The Ugly Truth by Cheryel Hutton Read Free Book Online

though, for the sake of the festival in progress on the Ugly Creek Courthouse square. Yes it’s true. I’d be perfectly happy if the whole thing got washed away, but the people in town really seemed to be looking forward to the show. Who am I to wish rain on their parade...I mean talent show.
    I settled into a green and white lawn chair near Madison (orange and white), Mrs. Clark (blue and white), Liz, and Steve (green and white, blue and white, respectively). The dance recital currently playing out on the raised wooden stage in front of us was a sweet reminder of how some things never change. At the moment, a half dozen little girls in black and yellow leotards, black tights, black tap shoes, white wings and headbands with bumblebee antennae attached were step-ball-changing to Frank Sinatra’s “Ain’t She Sweet.”
    “They’re so cute!” Madison said.
    “Especially the little one,” Liza said.
    They really were cute. They were probably five or six years old, except the adorable blonde on the end, who couldn’t be more than four. Someday, I found myself thinking. It wasn’t something I allowed myself to contemplate very often, this illogical yearning to be a wife and mother. My childhood was enough to make me leery of the very idea. But the sight of those beautiful little kids had odd desires rising to the surface. Even odder, I found myself wondering what a child with Jake would look like.
    Shaking myself out of the odd and unwanted train of thought, I focused on the program in front of me. The dance recital was over, and the singer took the stage.
    She was probably mid-teens, thin, gorgeous, the daughter of one of the big-shots on the town council. Nobody in our little group had any expectation she could actually sing. And from the rumblings around me, nobody else seemed to think so either.
    She looked composed and confident, but I caught the trembling of her hand as she took the microphone. She was nervous. Suddenly I felt for the poor thing. Likely this was a bigger, scarier version of “stand the kid in the living room and make her perform for our friends.”
    Then she began to sing.
    The entire crowd went silent. I heard Maddie gasp beside me.
    “She’s wonderful!” Liza said.
    I felt the smile pull at my face. The girl was absolutely amazing. Her voice was clear and pure; her range seemed to be endless. There was something magical about her I couldn’t begin to describe.
    She was only slated to sing one song, but the audience clamored until she performed four songs, and only ended there because she sang from recorded music and that was all she’d brought with her.
    The applause continued even while the upcoming band began their setup. I wondered how it would feel to follow up that kid. What was her name? I had several clear shots of her and would love it if I could give her a print or two. And maybe get her autograph. That girl was going to be a star one day.
    If small town life didn’t spoil her dreams.
    Letting it go for now, I turned back to the upcoming performance.
    As Maddie had said, the band was Celtic, and I was a little unsure about that. What did I know about Celtic music? Nothing, that’s what. I had no idea what I was in for, but they ganged up on me and insisted I’d enjoy myself.
    Strangely enough, I did.
    Women of the Hills was a wonderful band made up of interesting and talented women, and just watching them was a treat.
    The long, thin whistles were different sizes and colors, and the whistler coaxed amazing sounds from her instruments. The drummer held her drum with one hand, and flipped the other back and forth hitting the instrument with both ends of a small stick so rapidly the movement was a blur. As I watched with awe, I wondered if she wouldn’t have a sore wrist in the morning. I would, that’s for sure—not that I could have done what she did even if somebody held a gun to my head.
    There were also two guitarists, one of whom played banjo for a couple of pieces, and a