Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(4)

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, sorry. Nothing.” Holly tried minimizing her bizarre actions, the way Jack so often did, by explaining, “I went to film school. I sometimes imagine—things remind me—never mind. What were you saying?”

Holly answered Penelope’s questions, citing Jack’s recent job relocation as their reason for moving to the Village of Primm and confirming that Ella was their only child and was starting kindergarten on Tuesday—the day after Labor Day. “I’ll be looking for work once Ella gets settled in school.” Holly hugged the product samples in a polite, jovial way. “But I highly doubt there’s much of a film industry in the Village of Primm, so maybe I’ll have to find work in a bookstore or something.” She nodded to the bottle of wine in her armpit. “Is the vineyard hiring?” She didn’t mention they desperately needed the money because they were in over their heads with this starter home on Petunia. Holly had pressured Jack into buying in the best school district. Southern Lakes didn’t have a charter school. The Village of Primm had Primm Academy. And a lot more too. But then, Penelope already knew all that. She was the one who had sold them this bill of goods.

“Very fine. This is excellent, Holly.” Penelope clicked her pen, tossed it into her shoulder bag. “I’ll get this information to the Primm Gazette. Thank you.”

As Penelope took leave of Holly’s front porch, a black, very square Mercedes SUV with tinted windows rolled slowly past Penelope’s car and into Holly’s driveway.

“You have a visitor.” Penelope appeared impressed. “A G-Class visitor.”

“No one I know.” Must be a friend of Collette’s who doesn’t realize she’s moved.

“Actually, I’ve seen that car.” Penelope glanced back at Holly. “At the vineyard. They have new owners. An investment group. Or something.” Penelope clutched the strap of her bag with both hands. Like she was hanging on for dear life but hoping no one would notice. “So that’s why calls are coming in for the Stone House. Huh. Oh well.” She shrugged, presumably sweeping the Stone House under the rug in favor of making her way down Holly’s exposed aggregate sidewalk before the visitor in Holly’s drive stepped out to say hello. “There’s a certificate for a Welcome to Primm topiary.” She pointed to the sliding pile in Holly’s arms. “Compliments of Feathered Nest Realty. You can pick it up in the Topiary Park Gift Shoppe. Oh! Bring Ella to the topiary petting zoo. Huge topiary-plant animals you can touch but not climb. Mother Goose, the Three Little Pigs. Other animals, too, like horses lined up for a steeplechase, a turkey, some truly exquisite butterflies. Plume holds court at the entrance to the petting zoo. Ella will love Plume. Everyone loves Plume!”

“Plume?”

“Plume’s a peacock. She’s the Village of Primm mascot—a matriarch! No—a piece of art. Southern Lakes has pink flamingo lawn ornaments. Primm? Primm has Plume. She’s twenty-five feet tall, and her tail feathers—wow. You’ve never seen so many white begonias. Snapdragons, verbena . . . when the wind blows, you can smell Plume a mile away.”

“So Plume’s a female?”

“Yes. Huge tourist attraction.” Penelope burst with pride. Pride—over a bird. “Huge! But yes. She’s a female. Why?”

“Because peacocks are male. If Plume is female—wouldn’t she be a peahen?”

“Oh, no.” Penelope was certain. “Plume’s definitely a girl.”

“Then she’s a peahen.”

“Um.” Penelope rolled her eyes up, tapped a finger against her cheek. “Sure.” She smiled at last. “If you say so. You know about the event at the school tonight? New Parent Orientation?”

“Oh, sure. Meet the teachers before school starts on Tuesday.”

“Exactly. Okay, then.” Penelope eyed the Mercedes while hoisting a wayward tote strap onto her shoulder. “My cousin—I told you about her? She’s president of the Primm Academy PTA, so I’ll be there in a show of support. But Holly”—Penelope lowered her eyes—“if I were you? I’d go to the New Parent Orientation and meet the teachers. But for the PTA portion of the night? I’d arrive late and sneak out early, or you’ll sign your life away volunteering for things you couldn’t care less about. Box Tops? Pimping raffle tickets? Trust me: the school enrolls the child; the PTA enrolls the mom. Don’t fall into that trap. In Primm? It’s brutal. But you didn’t hear that from me. Wear the yellow shirt.” She pointed. “Team Buttercream. It’s like blocking a spell cast by a passive-aggressive witch. You’ll see. Best wishes with the unpack, Holly. And welcome to Primm!” She pointed to Holly’s grass. “Mind if I?”

“Go right ahead.”

Penelope lifted the pant legs of her butter-yellow suit to flit across Holly’s lawn toward the street, where her Feathered Nest Realty car was parked. To Holly’s mind, she looked like a canary. Heels prodding the soil, Penelope took wing with sharp, jerky movements, always aware of the G-Class in the driveway. Birds can’t independently move their eyes without also moving their heads, thought Holly. To look at something, they have to turn their heads to face it.

Holly averted her gaze toward the co-op garden on the cul-de-sac at the end of Petunia Lane. Penelope had said there was a high concentration of Foodie Moms living in the Petunia enclave, and that made Holly a bit nervous. She wasn’t a Foodie Mom. She liked food and all—she ate it. But she wasn’t a Foodie Mom. Although, hey. Maybe with a little effort, she could become a Foodie Mom. You know . . . fit in. Start her new life on Petunia with a big bowl of quinoa and a tall glass of kombucha. Or kale! That was it. Kale. Who knew what might become of her? This move to the Village of Primm had opened up a whole new world—a familiar world, but one that was turned up a notch. She suspected Primm operated a few decibels above the norm. Like an amplified electric guitar played with distortion. You liked it because power chords heightened the experience, making you feel life was being lived with higher intensity.