Cedar Creek Seasons by Eileen Key Read Free Book Online Page A

chips. “I think it could handle a few of these. Chocolate makes everything better.”
    “Oh yeah?” Del opened the refrigerator. “Chocolate-covered green olives, anyone? How about chocolate herring or—”
    “Chores.” Willow defused the gross-out session. “We have an insane two days ahead of us. Right after supper, we have to put the banners on the bed. I want everything done so we can all turn in early. Go lay out your regular clothes and your costumes. Tomorrow I have to get the chili over to the community center by ten forty-five, and before that Wilson’s coming over to help get the bed down to the—”
    “He didn’t chicken out yet?” Del popped a green olive in his mouth.
    “No. Why would he?”
    Willow’s phone rang. She picked it up. “Hello?”
    “Willow?” An unfamiliar voice spoke her name. “This is Sharon. We close at five, and we’re still waiting on your display.”
    Sharon. Sharon who?
Willow looked at the clock. Four forty.
Close what at five? Display? What display?
She looked at the list on the fridge. Only two things remained un-crossed-out for Friday—
make chili
and
finish decorating bed
. “I’m sorry.
    Who is this?”
    “Sharon Goldman.”
    “I’m so sorry.”
Again
. “I just can’t place you.”
    “I’m the one who sent the letters about your display.”
    “Display?” A cold finger of dread drew a meandering line down her back. Alzheimer’s. This is exactly how it happened to old Mrs. Westerforce at church. The blank stare, the brow wrinkled in confusion. “What display?”
    “For the contest.”
    “I’m supposed to have a display? All the form said was bring your pot by ten forty-five.”
    “Pot?
Ms. Miles, this is not Madison, you know. Just what kind of store are you—”
    “Store?” Willow kneaded the expanding muscle bundle at the base of her neck.
    “This is Willow Miles, isn’t it?”
    “Of course.”
    “And you are planning on participating in the Settlement Shops’ competition, correct?”
    “Oh!” An off-key combination of sigh and laugh burst from deep in Willow’s lungs. “No. I thought about it, but I changed my mind.”
    “Without letting us know?”
    Willow stared at the phone then set it back on her ear. “Why would I let you know I’d changed my mind?”
    A huff ricocheted off her eardrum. “You’re one of only four chosen to compete out of more than—”
    “Chosen? How could I be chosen if I never entered?”
    “Excuse me? I have your application and essay right here. Are you feeling all right? Is there someone else I could speak to? A family member, maybe?”
    Family member. As in the girl who’d stuck the stupid application form in Willow’s face every day for two weeks. She thought of the unopened envelopes from the Settlement she’d pitched at the wastebasket with all the other unsolicited mail in the past week.
    Willow made a slow turn, narrowing her eyes at the girl who stood in front of the stove shielding herself with a plastic colander.
    Star was grinning.

    “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes, Sharon. You’ll recognize our van. It will be the one with a teenager duct taped to the front as a hood ornament.”
    Wilson studied his exhibit then sized up the competition in the room that would soon be his. Two women arranged handmade dolls and stuffed animals. In the opposite corner, tables overflowed with candles. Cinnamon, bayberry, lily, lemon, pine. If he closed his eyes he could imagine walking through an open-air market in Paris. Or a compost heap—not all of the scents mingled well. The earthy girl who’d made the candles didn’t look like much of a fighter.
    And then there was Willow. And Star. Arranging a veritable explosion of miniature nursery-colored furniture. From where he stood, the vermillion, chartreuse, and aquamarine paint on her pieces brought out pops of color on his canvases. New leaves in a springtime picture of the covered bridge matched a lime-green chair. Pink roses in pots outside