Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(74)

“Don’t I know it,” Holly agreed. “I was there.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Emily, her dainty hand resting on Holly’s arm. “I didn’t realize. When I saw you posting the volunteer sign-up sheets outside the school office yesterday, I assumed you were already an Academy Mom.”

Over Emily’s shoulder through a bank of glass that brought the hallway beyond the conference room into full view, Holly noticed the horticulturist she’d spoken with fifteen minutes earlier when she had first met Plume in the courtyard. The woman rushed the length of the hallway, extended arms punctuating words spoken in what appeared to be an intense conversation with whomever it was following behind her. But who is it? Holly wondered, and then she saw him. It was the man from the vineyard. The G-Class visitor from her driveway who’d delivered the envelope for Jack.

Hoping to get a better shot, Holly shifted in her seat, angling the pinhole camera just so, but the thickness of the glass obstructed their conversation. Muffled words spoken with heat and urgency. Down the hallway they went, horticulturist out front, G-Class in hot pursuit. They continued arguing until they were both out of view.

Returning her attention to Emily, “So what are we supposed to do?” Holly asked, taking a clipboard from the center of the table because other mothers were doing the same.

“Each clipboard is a complete PTA-sponsored project,” said Emily, flipping through the stack of signatures on hers. “Read the description and timeline, then try to determine if the committee is in need of more volunteers. In a few minutes, we’ll take turns discussing each clipboard. Some will be more complete than others. Some will need handouts attached.” She pointed toward tidy stacks of handouts at the head of the table. “Next step will be contacting the person who signed up to be committee head, offering support from the PTA, and answering any questions they might have. We’re trying to assemble complete packets of information before passing the clipboard to the lead volunteer. I have Field Day. What do you have?” Emily gave Holly’s clipboard a once-over.

“Village Outreach,” said Holly, showing Emily her clipboard, which was painted white and featured a large Village of Primm crest on the back.

“Then you’re looking out for that project this year,” explained Emily, “making sure things get done.”

“Would you like to have coffee sometime?” Holly asked, hoping she wasn’t imposing. “To discuss pies and clipboards and things.” She broke eye contact with Emily, glancing down at her clipboard, pretending her invitation for coffee meant less to her than it did.

“I’d love to.” Emily smiled.

“Really?” Yes! thought Holly. “Oh, that’s great. Maybe we can—”

Clap! Clap! Clap! “Yoo-hooo. Lavender!” Mary-Margaret swept quickly into the room, clapping her hands in the air, signaling above the collective chatter that she wanted, specifically, Holly’s attention. “Stop the chitchat. Pay attention, please.” To everyone else, as she arrived at the head of the table, she gave a toothy grin, a “hip, hip,” and a gentle hand placed across her heart, implying that she, like them, felt the “hooray” within.

Meeting called to order, Holly settled in, slipping her phone from her bag to sneak a quick text with Jack.


HOLLY: Hey, Jack. It’s me. Second day of school and I’m in another PTA meeting. First, Friday night’s New Parent Orientation sponsored by the PTA and now this: Volunteer Clipboards. A room full of volunteers volunteering to review volunteers who volunteered to volunteer. I have “Village Outreach.” Sounds humanitarian. Like a “volunteers without borders” sort of thing. Guess what else I’m doing.

JACK: Things aren’t good.

HOLLY: I know, but they’re going to get better. I’ve devised a plan to take Mary-Margaret and her husband down.

JACK: Holly, I have news.

HOLLY: I’m wired with a mic and camera. But don’t tell anyone. I’m on assignment filming the secret lives of moms. I think I can gain access to Mary-Margaret’s husband and help you with your investigation.

JACK: I think I’m losing my job today.

(Pause.)

JACK: Holly—you there?

HOLLY: I heard you.

(Pause.)

JACK: Say something.

HOLLY: I don’t understand. What does this mean? You can find another job, right?

JACK: Not in Primm. Maybe not anywhere. At least, not anytime soon.

HOLLY: But what about the house? We can’t sell it—we paid above asking to outbid that couple from Houston. OMG. What are we going to do?

(Pause.)

JACK: Let’s talk about it when I get home.

HOLLY: When will you know?

JACK: They’re making announcements at five. I’ll call when I can.

HOLLY: Okay.

(Pause.)

HOLLY: Jack?

JACK: Yes?

HOLLY: I love you. We’ll get through this.

JACK: We won’t die in the end?

HOLLY: Are you talking about Mr. and Mrs. Smith? No. No way. It’s all choreographed.

JACK: I find that hard to believe.

HOLLY: Then believe in happy endings.

JACK: This isn’t the movies, Holly. This is reality.


Holly whispered to Emily, “Sorry, but I have to go.” She pushed her chair from the table. “Family emergency.”