All or Nothing(16)

I grinned. Mom played along with Dad’s pomp and self-importance, but she never took herself or our family too seriously. She was probably the only reason I hadn’t grown up to be a self-involved asshat.

We climbed the steps of Village Hall, first Dad with Grandma at his side, then my sisters, giggling and checking their hair, then Mom and me behind. Dad took his place behind the podium and adjusted the microphone. I pasted on a smile and looked out across the sea of winter hats as he began his usual speech. I’d listened to this all my life and if I had to step in, I could recite his usual speech verbatim. Thank you all for coming, proud moment, blah, blah, I’m the most awesomesauce mayor ever in the history of mayors. Maybe not that last part, but it was close.

“We even have a special treat,” my father added when the applause had died down a bit. “A couple of our very own hometown kids and their band, External Resurrection, will be playing tomorrow night!”

My heart skittered to a halt. No doubt, he was referring to Internal Insurrection, Everly’s band. And no doubt that was what had brought Bree to town. She wasn’t here for us. She was here for her BFF and partner in punk crime. She rarely missed Everly’s shows.

I wanted to be annoyed that no one had told me about Everly’s band playing, but I hadn’t concerned myself with Winterfest planning much this year, and it was my own fault I didn’t know.

That same old awkward feeling I got every time I thought about Everly washed over me. Damn. I’d really screwed that up. She was just so sweet and…breakable behind her punk rocker façade. I was like the kid who knew he shouldn’t have played with mom’s precious china but couldn’t resist, and for all my attempts to pretend it hadn’t happened, we both knew I’d hurt her. I hadn’t meant to, but it was Winterfest and we’d been drinking and laughing and the next thing I knew we were caught up in the moment.

I’d totally screwed up, and if she was coming back to perform, I was going to have to face it.

Dad jabbered on about the great town, and I was only half paying attention when he turned to me and said something about passing on his legacy. The crowd cheered.

Fucking fantastic. Not only did he plan out my life without my input, now he had the town in on it.

He passed the mic off to Grandma, who hugged him before stepping behind the podium. Honestly, Grandma was as bad as Dad in her self-importance. He’d had to learn it from somewhere, I guessed. She gave the history of Hale Bridge, working her way to the story’s dark moment, when the Hale family had swept in to save the day.

“My late husband, Barnaby Hale, and I were honored to be of service to our community in the past, but this time the restoration of Hale Bridge is in your hands as well. The Hale Family Trust will match the collective contribution of this year’s Winterfest proceeds, but we’re going to need a significant amount of help funding this latest renovation. Especially so if the bridge is going to last to the end of our century and remain a standing monument in our town for our great-grandchildren and beyond.”

With that, we were excused from our duties and I led the way off the steps and away from the expectant eyes of the town. The thing was, the idea of coming back here someday sounded pretty damn good to me. A home in Abbott Springs with a wife and a couple of kids—I could picture it. But I didn’t want that life to be in the shadow of my father. I wanted more.

Looking up, I caught Aubree staring at me from behind a refreshment table and thought, More. She was helping Abbott’s Sweet Confections pass out free cups of steaming hot apple cider. Her cheeks blazed pink in the winter chill, and she gave a soft half-smile before looking away.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. My brain kept playing that word on repeat as I looked at her. More.





When I told my friends in Manhattan about Winterfest in Abbott Springs, they accused me of making it up. It almost defied description. Imagine that Frosty the Snowman devoured the town from Gilmore Girls, chased it with the Christmas-morning glee of a thousand giggling children, and then vomited it up in the middle of rural Ohio. That, my friends, was Winterfest.

Until the year I turned fifteen, Winterfest was my favorite weekend of the year. It surpassed Christmas—because I was that kid who already had everything. It surpassed my birthday—because despite what my friends might have thought, I didn’t care for being the center of attention. Then Mom had made a promise she’d never intended to keep and an event that had once felt full of love and warmth left me lonely as shit.

But Mom was going to come—finally—and it just felt right. This was the year Winterfest would be good again.