Two of a Kind (Fool's Gold #11)(45)

“Thanks,” the man said, putting his arm around his wife. “You know, a lemonade sounds good.”

The family walked in the direction of the food court. Felicia stared after them, trying not to take the boy’s comments personally, but it was difficult. She’d so wanted the festival to go well.

By eight that night, Felicia was ready to admit defeat. She’d been verbally chastised by both the honey vendor and a small boy looking for the lady who made the balloon animals. When Mayor Marsha walked up to her, she knew she had to come clean.

“It’s a disaster,” she said, facing her boss. “I’m sorry. I was so sure my way would be better. The flow is easier and I know there are more people listening to the music. But maybe I overestimated how much that would matter. Change can be difficult, I know. I took on too much.”

The mayor waited a beat. “Is that what you really think?”

“No,” Felicia told her. “I don’t. Before, it was silly. With the corn dog vendor by the tarot card reader, people were eating when they came by. Even if they wanted a reading, they weren’t always comfortable going into her booth while holding a corn dog. And the lines for the food spilled in front of other booths, blocking them. There wasn’t enough seating for the various bands. This is better. Only no one believes me.”

Mayor Marsha linked her arm through Felicia’s. “In the words of Yogi Berra, Imperfectum est dum conficiatur.”

Felicia translated in her head. “It’s not over until it’s over?”

“Exactly. There are still two more days. Give people a chance to get used to things. I like what you’ve done, and I suspect they will, too.”

“Is this before or after they lynch me?”

“Hopefully before.”

Felicia stopped and faced the older woman. “Are you angry?”

“Not at all. You’re doing your job.”

“What if I ruined everyone’s holiday? What if they don’t have good memories of this Fourth of July?”

“You’re assuming a lot more power than you really have. The memories are about them, not you. Searching for an elephant ear isn’t going to ruin anyone’s day.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I usually am.”

* * *

GIDEON WENT LOOKING for Felicia around sunset. He found her by the park, on the edge of the crowd listening to the bluegrass band.

“What are the odds of them doing a cover of the Beatles’ ‘Hard Day’s Night’?” he asked as he approached.

She surprised him by dropping her tablet on the ground and stepping into his embrace. She wrapped both her arms around his waist and hung on tight.

“Hey,” he said, stroking her long red hair. “You okay?”

“No.” Her voice was muffled against his chest. “I’m not. Everyone hates me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Everyone but you. It’s awful. I thought I was tough and brave, but I’m not. I’m weak. I’m a failure.”

He touched her chin, nudging her until she looked up at him. Her green eyes were swimming with tears.

“You’re also a little dramatic. Getting your time of the month?”

She managed a smile. “You’re trying to distract me with sexist comments.”

“Is it working?”

“A little.” She drew in a breath. “The festival is a disaster, and it’s all my fault.”

He glanced around. “I don’t know. People seem to be having a good time.”

“They’re not. No one can find anything. The vendors are furious. The band guy acted like I was stupid.”

“That must have been refreshing.”

She dropped her head to his chest. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

“It’s a festival, kid. Not world peace. If you screw up, no one dies.”

She raised her head and sniffed. “Perspective. You’re right. I messed up, but I’ll do better next time.”

“There you go.”

More tears shimmered in her eyes, and one trickled down her cheek. He felt like someone had kicked him in the gut.

“Why are you crying?”

“I feel awful. I’m not used to failure.” She wiped away the tear, then leaned against him again. “When I was fourteen, there was this guy. Brent. He was one of the few students who would talk to me. Maybe because he was older. He’d been in the army, in Iraq. He’d lost both his legs and was in a wheelchair. He was like a dad to me.”

She sniffed again, still hanging on to him. “He was in a lot of pain all the time, but he was so brave. I tutored him for a few math classes. He’s the one who talked to me about becoming an emancipated minor. He helped me with the paperwork and went to court with me.”

“He sounds like a nice guy,” Gideon said, doing his best not to be jealous. She’d said dad, not boyfriend.

“Brent’s the reason I joined the military. I wanted to honor him. Whenever I got scared, I thought about what he would do, what would make him proud.” She stepped away and looked around. “If he were still alive, he wouldn’t be very impressed with me today.”

She drew in a breath. “Not by the mistake—everyone makes mistakes. But because I’m crying over it. Talk about stupid.”