Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“Then it’s settled!” exclaims Burton with a clap of his hands, startling both me and Tamika. “As soon as you’re done sippin’ on your water, get back to the building and type somethin’ up fast. Your time peopling here at the festival is over. You’re welcome for that, by the way.”
I turn to him. “You want me to write up my own story, too?”
“Of course. Isn’t it a great idea? Make it real personal, Noah. ‘My life flashed before my eyes,’ blah, blah, somethin’, somethin’. ‘My savior saw me and ran as fast as he could, time was against us, the crowd was in the way, but he came to my rescue! If it wasn’t for him, I’d be a …’ Whatever, you get the point, I’m not the writer. I bet this’ll be a story even Fairview will catch wind of.”
“But … won’t it make Martha and her family look bad?” I ask.
“Martha who? Oh. The picture frame vendors? I thought they were in on the whole thing.”
“No. It was real. Like Tamika said. I … I could’ve been crushed for real.”
“It’s the same story whether it’s real or not. They’ll love the publicity, I’m sure of it. Maybe it’ll get them business, win-win. Hey, maybe we can get them to donate some picture frames to the building. It’ll be a follow-up story. A redemption arc for their … hmm … ‘negligent festival mishap’, we’ll call it.”
“It was apparently a few kids running around that caused it,” points out Tamika.
“Some kids … wind … an act of God. There’s probably a dozen different stories floatin’ around out there for how it happened, even from the eye witnesses themselves. Best part of our job is we get to decide which one they believe.” He pats me on the back so forcefully, I nearly spill my water. “I’m gonna go have a chat with my dad. We’re gonna have one hell of a paper, I can already feel it. Tamika, look around to see if anyone got some shots of the—”
“Already have them,” she says mildly, wiggling her phone.
“Great! And find some filler for the rest of the paper if you can, too. My bud Harrison brought some weird-lookin’ chairs and furniture stuff he’s selling near the church. I’d love to give his new business some publicity.” He pats the table, then starts to head off.
I fidget, then lift my head with a sudden thought. “Do you know if Cole’s okay?”
Burton stops. “Who?”
“Cole. That’s his name, the guy who saved me. Cole Harding. We … We went to school together. He was in my graduating class.”
“Oh. You knew each other?”
I avert my eyes. “Well … not really.”
He thinks on it, then shrugs. “No idea. Didn’t think to ask. I’m sure he’s fine. He was taken to the clinic, last I heard, probably bein’ looked at, gettin’ his arm bandaged up. Wished I was here to see it all,” he confesses suddenly.
Tamika lifts an eyebrow. “Where were you anyway?”
A flicker of defiance crosses Burton’s face at being questioned. Then he thinks the better of it. “I was just … out. On a business thing. A business lunch thing.”
He’s a bad liar. I know it. Tamika knows it. But we stay quiet.
“Happened to see Cindy there,” he then adds, half to himself. “She didn’t seem to notice me at all. That’s my story … story of my life. Heh. Anyway, thanks, both of you. Good boy.” He gives me a vigorous pat on my head like I’m his puppy he’s proud of. “You did well today. Oh, a call,” he exclaims as he pries his phone out of his tight jeans pocket. “It’s my dad. Gonna see if he’s caught wind of this yet. Damn, today’s a good day. Hey, Dad?” He saunters off, phone against his ear. “Oh, yeah, you bet I got you a story …”
I watch him take off, trapped in my semi-permanent daze. At least it’s apparently safe to say I’m no longer in danger of losing my job; I’ve upgraded to being Burton’s pride and joy now.
An unintended genius who solved his problem.
But I feel like I created many other ones. What if the kid only hit the frames because I was standing in the way trying to get a good shot? Maybe the kid was forced to run around me. And what if I had chosen to stand just a few feet more to the side? I wouldn’t have been in the path of the falling frames. Cole wouldn’t have had to charge across the road. Because of that, he injured himself.
I feel more guilty about everything than I do relieved.
“You take care of yourself, Noah,” says Mrs. Tucker when we make our way out of the diner. “Don’t even think about standing next to any picture frame, even one hanging up on a wall, alright? Now skidoo!” She swats playfully at me with a rag, then winks. I thank her again for the water and much-needed respite.