I make good on my promise to get Cora a funnel cake at the next booth, ordering one with extra powdered sugar and strawberries. “Fruit is healthy,” I tease Harper, grinning. She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t argue.
Cora looks like she can’t decide how to even begin to eat her treat, and we both laugh as she gets powdered sugar all over her face when she finally just starts tearing into it.
“Is it good?” I ask her. She nods, wide eyed and eager.
“Can I try some?” Harper asks, and Cora holds the plate up for her to tear off a bit. Harper pops the fried dough into her mouth and licks her lips clean of the sugar and nods. “That is good. But it’s hard to go wrong with fried dough and sugar.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” I reply.
I get them both some fresh lemonade, and we people watch for a while. I point out the local characters, giving them both the short version of why they’re so notorious.
“That guy there,” I say, pointing to a man making balloon animals for a group of sticky kids. “Is the local vet. Comes out for farm animals, barn cats, dogs, you name it. Been in business since I was a kid.”
Harper watches as Dr Vance blows up a balloon with his pump and then ties it off before twisting it into something for one of the kids.
“I guess you all do this, huh?” she asks. “Pull double duty for festivals. Am I going to see Lincoln or Everett dressed like a clown or manning the petting zoo?”
I laugh at that, genuine humor bubbling out of me. “Fuck, could you imagine? No, they just stick to coming to these things. Although sometimes I have to work my magic to get them to do it. I don’t think I need to tell you sometimes they have a hard time having fun.”
She smiles. “Yeah, I can see that.”
I point out a few more people running their stalls or entertaining children, and even Dolly is there, serving up bowls of chili despite how hot it is outside. One of the best things about the festival is how the whole town comes together for it, and it always fills me with pride to be a part of it.
Harper looks like she gets it, at least, and that makes me feel even better as we move on.
The next game we come to is ring toss, and this time there’s a determined light in Harper’s eye. She throws with precision, and it’s a toss-up whether she wins because she’s skilled or because I’m too busy watching her to focus, but either way, she takes the prize and laughs delightedly when the owner of the local mill who’s running the game declares her the winner.
It’s a bright, beautiful sound, and I can’t help but grin in the wake of it. Her whole face is lit up, and that right there is the magic of the Summer Festival. I don’t point it out though. I don’t want to make her self-conscious. Instead, I just keep watching that light play over her beautiful features as we move on to the next thing.
Cora takes a turn at throwing water balloons at a target, and she hits true and ends up winning a stuffed animal. Harper whoops with delight, clapping and laughing as Cora takes the large stuffed cow and clutches it to her chest.
“Good job, baby,” she says, grinning at her niece.
“That’s how you do it,” I praise Cora, holding up my hand for a high five. She makes the cow high five me instead, but I take that, declaring that the winner deserves some cotton candy.
Harper doesn’t argue, letting me lead the way to buy a huge cone of it to share.
Cora juggles her cow and the chunk of fluff that I give her, and she makes a soft sound of delight as the sweetness dissolves on her tongue.
I hold out the cone toward Harper, raising an eyebrow. “Are you gonna let us get a sugar high all alone?” I ask her.
She snorts, and for a second I think she’s going to refuse. But then she leans in, cheeks flushing faintly as she pulls away at the cotton candy with her teeth.
I swallow hard at the sight of her, pink cheeked and shiny mouthed, watching her savor the taste.
The festival is always fun, but there’s something different about it now. Something deeper to it that probably has to do with sharing these moments with Harper and Cora and watching them enjoy all the things I’ve loved since I was a kid growing up here.
We wander a bit more, heading for the stage set up at one end of the fairgrounds. The local band is setting up, and we linger there, finishing our treat until the music starts.
It’s the usual, twangy folk music, with Preston Richards as the front man. It’s toe tapping music, whether you know the words or not, and I bob my head along to the beat.
“I remember when it used to be you up there,” someone says at my side, and I turn to see Mary James standing next to me. She’s an older woman, who’s seen more than a few of these festivals in her time.
I laugh a little. “That was a long time ago, Mrs. James. Things change.”
“I bet you still sing sweet and play just as well though,” she points out. “They don’t change that much.”
“Is Cash gonna play?” someone else asks, leaning over.