Isabel narrowed her eyes at me. “But in the note you said ‘meet me tomorrow’. You didn’t say Saturday, specifically. What if I came on Monday?”
I grinned. “Regardless of when you got my note, I’d be meeting you the next day.”
Her lips parted for a brief moment before she spoke. “That’s an awful lot to go through for someone who offended you.”
“I completely agree.” I glanced at her, before picking up my glass of water. “Smart move skipping to the entrees.”
Isabel laughed and did the same.
“Feel free to order a cocktail, I just can’t because of an afternoon engagement that I need to be sober for.”
“Business?”
“Not on a Saturday. There’s a Halloween fundraiser I attend each year. This year, it’s at the Center Theatre uptown. It’s staged like a carnival with various activities, games, prizes and mini staged skits. People come and participate in random auctions, buy boxes of candy or soup cans to be delivered to the organization, who then distribute it as needed.” I set down my glass. “Or they just come to watch the joy it brings and donate from the goodness of their heart.”
Isabel’s eyes lit up. “That sounds amazing.” She bit her lip. “Can I… join you?”
My grin was wide. “I was hoping you might.”
19
ELLE
The hallat the Center Theater looked as though Charlie Brown’s great pumpkin had thrown up all over the room and its seeds grew into mini pumpkin babies as they hung from the rafters. Paper bats about as scary as any origami hung in any empty space left by the pumpkins. The black and orange combination was fitting for the obvious theme of the day. An enormous paper mâché witch riding a broom took up an entire corner of the large atrium, aimed as though she were about to launch head first into the crowd.
It was perfect.
My heart skipped as a new parade of excited costumed children poured into the hall, most holding square orange and green felt bags. Scattering in all different directions, they were welcomed by random carnival vendors, which were appropriately set up in a U-shape facing the entrance.
“Oh, Mr. Weston,” a well-dressed elderly dark haired woman dashed over to the front door where Scott and I stood in a short line at the collection table. “Please, please come in,” she insisted, shooting a warm smile my way before taking both our hands and guiding us away from the line and into the heart of the festival.
Scott slowed the eager woman, “It’s good to see you again Patricia, but we haven’t yet purchased our tickets.” Scott motioned back to the front table.
“Oh don’t be silly. We wouldn’t be here this year if it weren’t for all your generosity, Mr. Weston.”
“Patricia, this is my friend Isabel, she’s very interested to see what the festival is all about. Please show her around, I’m going to go back to the table and rejoin you two in a moment.” When the woman opened her mouth to object, Scott held up his hands, walking backwards. “If it makes you feel any better, I promise to cut my way to the front of the line.”
The woman shook her head then turned back to me, her eyes beaming with pride. “Patricia Rodriguez. I’m the host and lead coordinator of Harry’s Hallowfun Run.”
I took her hand, but was nearly speechless—my eyes still struck with the scene. “Y-you did all this?” I twirled slowly around the space. “Ms. Rodriguez, this is spectacular. I’ve been to a good number of charity events and fundraisers and never seen anything quite like this, especially for an entrance fee of only five dollars. How did you get the space?”
Center Theatre wasn’t typically open for public events like this one. The elaborate building that took up nearly the entire block was made up of theaters, banquet halls and reserved for upscale events, such as operas or galas. The Hallowfun Run seemed more of a neighborhood affair at the local YMCA.
“Mr. Weston didn’t tell you? We’re typically a lot further uptown and the community spaces are only large enough to hold the volunteer carnival vendors, but not spacious enough for all the neighborhood children to be able to participate and enjoy the entire day. We would have to limit the entrance to two hours and then switch out the crowd to people waiting to get in. The event has become so popular over the years that it’s been getting a little hectic at the door. Of course we couldn’t raise our ticket rates; it would defeat the purpose that all are welcome. A few months ago, Mr. Weston spoke to Harry, the founder, and said if we’d be willing to move our fundraiser this year, he’d offer to arrange and rent out one of the larger halls of the Center Theatre so that there’s no time limit for any child to enjoy the carnival.”
I blinked twice, wondering how on earth the man I’d read about, the man who’d on more than one occasion had proved that he was as ruthless as they get, could be the same man in Patricia’s story.
My gaze turned to Scott who was writing out another check beneficial to the organization. My heart swelled and then dropped to the pit of my stomach at the thought of walking away from him.
Get it together.
“Ms. Rodriguez, do you have a business card?”
“Please call me Trish,” she said, handing me a card. “Here, let me show you around.” She tossed her head back at Scott. “He’s probably going to be tied up for a bit, anyway.”
I turned back to see Scott talking with an older gentleman in a mediocre suit. “Yes, I’d love that.” I followed Trish to the first tent at the far left of the atrium. The tent was completely covered with dark purple velvet curtains that hung at the entrance. In front of it, was a folding table with three children and a volunteer event worker, who were all wearing disposable plastic aprons. The children were decorating medium sized pumpkins and the volunteer was helping with the carving.
“How sweet…and sticky,” I commented with a smile to the volunteer.
