Sweet Talk Me (39 page)

“You advertised it as noon to two,” Roger said. “It’s already twelve fifteen. This ice cream’s gonna melt. Maybe I’d better take it back to the freezer at the Starfish.”

“No, Roger,” said True. “Let’s be patient.”

Carmela’s face was pale, but she walked back into the shop and waited.

Six people trickled in over the next ten minutes. But all of them were shopkeepers on Main Street, doing the polite thing, wishing Carmela well on her new venture.

She was happy about that—but where were her firemen? Where were the customers?

At twelve thirty, two old ladies came in, enjoyed the sandwiches and floats, then left with their plastic mugs and a promise to return someday to buy something.

“Maybe at Christmas, dear,” one of them said.

“Thank you.” Carmela sent them off with a cheerful smile.

“See?” Gage rubbed her back. “They were very happy eating those Reubens. And I’ll bet they come back way before Christmas.”

“That would be nice,” said Carmela, but her sad expression broke True’s heart.

Weezie came inside. “Hey, where
is
everyone?”

True widened her eyes at her, and Weezie froze.

“I’m sorry, Carmela,” Weezie whispered. “I’m sure they’ll come soon.”

“It’s okay, hon.” Carmela reached for a box of tissues and wiped her eyes. “It’s not your fault. I was sure this idea was going to work. I don’t know what to do now.”

“It’s
my
fault,” said Gage. “I thought of it.”

“It’s not a mistake,” True said. “I feel it in my bones—this is the right store for you, Carmela, and we’ll make it work. No matter what. So everyone buck up, okay? Maybe there’s a big event going on somewhere that we don’t know about. As for the three firefighters, go ahead and call them now, ’Mela. Maybe they need directions.”

Carmela picked up her phone, tapped out their number, and waited.

“No answer,” she whispered.

“We’re not quitting.” Some of True’s old Maybank spirit kicked in. “Did the Americans quit when the British came to Lexington and Concord? No.”

“Okay.” Carmela took a deep breath. “Let’s keep hoping.”

It was twelve forty.

From far away, a siren sounded. They could barely hear it above the flute-and-drum music. But then another one sounded. And another.

True’s heart sped up. It was always scary to hear a lot of sirens at one time.

“There must be a big fire somewhere,” said Gage. “Or an accident on Highway 17.”

“Oh, God, I hope it’s not my three firefighters.” Carmela crossed herself.

The sirens came closer and closer. And now there were many more.

Weezie came in again. “What’s going on?” She sounded a little frightened. “They’re getting so loud. But I don’t see a fire anywhere.”

“We don’t know.” True felt alarmed herself. She took her sister’s hand, and they went outside to stand with Roger.

Gage and Carmela followed behind.

At the end of Main Street, a fire engine came into view. It was rolling slowly, its lights flashing, almost as if it were in a parade.

Carmela’s face scrunched up. “What’s going on?” She sounded afraid.

“Look!” Weezie pointed. “There’s another one behind it! And another one behind that one!”

“Oh, my God.” Carmela’s hands, resting on her cheekbones, were shaking. “The first truck is from Queens!”

Her three firefighters poked their heads out the window and waved. “Hi, Carmela!! We’re so glad to be here!”

Carmela started sobbing. “I didn’t know they were bringing the truck. Oh—my—God. What’s happening?” She was clinging to Gage for dear life. “Why are all these other trucks here, too?”

“I think they’re here to honor your father and his friends from the station.” Gage’s voice was a tad rough. “And to see
you
.” He wrapped his arm tight around her shoulder.

The procession came on … and on … and on … from all over South Carolina.

Roger stood with his Starfish Grill hat over his heart.

True linked arms with Weezie. She was so overcome, she couldn’t say a word.

The trucks took up all of Main Street. Behind them came a huge crowd waving little American flags—the people of Biscuit Creek, and at least a hundred others True didn’t recognize.

It was truly overwhelming.

She went to Carmela, who couldn’t stop crying, and kissed her cheek. “See, you damn Yankee? You belong here, after all.”

They hugged each other tight.

“Oh, True,” Carmela whispered. “Dad would be so proud.”

“I know,” True said. “And I’m proud—on his behalf—of you.”

“Oh, I knew all about this plan.” Roger, the king of interrupting tête-à-têtes, handed Carmela a tissue.

“You did?” Carmela was still wildly emotional, but she was one of those lucky people who looked beautiful when they cried. Today the tears magnified the happiness that shone in her eyes.

“I wasn’t supposed to tell,” Roger said. “When your ad came out, the Charleston fire chief got on the line to stations all over the state. Everyone was supposed to meet up by Sand Dollar Heaven. I guess it took a long time to get the crowd organized and moving. A lot of these people are families of firefighters. And there’s a big crowd from Charleston—regular shoppers who want to show their appreciation.”

“They can have everything in the store,” Carmela said between hiccups.

True laughed. “You can’t give all your stock away.”

“I’m just so glad everyone’s here.” Carmela blew her nose.

“So am I,” said Gage. “Roger and Weezie, back to your station. True, can you help me inside? Carmela, you stand out here and greet everyone.”

Everyone did as Gage told them, and for an hour they were so busy that True couldn’t think straight. The line to get into the store went down the entire length of Main Street. A lot of the crowd was composed of firemen or their families, so crowd control came naturally, as did making sure the legal number of people in the store wasn’t exceeded. Everyone understood the issues and tried to go through The Damn Yankee as swiftly as possible so the customers behind them would have a chance.

“Wow,” Gage said at one point, when a man stood aside to let a woman who had to get back to work go ahead of him. “This is what small towns are all about.”

“Yes, they are,” said True, and knew in her heart that she belonged here in Biscuit Creek. It was small comfort when she’d lost Harrison. But it
was
a comfort.

Weezie and Roger dispensed as many Vermont floats as they could. A couple of kindly souls helped them out. Another good person—the owner at the Starfish—kept a steady stream of hot dogs coming after Carmela ran out of Reubens. The other business owners were prepared, too, passing out bottles of water and candy—Carmela’s treat bags of saltwater taffy had gone in a flash.

True did the best she could to ring up customers and answer questions.

At one point, she looked up and saw a man gazing at a calendar of New York City sights on a nearby shelf. He was shoulder-to-shoulder with the crowd, but something about him was familiar.

It was his Indiana Jones hat.

True felt a searing pain near her heart.
Harrison
. She missed him so much. This man didn’t have the long hair, but he had the same build. She pretended for a moment that Harrison was here. He’d have loved seeing this triumph for Carmela. He’d have been so touched by the presence of all those firefighters, their trucks, and families. And he’d have been proud of Biscuit Creek.

True was.

“Thank you, sir,” she said to a customer who’d just bought a big shopping bag of gifts. She smiled at him, then glanced over at the Indiana Jones man again. He’d turned slightly sideways, and she nearly fainted.

She’d recognize that chin anywhere.

“Ma’am?” A woman at the register eyes her with concern. “You look ill.”

Probably a third of the people in the crowd were qualified emergency responders, so True had to be careful.

“Oh, I’m fine,” she said lightly.

“It’s stuffy in here,” the woman said. “Maybe you should get outside and sit down.”

True couldn’t move. “I’m okay,” she whispered.

“No, you’re
not
,” the woman insisted. “Everyone, back up,” she barked. “And get this woman some water. Stat!”

Harrison turned around. He was wearing those god-awful ’80s sunglasses.

True couldn’t stop staring at him. “What are you doing here? And where’s your hair?”

Someone shoved a water bottle in front of True, the cap already off.

“Drink it,” the helpful woman said.

True kept her eyes on Harrison, and dutifully drank a few sips.

“Feel any better?” the woman asked.

“I think so,” said True.

“She needs to be outside!” True’s new guardian angel came behind the counter and took her arm.

“I got her, ma’am.” Yes, it was most definitely Harrison’s voice.

“And I’ve got the register.” Gage was working his way over. “Are you okay, True?”

“Sure.” She wouldn’t admit she felt a little loopy.

Then Gage saw Harrison. “
You’re
here?”

“Hi.” Harrison stuck out his hand. “Terence Jones. This is a great place.”

No, he wasn’t Terence Jones, True wanted to say out loud. Terence wore John Lennon glasses. This was merely Harrison’s dorky tourist disguise.

But Gage got it. Harrison didn’t want to steal any thunder from Carmela’s opening.

“I gotta ask you a question, man,” Harrison said to his brother.

“What?”

“Did you leave a note from True in a certain person’s guitar when you were in high school?”

Gage looked blank for a moment. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “She gave it to me to give to … someone … and I found it in my book bag a couple weeks later. I felt guilty about it, and instead of ’fessing up, I threw it in the guitar. Like an idiot.”

“Yeah. You were an idiot,” Harrison concurred. “But I forgive you. I was one, too.” He brushed past him and exchanged places with the kind stranger who’d tried to help.

True’s heart was slamming against her ribs, and she truly
was
about to faint.

“I came by your house this morning,” he said.

“You did?”

“Yeah, but I drove off. I saw Dubose’s car out front. I wondered if maybe you two were working out your issues. So I left you to it, mainly because I didn’t want to cause a scene in front of Weezie. But I decided then and there that I ain’t quittin’. I came to the store to tell you that if I have to fight Mr. High and Mighty for you, I will. And I’m gonna win this time.”

She smiled. “You don’t need to fight him. He was coming over to be a jerk and throw something in my face. We are well and truly over.”

“Makes my job all that much easier.” People were looking at them, so he took her by the elbow. “Let’s go, little lady. Outside in the fresh air.”

She was like the worst kind of fan; she was so thrilled at his touch, she made a little sound in her throat. A joy sound. Totally primal.

“You’re used to that, aren’t you?” she said for his ears only.

“What?”

“Women losing it with you around. You know, whimpering, moaning. Fainting.”

“Oh, sure.” He kept his cool as they descended the steps of the store. “Happens all the time.”

The day was beautiful. People were talking and smiling. Laughing. Carmela was in the middle of a pack of firefighters, hugging each and every one of them.

True felt much better outside.

“What I’m
not
used to,” Harrison said, “is being in love with the person who’s doing the whimpering.”

“Oh.” True’s heart flooded with a happiness so big and bright, she blinked back tears.

He kissed her then—a long, sweet kiss. “You’re stuck with me, babe. I’m gonna make you whimper, moan, and faint every day.” His intentions were very clear.

“I can’t wait.” She was thrilled to the core. But she was scared, too. “Harrison, this is a great daydream, but you can’t not be a country music star. I
want
you to be one. And I can’t leave Biscuit Creek.”

“Hey! That’s Harrison Gamble!” someone shouted.

“Shoot.” Harrison adjusted his hat lower. “I was trying to avoid this happening.”

“It’s okay,” True assured him. “Carmela will be so happy you’re here. We all missed you this morning when we were getting ready.”

The Italian bombshell caught sight of him then and ran over. “Oh, my gosh! Harrison!” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and the fan squealing started.

True backed up and watched him handle the crowds.

She was so very proud of him. He smiled at everyone, scribbled out autographs, and cracked funny jokes.

He was such a good man.

But he was also a wanted man. A beloved star.

She sighed, afraid that her presence in his life would pull him away from what he was meant to be.

Finally, he was able to take a breath. When she saw him looking for her, her whole body flushed at the knowledge that she was the object of his search. She was talking to some older ladies down the street who couldn’t wait for Harrison to improve the library’s inventory.

He caught up with her—first giving the other women a thrill by complimenting each of them in turn—and then said, “Do you mind if I take True for a walk?”

“Go ahead,” they all exclaimed, knowing looks on their faces.

True could hardly breathe, she was so excited. And so in love.

“Don’t forget she’s young and single!” Mrs. Finch called after them.

Harrison laced his fingers through True’s, and she’d never felt so happy … and worried.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To get a Cheerwine,” he said. “And maybe a candy bar.”

“Sounds good.” She grinned at him.

They reached the end of Main Street and turned toward the wharf. The shrimp trawlers were out to sea, all but one, the
Miss Mary
, which was in for repairs. The canvas awning on Wyatt’s Pharmacy had been changed out a long time ago. There was now a permanent copper-covered awning in place. Wyatt’s had been fancied up.

“Good for him,” Harrison said outside the shop window.

“Mr. Wyatt’s gone now,” True told him gently.

“Aw.” Harrison’s face softened.