Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(92)

“I don’t think that’s what it’s saying,” Jack said.

“Miss Bently says feelings are a lot and all over,” Ella explained, using her hands in grown-up fashion to demonstrate how Miss Bently spoke to the classroom. “And they’re everything. Like that milk,” Ella suggested, pointing to the glass. “It’s not just milk. It’s a drink. So it’s two things. Milk, drink. No.” Ella looked at Jack. “Wait.”

“I think that’s close, Ella,” Jack said. “Great job. But I think, maybe . . .” He checked with Holly to see if he was on the same page as the assignment. “What Miss Bently wants you to do is to learn about different types of words for different ways that you might feel.”

“She wants you to be in touch with your emotions,” Greta offered. “Like when you’re playing with Pinkie Pie. Pinkie Pie makes you feel happy inside. You’re in good spirits. Delighted.”

Holly chimed in. “Yes, good point, Mom. So, Ella, there’s more than one way to be happy.” Holly pulled Ella’s attention back to the thesaurus. “You can be glad; you can be pleased. You can be delighted or willing. Or you can just be content.” Holly shrugged, acting content. “Like you’re telling the world: Hey, everybody, look at me. I’m content. I’m not ecstatic. Because I don’t have to be ecstatic to be happy. I can just be content. Content’s a synonym for happy—just like ecstatic is.”

Jack, Greta, and Holly exchanged glances.

“This is a pretty cool assignment,” Jack said.

“Yes, well. It’s a pretty cool school,” Holly pointed out.

“Keep going.” Ella nudged Holly.

“Not unhappy,” Holly read. “I like that one. Tell yourself, Today, I’m not unhappy. Therefore, I’m happy. This is fun. Says here, a sense of well-being.”

Well-being. Something Ella didn’t have all of a sudden because she sat up in her chair, looking for something. “Where’s Happy?” she asked. “My dinosaur?”

“Isn’t he in your backpack?” Jack asked.

“No . . . I was playing with him . . .” Ella left the table for the family room—stopped dead in her tracks when she saw what was happening to Happy—and Ella let out a wail, a howl, a bawl. Shriek, scream, cry. Something. It was loud.

Everyone jumped, asking, “What is it?” and “What’s wrong?”

“Struggle!” Holly yelled, sliding her chair out from underneath her. “Let go of Happy!”

Ella screamed. She was a few pages after happy. She was hys-ter-i-cal. Jack and Holly moved swiftly to the family room to surround Struggle. Greta swooped Ella into her arms to comfort her.

“Struggle, drop it.” Jack crouched at the waist, arms extended.

Holly and Jack circled the wagons, so to speak, moving like someone had choreographed the scene, like Brad and Angelina at the end of Mr. and Mrs. Smith; both Holly and Jack were ready to pounce on Struggle if she tried bolting from the room with Happy in her mouth. Holly could barely see Happy. Just a lime-green tail jutting out from the side of Struggle’s mouth. Struggle had really sunk her teeth into it this time. Holly wondered if she’d ever let go. Holly thought perhaps Happy’s head might fall off.

“Drop it,” Holly muttered through gritted teeth. “Struggle, please.”

“Struggle, sit,” Jack tried, then, “Stay, Struggle. Stay.”

But nothing worked.

“Hold hands!” Greta shouted. “Form a wall against Struggle.”

Jack and Holly clasped hands, crouched down, then walked slowly toward Struggle. Struggle lowered her head and began growling.

“I’ll try to hold Struggle down,” Jack told Holly, “so you can get a grip on Happy.”

“Got it. Good plan.” They closed in on Struggle, pinning her between the television and the stack of moving boxes that leaned like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. There was nowhere left for Struggle to go. If Holly were Struggle, Holly would surrender and release Happy.

“You can do it!” Ella cheered.

“Team Banks!” Greta shouted.

“On the count of three,” said Jack.

Holly counted, “One, two . . . three!”

Jack leaped onto the dog. Holly took hold of the dinosaur, and together, perfectly choreographed, they ripped Happy from the jaws of Struggle.





37


Later that evening



Holly prepped the kitchen for pies while Greta put Ella to bed. Caleb showed up with his laptop, wearing cargo pants and a faded Walnut Film Festival T-shirt. “You busy?” he asked.

“Yes, why? I’m about to bake some pies.”

“I noticed you hadn’t uploaded any of the film footage yet. I thought I’d come by and help.”

Holly let him in, confessing she had no idea what he was talking about when he told her he’d transferred a raw file to somewhere and then shared it with Holly and now Holly was supposed to retrieve it from someplace and somehow download it somewhere else and, as if by magic, find it again and then add her footage and then create a movie out of it somehow so it would be ready for upload. Somewhere. She didn’t know where. Probably YouTube.

“I went to film school, Caleb. I did. But that was before Ella was born. Heck, I wasn’t even married when I went to film school, so that was, like, almost ten years ago. I was young then. I was hip.”