CHAPTER 16
Melinda
I look down at my dress and second guess my choice. It’s designer, but it’s also pretty and feminine. Ultimately, my lack of time to go buy something else was the deciding factor in what to wear to the Lantern Festival.
It really is kind of perfect for a southern, outdoor festival. Mint green with embroidered watermelon slices around the hem. It’s got a halter top and sweetheart neckline, fitted down through my waist where it then has sort of a 50’s flare to the skirt part. I’ve only worn it once before to a garden party in the Hamptons, and that worked well there too, but it totally works tonight. I’ve got a small, white cardigan to put on if it gets chilly but this is North Carolina in the summer and chilly would be high seventies. It’s only eight PM and it still feels like we’re on the front doors of hell, so I have it folded over the edge of my purse.
I’m also glad I chose to go light on makeup, as otherwise it would have melted off by now. I’ve resolved myself to a dewy-looking complexion—or otherwise known as sweat—and I’m thankful I pay a lot of money for an expensive deodorant that works.
The Lantern Festival is a town sponsored event that’s been held the second to last week of July every year since 1841 to celebrate the tobacco harvest and the curing process of the bright leaf brand. The lanterns were released as a means of requesting good fortune on the harvest and was just a big old party of sorts. Oddly, the biggest farmers of tobacco in this area used to be Lowe’s family, but they’ve cut that back significantly as much of it’s now produced overseas. Regardless, the Lantern Festival was too much fun to ever give up.
With the waning of tobacco production in this area, the modern Lantern Festival is more about celebrating continued good success of the town of Whynot. It’s held out on Mainer Farms because it can accommodate the hundreds upon hundreds of people that will show up, and while the city provides the funding for a good chunk of it, the use of the land for the festival is donated by Lowe’s family as is one of their big barns for a dance.
I consider leaving my purse in my rental car but decide against it as the dress doesn’t have pockets. I’d feel naked without my cell phone and lip gloss. I may not have put on makeup, but I need my lip gloss.
Lowe had offered to come get me for the festival, but I declined for only one reason. Because the festival was being held on his family’s farm, he was working out there all day today helping with the setup. I just didn’t want him to have to be bothered with working out in the hot sun all day, rushing home to get a shower, then rushing to get me and back again.
Lowe was not happy about my reasoning. His exact words were, “When a man takes a woman out on a date, he picks her up.”
“Then this isn’t a date,” I’d replied.
He kissed me hard, and I almost gave in. Of course, this was all within just minutes after we got Morri calmed down again, so I wasn’t thinking at my best.
It’s not even a date, but it really kind of is even if I drove out to the farm myself. I’m only here because Lowe is here, and I want to see him.
End of story.
Or beginning.
I follow the crowds of people who had all been directed by event volunteers that had us park in a field off the main road into the farm. It’s still light outside, and the air is heavy with the sounds of crickets and bullfrogs. I’m not sure if it was coordinated with Mother Nature or not, but there are a huge abundance of fireflies winking in and out across the fields as we are corralled toward a large, gray barn where I can hear country music.
Several people smile and nod their heads at me, some in recognition, some just being polite. I learned soon enough that everyone always says hello in the South. Even driving on a country road into Milner, every car you pass they hold up their hand in a wave of greeting to you. I’ve never encountered such general friendliness for no other reason than to be friendly.
It’s kind of amazing but my grandmother, Glory, had told me this about her beloved South long before she ever died. It was one of the things that was hard to understand until you see it, and then you just get it. Southerners are just friendly people.
The festival setup is utterly amazing.
There’s the big barn with the wide doors propped open and the interior lit with dozens of strung lanterns of any type and variety. Paper lanterns, brass ones, those made from glass and hurricane lanterns. I even see some with Chinese silk patterns. None of it’s cohesive. Yet, because it’s a Lantern Festival and they are all lanterns, it works.
Outside the bar, a perimeter of stalls has been set up hawking various foods, drinks, games, local and handmade items, as well as a kissing booth and a dunking booth. There’s even a batting cage set up where some kids who look to be in high school are taking swings with the bat.
I step into the barn, seeing a band up on a stage at one end playing country music. I don’t really follow country, so I have no clue if they’re even any good or not. There are hay bales stacked all over the place for both decoration and seating, as well as a raised wooden platform where people are dancing.
A tap on my shoulder has me looking over my shoulder, and my breath catches when I see Lowe there. He’s holding a single peach-colored rose out to me, but I can barely even look at it because the smile he’s giving me is so captivating.
“You’re gorgeous, Mely,” he says as he presents the flower.
I’m pretty sure my ovaries explode in realization that this might be the most romantic gesture anyone’s ever done for me.
A heartfelt compliment and a uniquely colored rose.
“You look great yourself,” I tell him softly, and he looks so darn great.
He’s wearing nothing more than a pair of khaki shorts, a light blue t-shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes. He’s more than casual. He’s relaxed in his being and that’s more attractive than a designer suit in my opinion.
His hazel eyes scan me in appreciation, and then lock onto mine for a moment before he grins. “Wanna go make out in the woods now or later?”
I laugh. “Whenever you want.”
“Later,” he says with a chuckle as he takes my hand and tucks it into the crook of his elbow. “Right now, I want to introduce you around to everyone. We also need to get some pig before all the good parts are taken.”
“Pig?” I ask hesitantly.
“Never been to a pig pickin’ I take it,” he says as he leads me out of the barn and around the side of it where I see several large, black smokers on wheels.
A few of the tops are open, and laying on the metal grates are half carcasses of cooked pig.
Gross.
“Surely you don’t—” I start to say.
Lowe finishes. “—pick the meat right off the pig? Yup. That’s a pig pickin’, although some of it’s already been pulled and sauced up.”
“Sauced?”
“Eastern North Carolina style,” he continues to explain. “Vinegar based. The best.”
I don’t make any comment because I’m always willing to try new foods. I merely observe as Lowe takes me over to a table filled with paper plates, utensils, buns, and jugs of what looks like vinegar with red pepper flakes in it.
Lowe carries on chitchat with the men manning the smokers, and I watch as he reaches over one of the pigs. With his fingers, he pulls off long pieces of tender-looking meat. He makes us sandwiches, layering the pork on soft, white buns, crowning only mine with coleslaw since it clearly has mayonnaise in it, and pours some of the vinegar sauce over to finish.
He then carries the two plates over to an area that has about two dozen picnic tables, most all filled, but he manages to find us a seat. Several tiki torches line the area, and I smell a lemony scent coming from them that I’m assuming helps to keep the infernal mosquitos at bay. So far, I haven’t been bitten once tonight.
After we sit, Lowe picks up his sandwich and takes a huge bite. As he chews, he nods down at mine, so I follow suit.
And the taste explosion.
The texture… the most tender cut of pork I’ve ever had before. The bland but soft white roll only letting me focus in on the seasoning of the vinegar sauce, and the delicate taste of the coleslaw.
I chew heartily to make room in my mouth so I can answer without swallowing, “Wow. Just… wow.”
“Right?” He takes another big bite, and I mimic. For several minutes, we just eat in silence. I mean, food this good should be the most important thing between a couple on their first date.
♦
Sadly, there are no restroom facilities out on Mainer Farms so the only thing so far I am not enjoying is the need to use one of the dozen Porta Potties the town rented. There are easily over a thousand people here, and that means by the time we finish dinner, have a few drinks, and listen to the band, there are lines formed in front of each one.
I left my purse back in the barn with Lowe at a table we sat at with his mom, dad, Larkin, and their brother, Colt. I’d met Larkin’s twin, Laken, but she came with a date and spent more time with him making out on the dance floor than socializing. I met Trixie and Ry as well. They stayed away from the barn, stating the music was too loud, but I suspect she just wanted to hang out with Pap, who was totally vocal that the music was too loud and was hanging out with some people near the beer kegs that he’d supplied for the festival.
I wish I’d brought my phone out with me, as I can’t stand being idle as I wait for the two people in front of me to use the Porta Potty.
Eyes drifting and ears opening, I peruse my surroundings. The minute I hear Lowe’s name, I go on hyper alert. Turning my head slightly to the left, I see two women standing in line at the Porta Potty just three over from where I am and slightly behind me. I immediately recognize one as the pretty woman named Lynette who yelled to Lowe that he was looking good and he said she was too.
And damn… she’s so pretty and sexy and I don’t like her, and oh my God… I’m freaking jealous.
“I could get Kirk to come fix it,” Lynette tells her friend. “I do believe he’d go kill someone if I asked him since he’s so desperate to get back in my pants, but I’d rather watch Lowe bent over my bathroom drain to fix it any day of the week.”
My blood pressure starts to rise, and I try to force myself to disengage from listening to this woman, but I can’t. Not only am I too nosy, but she’s talking too loud.
The woman who is standing next to her—a pretty girl with a brunette bob—says, “Lynette… I think Lowe’s attention is elsewhere. Maybe you should give Kirk a chance.”
“Kirk’s okay,” Lynette tells her friend, oblivious that pretty much everyone in line can hear her, and I’m thinking alcohol may be at play here. Billy Crump from the grocery store was handing out mini mason jars of peach moonshine. “But Lowe is the real catch. Best-looking guy in these parts, plus an heir to Mainer Farms. Plus…”
And here, she lowers her voice but sadly, just not enough. “He’s dynamite in the sack.”
I wince at that news because that makes me more jealous. She has bigger boobs and a jeweled belly piercing. Far more exciting than me with my mint-green dress with watermelons.
“Lynette Carnes,” a woman says. I glance over to two ladies standing in the next line over, both probably in their mid-fifties. One I recognize as Muriel who owns Central Café, but the other I don’t, although she’s pretty and she looks very nice. I make this judgment on the mere fact she’s glaring at Lynette along with Muriel. “That is completely unladylike to talk like that in public. What would your mama say?”
“She’s probably too drunk to care,” Lynette retorts hotly. That freaking makes me sad for her, and now I empathize a little.
And I don’t want to empathize.
But then Lynette’s eyes travel past Muriel and the other lady, and lock right onto me. I know she knew I’d been standing there and listening. Without even looking at the other women, and keeping her gaze pinned right on me, she tells them, “Besides… Lowe likes my package. Said so himself just the other day.”
My teeth grit, and I think I might actually hate her.
Okay, I don’t hate anyone, but I definitely have no empathy for her anymore.
“Miss… bathroom’s open,” a man says behind me with a tiny tap on my shoulder. I startle, then look over my shoulder to give him an apologetic smile.
Turning to the Porta Potty, I go in and do my business. When I’ve finished and doused my hands in the sanitizer provided, I make my way out without looking anywhere but the ground. I hurry back toward the barn where I left Lowe.
He snatches me by the elbow just as I enter, and my head pops up in surprise.
“Heard you got a taste of Lynette Carne’s tongue,” he says sympathetically, and my mouth drops open.
“How could you have heard that already?” I ask in absolute astonishment as I look from him, to the barn door, then back to him again. “I wasn’t in that toilet for more than five minutes.”
Lowe shrugs as he pulls me away from the barn. “Small-town gossip travels fast.”
I guess.
When we’re thirty yards away from the noise and bustle of the festival, I think to ask, “Where are we going?”
“They’re going to be launching the lanterns soon, and I wanted to take you to the best seat in the house,” he says mysteriously as we reach a patch of trees. It’s full-on night and the moon is hidden by clouds, so Lowe pulls his cell phone out and turns on a flashlight app to light a path that’s just become visible.
“But aren’t they launching all the lanterns back at the barn?” I ask curiously.
“Yup,” he says. “But that’s not the best place to see them.”
I accept his word as his hand drops from my elbow but only to grab my hand. He squeezes and then leads me into what I’d take for a forest, but as soon as we start walking the path, I can see a clearing coming into view not far ahead.
The sounds of the music and people start to fade away, and I notice the crickets and bullfrogs getting louder.
“I hope you didn’t take Lynette seriously?” Lowe says out of the blue.
“Not any of my business what you did with her in the past,” I mutter.
Lowe laughs and squeezes my hand again. “It was a long, long time ago. I’m not interested in her.”
This is simply said, but it’s done with feeling, I can tell. It makes me smile, and I feel comfortable in teasing, “Then what are you interested in?”
“Not what,” he says without pausing in his stride or looking back at me. Yet, his words are meant only for me as he adds on, “Who.”
“Then who?”
“Come on, Mely” he says teasingly as he pulls me along the path. “You know the answer to that already.”