Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(18)
Holly slid a single notecard made of heavy card stock from the envelope. Below the Feathered Nest Realty logo, printed at the top in stately silver ink with raised embossing, were the words:
Welcome, Banks Family.
Welcome to the Village of Primm!
—Penelope Pratt, Feathered Nest Realty
“Such a lovely gift.” Holly pressed the notecard to her chest. “Thank you.”
“On behalf of Feathered Nest Realty, the Topiary Park Gift Shoppe, and the Village of Primm, you’re quite welcome.” The woman lifted the topiary, slowly, with as much honey and ginger as she could muster, placing it into the crook of Holly’s arms. “Take good care of . . . Anna, did you say?”
“Yes, Anna.” Holly appraised the calligraphy on the white porcelain pot. Gazed at the topiary’s tight, perfectly shaped sphere. Hello, Anna.
Ella leaned onto tippy-toes to get a better look at Anna.
“So what d’you think, Ella? Should we keep her?”
Ella blew Anna a kiss.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Sliding her hand into the pocket of her apron, the woman produced a Feathered Nest Realty card. Magnetic. The kind you could hang on your refrigerator. “When you have a moment, text 911ENCLAVE to this number.” She peered through her reading glasses, down her nose, and toward the number. “You’ll receive Enclave Alerts from Penelope.” Hands back in prayer position, to Ella, the woman said, “Take good care of Anna.” To Holly, she said, “Welcome to the Village of Primm, Banks Family.” Off the praying woman went to help an overwhelmed mom with a crying baby hoist a bronze replica of Plume onto the back of her stroller. Tail feathers mottled with umber patina, the statue looked heavy and quite a bother, but who was Holly to judge? Maybe she, too, wanted a piece of Plume.
Holly handed Anna to Ella. “Be careful.”
Ella, barely three and a half feet tall, hugged the base of Anna’s porcelain cachepot, Anna’s slender twig body leading upward to a twelve-inch round topiary “head” that was now eye level with Holly.
Holly texted “911ENCLAVE” to the number on the card, and presto! A message appeared.
Penelope Pratt
Feathered Nest Realty
—ENCLAVE ALERTS—
Drive safely! Primm Academy starts Tuesday. Go Honeybees!
(Text “BA-BYE, SUMMER!” to 125VILLAGEROWE to launch an onslaught of school emails.)
Mortified by lifeless mulch? A small investment will bring new life to your mulch beds.
Deliveries scheduled for enclaves: Hobnob, Chum, Ballyhoo, and Pram
(Text “CHA-CHING” to PRIMMULCH to place your order.)
F.U. Frisbee is this Saturday!
Swim Moms vs. Gym Moms—11 am
Team Buttercream vs. The Pink Erasers—12 noon
Winecraft vs. PokeMOMS—1 pm
(Avoid injury by playing sober. Review tournament rules by texting “F.U. MOMS!” to FU-PRIMM!)
And please, please keep Plume in your prayers. Something is eating her face.
(For the latest gossip text “YUCK.IS.IT.HEAD.LICE?” to PRIMMLOVESPLUME.)
Hmm. Still no response to her earlier text to Jack. What’s he doing?
Holly and Ella left the gift shop, carrying Anna with them through a sprawling system of tree houses placed high in the trees and connected by eco-friendly suspension bridges. Everywhere they walked, they saw families. Some noticed Anna Wintour and welcomed them to Primm, but for the most part, Holly and Ella passed like ghosts or nameless tourists, unseen by others.
“Ella, take your thumb out, please.” Holly tugged at Ella’s wrist, almost pulling her loose tooth out. “Wow, Ella. That’s ready to come out.”
Ella wrapped her arms around Holly’s waist to nestle in, stepping on Holly’s toes with her sparkly lavender Mary Janes. Holly set Anna down so they could sway to the tinkling sounds of a nearby wind chime made entirely of glass beads, copper pennies, and antique spoons. She pressed the fleshy tip of Ella’s nose, treating it as she would the bulbous shutter-release button on her camera. If she could, she would tuck a photo of Ella at age five into the face of Father Time, hoping to jam his second hand—stop it from ticking. Ella was like a sprinkle of fireflies. “Stop growing, Ella,” Holly whispered. “Stay with me awhile.” She bent down to kiss Ella’s cheek. “Are you sleepy?”
“Just my eyes are sleepy,” Ella assured Holly. “Not my whole body.” Ella tucked her thumb between her lips.
“No thumb, sweetie.” Holly pulled it out; then she bent down to brush the tip of her nose against Ella’s.
When Holly stood upright, she heard a bzzzt, turned to look, and—thwap!—got whacked in the head with something large, black, and plastic. It clipped her shoulder, then crashed to the ground. “What the—?” Holly rubbed her head.
“That’s a spaceship!” Ella bent to touch it.
The pilot of the unmanned aircraft rushed toward them. “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry!” He waved a remote control in the air. “I’m so sorry,” he panted, retrieving the downed object.