Susan Mallery - Hold Me

“Sure. That would be great.” Miles fished a business card out of his shirt pocket and handed it over. “I’d appreciate anything that would break up the boredom of going over terrain, inch by fricking inch.”

“We pay you very well for your time,” Destiny said.

“That you do, my love, but the money doesn’t make the work interesting.”

“He’s a diva,” she told Kipling. “You’re the one who should have attitude, and you don’t. Miles has no reason to think he’s all that, yet he acts like he is.”

“I can hear you,” Miles said.

She started for the Jeep. “We have to give him a ride back to town so he can rent a car. I hope that’s okay.”

Miles shook his head. “She’s always like this. Acting as if I’m her...”

“Annoying younger brother?” Kipling asked.

“Yeah. Why is that?”

“No idea.”

All he knew was Miles wasn’t going to get in his way. Which meant it was time to get on with his plan.

* * *

“I DON’T GET IT,” Starr admitted as they stepped off a curb on their walk to town and the festival in progress. “Who is Rosie the Riveter?”

“She worked in a factory during World War II,” Destiny said. “She symbolized women helping out during the war. Before that, not many women had been in factory work, but when the men went off to war, factory positions had to be filled.”

Starr’s eyes widened. “How do you know that?”

“I read a brochure. Someone dropped off a whole folder filled with brochures on the various town festivals. Some of them look fun.” More important to her summer with Starr, there were a couple every month—giving them things to do on the weekend.

Today was the start of Rosie the Riveter Days, a festival that celebrated all of the women of Fool’s Gold who moved to San Francisco during World War II to work in the factories there.

While the schools in Fool’s Gold were still in session for a few more weeks, Starr’s boarding school had already ended for the summer. The teen was certainly old enough to be left alone, but Destiny didn’t think day after day by herself was good for her half sister.

“Maybe we could get a book about Rosie the Riveter from the library,” she offered.

Starr rolled her eyes. “No, thanks. If I want to read about her, I’ll go online.”

“Sure.”

They crossed the street and headed for the park. The day was sunny and warm, the sidewalks filled with people. There were booths set up, selling everything from olive oil to jewelry, and posters promised live music all afternoon and evening.

Destiny paused in front of one of the posters. At least here was something she and Starr had in common. Something they could talk about.

“We can stay and listen to the bands,” she said. “Which ones look interesting to you?”

“Hello, girls.”

Destiny turned and saw a gray-haired lady in a track suit walking toward them.

“Don’t tell me,” the older woman said. “Let me guess.” She paused, then pointed. “Destiny and Starr. Do I have that right?”

Destiny nodded. “Yes. Hello.”

“I’m Eddie Carberry. You two are new in town. Welcome. We like new people, as long as you don’t make trouble.” Her expression turned stern as she raised her hand and pointed her finger at Destiny. “No texting and driving, young lady. Do you hear me? It’s dangerous.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I don’t drive yet,” Starr added quickly, taking a step to the side, so she was half-hidden behind Destiny. “And I would never do that.”

“See that you don’t.” Eddie’s face relaxed as she smiled. “Have fun at the festival.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they said together.

Eddie walked away.

“How does she know who we are?” Starr asked. “Why was she mean?”

“All good questions,” Destiny told her. “It’s a small-town thing.”

“The smallest town I lived in was Nashville. From there we moved to Atlanta and then to Miami.” Starr paused for a second. “Dad took me on tour once. I was eight. We went to small towns, but that was different. I don’t know if I like it here.”

“You have to give it time. It can be more intense, but it’s also easier to get to know people because you’ll see them again and again.”

“Which is great unless you don’t get along.”

Destiny laughed. “So you’re not an optimist?”

“I guess not.” Starr’s green eyes brightened. “Isn’t moodiness a sign of, like, having talent?”

“I think it’s more about being a teenager.”

“Were you moody?”

“Grandma Nell didn’t believe in moods. She always said the chickens didn’t care how I felt about feeding them, as long as I got the job done.”

“She sounds, ah, really great.”

Destiny grinned. “She was, but she wasn’t easy. Still, I loved being with her.” She turned back to the poster. “All right. Let’s choose our bands. You first.”

They looked at the offerings and had a heated discussion of rock versus bluegrass. Ten minutes later, their day was scheduled, musically, at least. It was early for lunch and with the music not starting for a couple of hours, the afternoon loomed long.

Destiny wasn’t sure what they should talk about. School? Was that a safe topic?

“Are you keeping in touch with your school friends?” she asked.

Starr shrugged. “Some.”

“If you want to invite anyone to come stay for a few days, that would be okay. A weekend would be better so I wasn’t working,” she added.

“Thanks, but no. They all have plans with their families. Becky’s going to Europe, and Chelsea’s going to a language school.” Starr sighed heavily. “Her dad works for, like, the government or something, and she has to learn a bunch of languages.”

“That would be kind of hard.”

“I know, right? But she’s good at it. Becky’s good at math. I’m not really good at anything. I thought maybe music but...” Her voice trailed off, and she shrugged.

For a second Destiny felt a flood of guilt. She’d only heard her sister sing a couple of times, but she had a pretty voice. She knew she could teach Starr how to play the guitar better. Maybe they could start on the keyboard. Only Destiny didn’t want to go there. Didn’t want to get involved or have anyone she knew in that business. It was seductive and dangerous. From the outside, the music world was glamorous, but from the inside, it was anything but.

A tall woman with a baby strapped to her chest approached them. She smiled engagingly.

“Hello. You must be Destiny and Starr Mills. Nice to meet you both. I’m Felicia Boylan. I run the festivals here in town.” The woman paused. “Interesting that we’re all natural redheads. Only about two percent of the population has red hair. The gene itself is recessive. I believe the color is caused by a mutation of the MC1R. That’s a gene that—”

Felicia paused then shrugged. “Sorry. Pretend I never said all of that. Most people don’t find my bursts of knowledge particularly interesting, but they are, I assure you, harmless.”

“Is that true?” Starr asked. “What you said about a mutation?”

“Yes. But not in a way that gives you super powers, like in the X-Men movies. Although, curiously enough, red hair doesn’t go gray. It simply fades over time.” Felicia smiled again. “Not that you’ll care about that now, but in forty years, it will be comforting.”

Starr looked more confused than reassured.

“Cute baby,” Destiny said. “How old?”

“Eight months.” Felicia beamed. “This is my daughter, Gabrielle-Emilie. She’s named after Gabrielle-Emilie Le Tonnelier de Breteuil, a French courtier who collaborated with her lover Voltaire on many physics projects. However, if you ever meet my brother-in-law Gabriel, please don’t tell him that the baby isn’t named after him. He made an erroneous assumption, and we’ve decided not to disabuse him of it.”