CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
THE COUNTY FAIR IS ALWAYS the last weekend in July. It’s not in Sand Lake, but in Plaistow, three towns west and way more rural. There are rides, music, livestock competitions, games. Business at the stand is usually pretty dead that weekend, and the Head Girl normally stacks the schedule so every girl gets one night off to go.
Amelia assumes that’s what Cate will do too. But when Cate hangs up the schedule for that week, she’s got a red line drawn through Saturday’s second shift, as if the stand were completely closed.
Cate comes up behind her. “Don’t say anything,” she whispers, which is the most she has spoken to Amelia in a week. And it feels like a test of Amelia’s loyalty.
Grady comes in a few minutes later, looking for the drill. He glances at the schedule. “What’s up with Saturday night?” His eyes go right to Amelia for an answer.
Cate pipes up from the office. “Oh. I figured Amelia would have said something. Every year, Molly Meade would give everyone the night off for the fair. It was like a special thing she would do for all the girls. Like . . . for bonding.”
Amelia tenses, thinking of Grady’s declined credit card. Shutting down the stand, even for one night, means lost revenue. He said the stand is profitable, but can they afford it?
“Sounds fun. And you know what? I’ll pay for everything. Rides, food, the works.”
Amelia spins. “You don’t have to do that,” she urges.
Cate comes bounding out of the office. “That’s really nice of you, Grady. I bet Molly would be proud.” At this, Amelia’s stomach turns over.
“Please,” Grady says benevolently. “It’s the least I can do. I used to be the social director of my fraternity. I’d plan outings and stuff to basketball games, a boxing match. I know how to do it up. Tell the girls to dress up. We’ll meet here. Everyone can go over together.”
Amelia pulls him aside. “Seriously, you don’t have to do this.” She wants to say more—that Cate’s making the whole thing up, closing for the night isn’t a real tradition—but she can’t bring herself to throw Cate under the bus. Though things are fraught between them, Cate is still her best friend.
“It’s worth it to take you on a date, Amelia. Here’s my shot.”
* * *
And so on Saturday, Meade Creamery closes at five o’clock.
Amelia shows up in a pink floral dress with buttons up the front. She braided her hair after her shower that morning, and now it is all waves. Despite everything, she’s excited for tonight.
Cate’s in a silky green romper and a long gold locket. “You look pretty,” Amelia tells her.
“Thank you,” Cate says stiffly. “You too.” And then, to the other girls milling around the front of the stand, Cate wonders, “Is he planning to drive us all over in the pink Cadillac?”
Grady comes down from the house. He’s got on a dark denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a pair of light denim jeans, and his boat shoes. He’s gotten a haircut. And Amelia can smell his cologne. Cedar and clove and orange.
“You look nice,” he tells Amelia. His focus is solely on her as if no one else is there.
“Thanks.” But she’s quick to look around and add, “All the girls look nice tonight, don’t they?”
“Yes they do.” Grady shades his eyes and smiles at the road. “Ah, looks like our ride is here.”
The girls cheer as a white stretch limo pulls into the stand driveway.
Amelia has never ridden in a limousine before. She was actually kind of disappointed when their group rented a party bus for prom. The man driving it comes out wearing a black suit and tie.
Grady claps his hands. “All right! Let’s get our kettle corn on!” he says, and opens the limo door.
“Oh, wait.” Cate stops, and laughs awkwardly. “I didn’t realize you were coming with us, Grady. This is normally a girls-only night. I’m sorry. I thought I made that clear.”
Fuming, Amelia whispers to Cate, “You do remember that this isn’t an actual tradition, right? Just one you made up?”
Grady glumly stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Ah. Okay. Well, that makes sense.”
Amelia quickly grabs him by the elbow. To the other girls, she announces, “Since Grady’s paying, I think he deserves to be made an honorary Meade Creamery girl tonight, don’t you all?” And instead of waiting for an answer, Amelia is the first to climb aboard.
* * *
The girls hang back as Grady approaches the ticket booth. Amelia stays as close as she can to him, watching out of the corner of her eye as one, then another, of his credit cards get declined.
Grady pulls out a third. “Sorry, but could you give this one a try?”
The boy at the booth slides it into the machine. “Sorry, man.”
Amelia wraps her arms around herself. Though Grady played it off to her initially, it’s clear now that this is a repercussion from his dad.
“Grady, we can pay for ourselves.” She discreetly slides her hand into his and gives him a squeeze, whispering, “No date is worth this much.”
“I have cash.” He opens his wallet and hands every last dollar over, buying admission for every girl and as many ride tickets as he can. “I can get more rides and food if anyone wants,” he tells them as he passes them. “I’ll just need to hit up an ATM.”
Amelia is just about to say thank you when Cate does something completely unexpected, snaking her arm through Amelia’s and dragging her off like old times.
After all these summers, Cate and Amelia have their county fair routine down pat. Together, they lead the charge, herding the girls toward their personal favorite rides (the bumper cars, the Super Slide, the Tilt N Swing) bypassing the rides that make them sick (the teacups, the Zipper). They each get a corn dog and a fresh-squeezed lemonade, split a bag of rainbow cotton candy, and devour it all while watching three college-age girls in matching denim dresses harmonize a country version of a Katy Perry song onstage at the grandstand. They pet the baby lambs in the livestock pen. They even get their faces painted, just one cheek, the Best Friends Forever broken heart.
As good as it feels to be with Cate, Amelia hates leaving Grady at the back of their group. She tries her best to make him feel included, pulling him in on different conversations, smiling when she catches his eye, but she’s also careful not to be too chummy with him either.
It kills her to do this. This night is for her.
Some of the girls want to get their fortunes read, and Cate leads the way to the striped tent. Amelia’s following too, until Grady slips his hand in hers and pulls her to a stop.
“Will you ride the Ferris wheel with me?”
“Grady, I—”
“Come on. Get on quick, before they notice we’re gone.”
They hurry quickly into the Ferris wheel line, climb into a car, and swirl their way up to the top. It’s dark, and the stars twinkle above them.
“What’s going on with your credit cards?”
“Let’s not talk about it. Not when I finally have you to myself.”
“It’s your dad. He’s punishing you.”
“Don’t worry,” he says, threading some hair behind her ear.
“What are you going to do about Truman?”
“I’ll figure it out. So long as I have the stand, I’ve got something.”
Their ride is coming to an end. As their carriage lowers to the ground, Amelia sees Cate and the other girls emerging from the fortune-teller tent, looking around for them. She squeezes Grady’s hand tightly.
“It’s cool,” he tells her. “You can let go. I’m not offended. I knew what tonight would be like.”
She eventually does let go, but not a second before she absolutely has to.
* * *
That night, as she snuggles into bed, Amelia reads a diary entry.
August 10, 1945
I don’t quite have the words for how I am feeling tonight. Or what to put in my letter to Wayne.
Almost a month ago, I wrote to Wayne, overjoyed about how well my ice cream went over at the benefit.
He never wrote back.
And then, two weeks ago, I wrote to him again about what might be the happiest day in my life thus far. My first day selling ice cream at our farm stand.
Maybe that is the problem.
I’ve never been more tired in my whole life as I was that night, but I was desperate to put the entire day down on paper, so I wouldn’t forget a single wonderful moment. I knew I only had it in me to write it once, with all the emotion I was feeling. But instead of writing it here, in my diary, I decided to put it down in a letter to Wayne.
It was my longest one yet, pages and pages and pages. I wrote for more than an hour, even though I had a burning cramp in my hand from all the scooping. I didn’t dare stop, afraid some little thing might slip away from me and be lost. The aprons all the girls wore. How long the line got and who was in it. Just wanting to get down every single moment for Wayne, so he could feel as if he were here with me, living it with me.
I have been checking the postbox every day. Waiting for his reply. Or for both my letters to be returned. Undeliverable would almost be better.
Today, his response finally came. A quick note, just to say hello and that he loves me. Nothing about my letters, even though I know he at least received the last one, because he casually mentioned one small thing I had written about a friend of his—Paul Hockey—who’d asked after him when he reached the front of the line.
No pride in me.
No excitement for what I had accomplished.
When I got to his signature, I burst into tears and ran straight to my room. Mother came right up after me and pushed open my bedroom door, convinced I’d received some sort of bad news about Wayne. She took the letter straight out of my hand and read it and was so relieved.
But it was bad news, to me.
I told Mother how upset I was, but she thinks I’m batty for caring this much about ice cream, especially in light of the things Wayne and my brothers are facing every day. She made a million excuses for him, that he could have been going off to battle, that maybe a second page of his letter had somehow not made it into the envelope.
She said, in all honesty, “How could he care, Moll? This is a hobby for this summer. Once Wayne comes home, you’ll get married and start a family. And, God willing, if things keep going well for our side, your brothers and Wayne will be home before you know it, and you can go back to being just Molly. And everything will be the way it was always supposed to be.”
Mother said it to comfort me, but it did the opposite.
The war changes people. I’ve seen it in Sy Sampson and Harry Gund, who came back. I sense it in Wayne.
But I think the war is changing me, too. And I’m not sure I can go back. I’m not sure I want to.