, Holly could see with clear-ity now. Mary-Margaret wasn’t going to clutter this up. This is my porch and my home. For as long as Jack still had a job, and they still lived in Primm.

“Have you thought about flower planters? Maybe mount a flag?”

Holly said nothing. Scratched slowly behind her ear again. Tugged gently at her earlobe.

“Lavender,” Mary-Margaret whined. “Why are you ignoring me?”

Because I’ve learned a lot this week. About letting another woman get inside my head. Voices. They’re like the volume button on a remote control. Turn ’em up; turn ’em down. And when you really need a break, press mute. Or simply hit the power button and enjoy the silence.

“Lavender, are you listening?”

Maybe I’ll buy some exterior paint from Primm Paint this weekend and paint my door cherry red to match the boots, thought Holly. Right now, Holly’s house was white with black shutters. A red door might look nice. No, maybe she should go for lime green, like Happy the dinosaur. Or chocolate, like Struggle. Or maybe Crayola’s parakeet blue like the sky over the Topiary Park when Plume was still alive. Yes, blue. Holly liked blue.

Holly walked over to the bins that held the monogram letters, flipping through to the Bs to see what colors they had. Mary-Margaret followed.

“You can always buy a miniature initial to hang from your mailbox,” Mary-Margaret said. “Or maybe get an initial on your welcome mat. Instead of the word welcome.”

Welcome was the last word of Mary-Margaret’s Holly let slip inside her head. Funny, that was the one word Holly would have appreciated hearing from the president of the Primm Academy PTA on Ella’s first day of kindergarten. Welcome. Seven letters. Two syllables. One simple word that was never said. Never felt.

Holly held up a white letter B, wondering if it would get dirty hanging outside.

“---.”

What’s that? Did someone say something? Holly put the white letter back and pulled out a parakeet-blue one. If she painted her door cherry red to match the cherry-red boots, and her house was white and her shutters black, maybe a parakeet-blue initial was the way to go.

“---.”

Did someone say something? Is the Pink Witch giving unsolicited decorating advice? No, must be the wind. Must be the rustling of dash marks and punctuation moving through the trees. Holly stayed focused on her thoughts, not letting anything or anyone distract her. The words she heard needed to be her words. Because Holly was in control. Holly decided that yes, the parakeet-blue letter was the way to go, but that maybe a white ribbon would add some nice contrast.

“---!”

I can’t hear a thing. I can simply tune it all out if I want to. If the white ribbon was the wrong choice, Holly could always change it later. She picked up a hardware kit so she could mount the hook and hang her letter as soon as she got home today.

“---.”

If someone’s getting frustrated with the choices I’m making, I’m certainly not worrying about that right now. Why should I care what other people think? Holly pulled aside the cherry-red rubber boots with white polka dots. She’d plant white daisies in each boot, and before the weekend was up, she’d paint her door cherry red to match the boots, and she’d hang this parakeet-blue letter B by this white ribbon. Now for the most important part, the thing Holly had been missing since moving to the Village of Primm: a welcome mat.

Welcome mats were on the table overlooking The Lawn.

Holly walked over, aware that she was being followed.

“---!”

Ho hum. Don’t hear a thing. With the view of happy families enjoying the Cherry Festival, Holly used both hands to flip through the welcome mats, holding each up to find the perfect one. At last, she found it. At the bottom of the pile. It was a soft brown, with lovely scrollwork around its edges. In bold white raised letters was a simple word that meant so much: Welcome.

With no clutter in Holly’s head, with no extraneous words, voices, or fluff to fluster her, Holly paid for her porch decor, then proceeded to leave. No more Pink Witch. La-la-la. Poof! Mary-Margaret’s hold over Holly vanished. Holly released it. And hoped it would stay that way once PTA meetings resumed next week. Secretary. Holly would pay her dues to the Village of Primm for one school year and then return to private life.



After a few hours of watching all the synonyms of happy play out in a buoyant, joyful Ella as she ran around with some of her new classmates, Holly and Jack decided it was time to leave the Cherry Festival on The Lawn and head for Petunia Lane. They told Ella she could run around the magnolia tree one more time, and then they were leaving.

“With my new friend, Talia,” Ella announced, poking Talia in the shoulder. “She’s in my class.”

From behind Talia came Shanequa, waving as she approached. “Hey there, Holly. How’s it going?”