Yes. Victoria said he is. Susan looked at her brief. Perceptive. The look of a woman who had been running a bed and breakfast for 20 years and could read a guest the way a mechanic reads an engine.
Staying through Sunday. That's the plan. Good, Susan said, and walked back to the kitchen. No agenda, no follow-up, just good. Victoria sat with her coffee and her waffles in the Georgia morning and thought about how long it had been since someone had said a simple word to her and meant only the simple thing.
She was at the school parking lot at 12:52. It was exactly what Marcus had said, not fancy, not pretending to be anything other than what it was. Tables with handpainted signs. A popcorn machine that looked like it had been doing this since 1987. Three different games involving throwing things at other things.
The bounce house Marcus had mentioned, occupied by a rotating cast of children with zero interest in queuing. And somewhere near the gymnasium entrance, the cakew walk a circle of numbered squares taped to the asphalt. A table of homemade cakes as prizes. Music from a speaker that was definitely connected to someone's phone inside. She'd barely cleared the entrance gate before she heard her name.
Victoria. She looked left. Ava was cutting through the crowd at a pace that was technically not running, but was working hard not to be. She had her hair in two puffs. A green jacket and the expression of someone who has been waiting for this moment since 6a.
And you came, Ava said. I said I would, Victoria said. Some people say they will, Ava said. And then they don't. The weight behind that sentence from an 8-year-old landed harder than she expected.
Victoria looked at the child and understood immediately that Ava was not talking about the fall festival. I don't do that, Victoria said. Ava assessed her. Okay, she said and then grabbed Victoria's hand and started moving. Come on, I have to show you the cakewalk before all the good cakes are gone.
She let herself be pulled. Marcus was near the cakewalk table talking to a man about his age big guy. Baseball cap, easy laugh, and when he saw her, he raised his chin in acknowledgement. Not a wave, just a recognition. She returned it and felt something juvenile and warm about the exchange that she decided not to examine too closely.
Ava positioned her in front of the cakewalk with the gravity of a museum dosent. "Okay," she said. "So you walk in a circle on the squares. When the music stops, you stop on a square. Then they call a number.
If it's your number, you pick a cake. " She pointed. That chocolate one is mine. If I win, it has buttercream. Maya's mom made it. It's the best one.
Have you won yet? No. I've been saving my tickets until you got here. Victoria looked at her. Why?
Ava said with the simplicity of someone stating the obvious. Because it's more fun with two people. Victoria reached into her pocket where she'd stuffed a handful of tickets from the entrance table. She counted them. I have eight tickets, she said.
How many is one round? Two, Ava said. So, we have four rounds. Enough to win that cake. We have to win that cake.
Ava said they did not win the cake on the first round. They did not win it on the second round either, which was when Victoria noticed that Marcus had drifted closer and was watching them from maybe 10 ft away with his arms folded and an expression she couldn't immediately name something quiet and private that he wasn't performing for anyone. Third round, the music stopped. The volunteer at the table reached into a coffee can and pulled out a slip of paper and read a number. "11," she called.
Victoria looked down at her square. She looked up at Ava. "11," she said. Aa's eyes went wide. Then she grabbed Victoria's arm with both hands and shook it.
"You won. Pick the chocolate one. Pick the chocolate. You pick it. " Victoria said. "You're the one who wanted it. " Ava hesitated for exactly one second because she was eight and the protocol of cakewalk prizes was apparently something she had opinions about.
Then she walked to the table with the focused purpose of someone completing a mission. Pointed at the chocolate buttercream cake and carried it back with both hands and a triumph that was fully proportional to the significance she'd assigned it. We won, she said. You won, Victoria said. Same thing Ava said.
And said it the way children say things that are actually just true. She looked over at Marcus. He was already looking at her. She held up the cake slightly. He shook his head slowly.
And it was the fondest kind of headshake. The one that means I should have expected this. And I'm glad they spent the next 2 hours moving through the festival. The way you move through a festival when you're with a child who has a plan and you're the adult who has decided your plan is her plan. They threw rings at bottles.
Victoria won nothing. Ava won a rubber duck. They ate popcorn that was exactly as overpriced as Marcus had promised. Victoria bought two cups of apple cider from a table run by what appeared to be the entire third grade and their parents. She handed one to Marcus when she found him near the gymnasium door.
He looked at the cup, looked at her. Thank you, he said. You brought me to a fall festival, she said. Cider seems like the minimum. He almost said something.
Then he looked out at the crowd at Ava who was now involved in a ring toss situation that was getting competitive. He said, "Instead, you look different today. " Different from what? Different from yesterday morning. He sipped the cider. Yesterday morning you looked like somebody who'd been wearing the same expression for about 10 years.
And today he didn't answer immediately. He watched Ava make a shot miss. Argue briefly with her own assessment of the miss and try again. Then he said, "Today you look like you're here. Three words.
Simple. " But they hit her in a place that was not simple at all. She looked out at the festival, at the people moving through it, families, couples, people she didn't know and who didn't know her. No one had approached her for anything. No one had handed her a business card. No one had said I heard about that last quarter or I wanted to pick your brain or my firm is looking for a strategic partner.