He pushed the door open with his shoulder, and it swung shut behind him. The small room was already filled with coats, hanging on railings overhead and to either side of the doorway. Most people had already hung up their outerwear and gone to take their seats. He searched for a place nearby to hang up the coats he held, but he had to walk around the circular rack in the middle of the room. Letting out a sigh, he leaned on the wooden counter the coat-takers used to use for events, forgetting it was on wheels. He shouted with surprise as it slid away from him and he lost his balance, and nearly jumped out of his skin as someone laughed from the back corner.
Perched on a chair against the wall, her hands on her knees, Mimi kept laughing as he gathered up the jackets he'd dropped.
“Mimi! Why didn't you say anything to let me know you were in here?” He said shakily, his eyes widened.
“I would have, but I'm sitting in the best hiding spot in the room, in amongst some really ugly coats, so of course, letting you know I'm here is a big priority for me.” She stopped laughing and looked him up and down. “Awful lot of jackets, Jake. I wouldn't say red was your best colour, though.”
He glanced down at the red hood he held in his hands. “I just- grabbed them from a bunch of people. You know, Mom, Mary,” he said, pointing at each jacket as he named its owner. “Mrs. Dawson, Eric, Mrs. McVeigh-” he trailed off as he noticed she was eyeing him with an annoying grin.
“What?” he asked, somewhat irritably.
“I think maybe I'm not the only one hiding in here,” she said.
“Oh yeah?” he asked, feeling antagonized by the smug look on her face. “Why's that? Can't a guy help out?”
“Not that you're not normally town hero and everything, but you usually let Eric hang up his own damn coat.”
He chuckled to himself. She kept watching him appraisingly from her seat amidst the sea of wool and polyester. “So what are you doing in here? Come on, this coat room's not big enough for the both of us.”
“Hey, I discovered this hiding place long before you ever got here,” he smirked.
She was quiet for a moment, and for the first time, he smiled at her. “Who are you hiding from?” he asked.
She waved a hand. “Oh, that gaggle of church ladies that suddenly want to follow me around whenever I go out in public.”
He smiled sardonically. “You probably have my Mom to thank for that. She was so excited for you the other night, she's been talking about it ever since.”
She shook her head. “No, I definitely have Stanley to thank for that. I probably could've gone at least another month before people started noticing, maybe two since it's winter, but he had to go blabbing the 'good news' all over town.”
“Well, you know how it is with good news. They don't get much, so when they do they kinda-”
“Descend like vultures?” supplied Mimi.
“Yeah,” he said. He couldn't help laughing at her expression, since he was so used to experiencing the same phenomenon himself.
“They all keep trying to give me advice and offers to knit booties and sew diapers.” She wrinkled her nose. “And yesterday, that woman that works with your mother-”
“Mrs. Harvey?”
“Yeah. She tried to give me delivery tips. I was hoping to get through at least one month before I had to think about that.”
Jake chuckled softly. “Give them time. It'll die down when something else catches their interest.”
“Speaking of which, who are you hiding from?” she asked, remembering what she had asked earlier before he'd distracted her.
“No one,” he grumbled.
“Oh, you're just hanging out in the coat room instead of taking your seat which is no doubt reserved for you in the front row.”
“I'll be in there in a minute.”
“Uh huh. So, which one of them are you hiding from?” Mimi persisted.
“I'm not,” he said, his tone more forceful than he had intended. Mimi didn't shrink back as some might, but blinked her eyes as if to flick away the hostility thrown in her direction.
His face softened a little as he looked away. He stared at the grainy pattern on the counter top. “It's just- don't you think it's weird?”
She was silent for a moment. His question had strangely caught her off guard, even though she had, in truth, asked it herself a few times. “I don't know.”
He brushed a hand across his forehead. “I know, it's a time-honoured tradition,” he said, in a slightly sarcastic tone. “I know that. I remember when my dad used to give the opening speech. And he'd lead everyone singing the national anthem at the end.”
She sat quietly, contemplating what he was saying. He continued to study the counter top. After a moment, he said, “You know, my mom blackmailed me into playing 'farmer number two' one year. When I was ten or eleven, I think.”
Her eyes widened. “You? In the plaid shirt-overalls get-up? What did she have on you?”
“Something about selling Dad's mug collection at Emily's mom's yard sale. Anyway, I thought I would never live it down. There was this reception after, and I hid out to avoid having to talk to all the church ladies- or my friends.”
“Well, I'm sure your mom was very proud.”
“Yeah. And she chased me around with a camera. Wanted a shot of me and Eric together in our costumes.” He smiled in spite of himself.
“What was he? Farmer number three?”
“He played our Grandpa, actually. Back in his hey-day, when he was the mayor. Miscast, I think, but the whole family got a kick out of it.”
“I bet you were glad you didn't get handpicked to play that part,” she said with a grin.
He nodded. “Yeah, Mom would need something worse to threaten me with before I'd agree to that.”
They both laughed at this, a little too loudly.
“Alright, so you're not running from your mom's camera this time- you're sure you're not running from one of the pageant directors?” she asked, eying him with that annoyingly knowing expression.
He shook his head, firmly. This time, she picked up on his irritation, and surprised him by changing the subject. “They said they'd reserve us seats up front. We could have first pick. I couldn't though. I couldn't be front and centre, with all those people. Stanley didn't want to either. So we're sitting in the front row, but off to the side. I figured out that at least there wouldn't be anyone who could turn around and look at us, and the people in the play won't be able to see us either, if they're looking right ahead.”
“Wait- so Stanley's sitting out there now?” he asked, nodding his head towards the door.
“Yeah. It doesn't seem to bother him to have the church ladies chasing him around.”
“No,” Jake said with a smirk.
“I'll go sit with him when it starts,” she said, with just a hint of guilt.
He nodded, and they both stared down at their hands. “Don't you think it's just...too soon?” he asked.
“The pageant?” she asked, not looking up.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Well, it's not my first choice for entertainment, but I guess if they want to do something to celebrate today, it's a good thing. It's been a while since there's been anything this normal to force everyone together in one room.” She was thoughtfully staring at a crack in the paint adorning the opposite wall.
“I know,” he sighed. “I mean, I've heard the official explanation a million times, from Mom, and Eric, and even Emily. We're okay today, but this country is still at war. They've told me all the reasons, the bringing people together and wanting to do something to keep the kids occupied. Celebrating the town still being here. I get it. I just wanted to know what you thought. If you think it feels early. For the last part of the play.”
“Oh,” she said, suddenly looking up, as if she hadn't realized exactly what he had meant all along.
“I get that they want to look to history and all that crap. That's what the pageant used to be about. It just seems...I don't know, not the right time for the 'heroes of Jericho' to debut."
“I guess,” she said. “It's hard. But they already showed us what they're going to do.”
He looked at her, imploring her to go on.
“It was alright. At first, I was horrified when I heard they were putting on a play, and what they wanted to include, but the part they showed us, the part about her...it's just a speech.”
“A speech?” he asked in a doubtful voice.
“Didn't they preview it for you?”
“They came to the house, and did part of it for Mom, and Eric. I was busy.”
“Oh,” she said, nodding though he sensed disbelief in her voice. “They did it for us after work, last Tuesday. I thought I was going to hate it, Jake. I was all set to make a bunch of snarky comments, and they'd said if we didn't like it, they'd remove that part.”
“So I guess you liked it?” he asked.
“I turned into a blubbering basket case. I'm probably going to be worse today. I wonder if I can blame it on hormones.”
“But you let them put it in the program?”
“Well, what else could I do? It was obvious someone had worked hard and it wasn't sappy or anything. Besides, it's not like I don't think about it all the time anyway. Hearing other people talk about her...I don't think it can make me feel worse. It might be awful, listening to it in front of everyone, but if they want to do this for her, I didn't think we should stop them.”
She looked on the verge of tears as she finished. “Damnit.” She scrunched up her face. “I was trying to hold off at least until the play starts.”
“Don't worry,” he said, stepping over to pat her arm awkwardly. “The way your 'good news' spread through town this week, everyone will know it's the hormones.”
She rolled her eyes, but whispered, “Thanks.” Sniffing, she asked him, “So if it bothers you, why didn't you say something about it?”
He leaned back against the wall, feeling the coats between his back and the painted surface. “Well, you know, Mom and Eric seemed happy with what they saw. Emily's been bringing it up every time I see her, asking me if I'm okay with it. How could I tell her this bothers me, after all the work she's put into it?”
“What about Heather?”
“She doesn't bring it up at all. It's awkward.”
“She was probably waiting for you to talk about it,” she said in a tone that made it clear it should have been obvious.
“Yeah,” he smirked. “Probably.”
She was quiet again, thinking before she began in a hesitant tone. “They really loved your dad.” At the questioning look he gave her, she continued. “All of them. And they never really did get a chance to do much for him. There was the war with New Bern, then the army, and Ravenwood...”
“And we've still got that same army out there, trying to take back control of the land. A war bigger than we'd ever imagined two years ago. And we stilll get our friends from New Bern dropping by every now and then to be a pain in the ass.”
“So don't you think it's about time?” she asked.
They were both silent, letting her question hang in the air. He leaned against the wall again, putting his hands in his pockets.
“This better not be- I hate funerals,” he muttered.
“Me too,” she said.
“It better not be an obituary,” he said.
“I don't think so,” she said. “Hers wasn't.”
“It made you cry,” he pointed out. “I know, not a difficult accomplishment.”
“Hey,” she protested, her eyes flashing.
“Joking,” he said, wisely refraining from any of the hormone-related jokes running through his mind as he took in her expression. He stood, and began hanging up the jackets he'd wrestled away from his family members.
“My dad was good at these community events. I mean, he actually enjoyed them,” he said, wedging Eric's worn ski jacket between some other coats.
“I can imagine,” she said, a small smile on her face.
“He loved all that stuff they used to do on Founder's day. The pancake breakfast, the ceremony at town hall, the kids' pageant.” He made a face as Mary's woolen coat slipped from the flimsy hanger again. “I can't imagine what he'd say if he found out he was in the pageant himself.”
He chuckled to himself, pushing Mary's coat over to make room for his mother's. “Now that I think about it, though, he'd be pissed if he didn't get included.”
Finally finished with the coats, he held on briefly to the counter-on-wheels.
“Was Bonnie ever in the pageant?” she asked softly.
“Well, by the time she would've been old enough, I would have been way too, um, mature to show up, no matter what dirt my mom had on me. But now that you mention it, I vaguely remember Stanley whining about some costume she was making out of one of his shirts. I don't know if she was playing a night-of-the-living-dead scarecrow or something, but she cut all these holes in it. He was pissed because she hadn't even asked. It was one of his favourite work shirts.”
She laughed, almost hysterically, into her hands.
He stepped back from the counter. “I don't think she'd ever imagine herself in the pageant either, but I think she'd be pretty bummed if you missed her debut.”
“You think?” she asked.
He nodded.
She sighed, folding her hands together in her lap. “I guess I should go out there, before I miss hearing about whoever found this middle-of-nowhere hole and decided it would be a good place to build a town.”
He made an attempt to grin, reaching out his arm. “Here, I'll escort you to your seat. I have experience fending off the members of the women's league.”
She stood and patted his arm quickly, but didn't take it. “Thanks for the offer. I know you probably won't want to come up to the front with us, but I'll accept an escort for the walk down the hall. That's where they wait to ambush you.”
They began to walk towards the door, when two of the coats he'd just finished hanging crumpled to the ground. “Just a minute,” he said, going back over to them.
She stood by the door. “You'd better not leave me hanging, Jake Green. Not with the vultures waiting around the corner.” She said it in a teasing tone, but her eyes were serious.
“Okay,” he said, watching her open the heavy wooden door.
He quickly picked up the stubborn coats. For a moment, he stood still, in the complete silence of the now empty coat closet. He remembered the reason he had come in here in the first place. That other day, so many years ago now, sitting in the corner of this very room. His father finding him, as he'd known he would all along. He'd expected his dad to threaten him, as his mom had, give him a speech about honouring commitments or the importance of knowing one's history, anything but what he'd done. He'd merely stood there amongst the coats, telling his son a story about the time his own father had embarrassed him when he was a kid.
“If I could still go out in public after my old man had made me the square-dancing judge at the senior's social,” he'd said, “then I'm sure someone with as much guts as you have can go out there. No matter how 'lame' his costume is.”
It had been a weak challenge, but Jake had always been susceptible to any challenge, especially from him.
He pinched the bridge of his nose as he smiled to himself. He'd actually thought he could get away with hiding out here today- without a challenge.
“Alright, I'm going,” he said, to no one in particular. He walked over to the wooden door and opened it.