Natalie came around the corner, and her pretty blue eyes immediately skated over the mound of supplies. “Oh, is that all for our artists?”
Faith smiled. The Art League liked to think everyon
e involved with their organization was an “artist,” but Faith knew for a fact there were a lot of rednecks who brought their chainsaws and twelve-packs out to this event in the hope of winning a prize or two.
“It is.”
“And you’re on schedule for setup tomorrow?”
“I am.”
“You do know of the large number of last-minute registrants?”
“I do. It’s fantastic.”
“Isn’t it?” Natalie exhaled and gave Faith that plastic smile. “It’s the biggest turnout for the contest in the history of the festival. Grant’s really pulling in money for the community. I just want to make sure—”
“Grant?” Faith’s gut tingled, but not in a good way.
“Yes, Grant. I know you’ve been…spending time with him. I was coming home from my sister’s bridal shower late last night. And I mean late—we Duboix girls really know how to party—and I noticed his car here.”
Discomfort tightened inside her. Her father had been gone only six months. She didn’t want to appear to be gleefully making use of his absence by sleeping with random men. It might be irrational, but she knew how people talked, and he’d given so much to this town. They both had. She didn’t want his memory tarnished in any way.
So, even though her relationship with Grant was none of Natalie’s business, she said, “I had an emergency water leak in the basement. Grant was nice enough to help me fix my pipes.”
Natalie gave a low, edgy laugh. “I’m sure he did. Grant’s fixed the pipes of half the women on Manhattan’s list of most eligible bachelorettes. But just so we’re clear, he’s with me for the festival. We’re MCing ice-carving together, we’re judging together, we’re going to the awards banquet together. We’ve also got plans to spend the evening together afterward.”
Anger flared, pushing a flash of heat through Faith’s neck and face. She bypassed the whole Grant issue for the moment and went straight for the knife in her heart. “Hold on. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m judging.”
“It’s all over the fliers we sent out. They’re posted in your windows, Faith. The reason we have so many entrants is because Grant is judging this year.”
Embarrassment washed in and joined her anger. How could she have missed something so important? “I don’t have time to read every line of the marketing campaigns others hang in my window. And the fact that you didn’t come to me directly but waited until the posters were printed, and told me at the last minute is pure cowardice.”
“Think what you like, Faith, but the fact is that things change. I’m really sorry about your daddy. But his vision for this festival has always been about turning the pockets of the people around here inside out and getting those coins flowing into the streets of Holly. Grant is a golden ticket to that end, and creating a unified front between the biggest guest sponsor and the charity’s CEO is key to securing large donations from the deepest pockets. Corporate pockets.”
Faith instantly connected the dots of this twisted manipulation right back to Grant’s mother, Hazel.
“Now, I don’t expect you to understand that with your one year of college and all,” Natalie said, “but corporations look for certain marketing elements when they’re considering large donations. Strong, cohesive marketing strategies in a business—or charity in this case—run by savvy executives. I’m sure you can see how showing those potential donors the dovetailed presentation of charity, sponsor, and celebrity will be the key to securing big money for Holly.”
Natalie slapped on that dry, condescending smile. “And isn’t that what this festival is all about? Isn’t that what your daddy would have wanted?”
Livid. Faith was livid. In some distant part of her mind, she recognized that her anger was out of proportion to the situation. But in the scope of her life’s downward spiral, her emotions were far, far stronger than her rationale.
She took one giant, menacing step toward Natalie and reaped far too much satisfaction from the way the other woman’s bright blue eyes widened.
“What you and Grant do is up to you,” she told Natalie, “but my dad started this damn festival, and it’s still running and bringing money into this community because my dad kept it going every fucking year. A decade before you even existed. So don’t you dare act like you know more about the business of fundraising, because he raised money for this town to pay for your education.” Faith stabbed Natalie’s chest with one rigid finger. “And your summer camps”—stab—“and your after-school care”—stab—“because your parents”—stab—“were too fucking busy to raise a decent human being, and my father still cared.”
When Faith stopped to draw a breath, she realized she’d pushed Natalie several feet across the sales floor toward the exit. And the other woman was looking at Faith like she’d gone insane.
She might have snapped a nerve, but she wasn’t insane. She was tired of pretending everything was okay. She was tired of giving, giving, giving and not getting anything back. She was tired of not standing up for herself, for ignoring her own needs and putting others first.
Grant had taught her that. Grant had taught her a lot of things.
“You’re clearly not thinking straight,” Natalie said, turning toward the door. “We’ll talk about this—”
Faith grabbed Natalie’s arm. She collected herself and kept her voice low and level but made sure her steel tone was crystal clear. “We’ll finish this right now. You’re not taking this away from me, because I’m not letting go. So if you want light, power, water, tables, and chairs at that festival, Natalie, you’ll step out of the judging lineup.”
When the woman’s mouth thinned into a stubborn line, Faith added, “If you want a fight, you’ll get one. And I promise you won’t only lose, but you will never live it down.”