Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
This is my favorite part of our modern Revival season. The slow and lingering nature of the final weeks of summer when the plot is low-energy and a little bit sad. We’re still playing out the Prodigal Son story from the beginning of the season, even though Collin and Lowyn are gone. They were replaced by Jameson Grimm and Taylor Hill—who really kinda hate each other, so everyone is ready for this season to be over.
The guests don’t seem to mind, though. The regulars who come are caught up in the costumes, and the parties, and the atmosphere. And the first-timers care not a bit about the continuity of the story. They barely know it’s happening. It’s just a sideshow for them. A carnival. One of three stops on their tour of Trinity County.
But in my opinion, the weeks after Fourth of July give everyone time to breathe, and appreciate the beauty of Revival, and bask in the late summer sun as the story builds again, coming to a final climax around Thanksgiving and then, of course, the real turn into the next year’s story.
It’s a weird cycle, but I like it.
If this sounds like you, Gray Eyes, please respond to me, Rugged and Worldly, in the next issue so we can start a public correspondence.
This part says… I see you, Rosie Harlow. And I like what I see. Not only that, I want everyone in town to know it.
I throw the covers off, get up, and start getting dressed in my costume for the day. But I’m just going through the motions because in my head I am composing my first correspondence with Rugged and Worldly.
At the Revival I fan myself and shout, “Amen!” at just the right time. I faint in the middle aisle of the tent—just once this week—and get covered in sawdust. And then I flit down the aisles of the over-tent—which is in place because it’s raining—starting scenes, and finishing scenes, and generally doing what I do every weekend. Just… filling in where they need me.
At four-thirty April Laver pushes aside the tent flap of her bakery and joins me in the back alley where I am sitting on a crate, taking a break. There is a scent of baking bread that lingers on her like perfume. Sometimes she smells like cupcakes.
April waves the Busybody at me. “What’s this?”
I play dumb. “What do ya mean?” Everyone was murmuring about the ad this morning, but it was too busy for any of my close friends to question me about it. Now that the day is over, it’s time. And I’m ready. More than ready. I’m excited about it.
“This ad, Rosie. What is going on with you and Amon?”
“What makes you think it’s Amon?”
Her eyes go big. “Rugged and Worldly? Who else would it be? It’s not Collin. And I doubt those other boys up there at that compound would even think to place a personal ad in an obscure, and fake, Bishop newspaper. Besides”—she smiles at me—“you’ve got the eyes of a thunderhead, Rosie. They’re a storm.”
I roll these gray eyes right to her face. “Like the rumble before the glory?” Which refers to the famous Revival sermon that plays every week on the loudspeakers.
“No. They’re the echo on the water.”
I scoff. “What the hell does that even mean?”
“You know. When you’re out by the river, and the sun is going down, and the loons are calling, and you get those chills up your arms. That’s the echo. The chills, Rosie.” She laughs now. “‘Small-town woman with shining gray eyes and a personality to match.’ That’s got Rosie Harlow written all over it right there. And anyway, the ‘good mother’ part gave it away.”
I actually go speechless.
“What?” April asks.
“Nothing, it’s just…” My eyes squint down a little. “You think I’m a good mother?”
“Oh, hell, Rosie. Everyone thinks you’re a good mother. Even if you do cat around with questionable men called Scar from Fayetteville.”
April winks at me. Like she knows I don’t cat around with anyone. Like she knows I spend every moment of my day being busy so I don’t have to remember that I’m alone at night. Like she knows I haven’t been on a date in years now.
Then, suddenly, she grabs my hand and looks me right in the eyes. “Don’t let him get away, Rosie.”
“What?”
“Amon. He’s a keeper. And this ad?” She holds up the Busybody and shakes it a little. “It’s proof. So whatever hesitation you have, get rid of it.”
“I’m not hesitating. I like him. Hell, I was daydreaming about him when you came out here. I’ve been daydreaming about him all day.”
“Then why am I hearing rumors that you’ve got a secret admirer?”
My heart skips a beat. “What?”
“Come on, don’t play dumb with me. Everyone in Trinity County knows you’re getting letters.”