Around four p.m., as the winter sun crept toward the horizon, folks started plonking down their lawn chairs and blankets and spare cousins to stake their claim on their spot along Merry Street, and the food kiosks selling hot beverages, bratwursts, and warm pretzels at either end of the parade route did bang-up business. Alcohol was never officially served at any point, a holdover from Oklahoma’s conservative history, when it adopted Prohibition in 1907, at the same time it became an official state, twelve years before the 18th Amendment was passed nationally. But that didn’t mean most of those gathered didn’t bring their own.

Mayor Bobby Jim Slaughter personally set up a portable bar made out of whitewashed pallets that fit in the back of his pickup truck. He mainly used it for tailgating at football games and all the other sports that weren’t football, but he also broke it out for the Christmas Parade, which was probably a big factor in his being reelected, despite not actually having accomplished much over his two terms. Still, he hadn’t stolen funds from the town and run away, so in that alone he was an improvement on his predecessor.

While Christmas was not big by any measure, when it came to our parade, it was the most crowded the town got. Almost everyone from the directly surrounding counties came out to either watch or participate, or, quite often, both. It was common for members of a particular entrant to wave to the crowd as they passed, disembark at the end of the route, and circle back to where their group of family or friends were holding the space so they could wave to whoever was up next in the procession. It was about as close as folks around here got to recycling.

Grandma Jo always shut down early so everyone who worked at the Hoyden Inn could make their way to Merry Street with enough time to take part in the event. That meant Ayisha was gone before I had a chance to swing by to see . . . what exactly, I wasn’t certain. If she was going to be at the parade? I knew she would be. If she wanted to maybe talk later? But did I really want that?

Again, I wasn’t certain, though the idea wasn’t freaking me out as much as it had the night before and I had to admit a part of me was itching to talk to someone. Six months ago, I would have sought out Mia, but that wasn’t possible now.

Obviously.

And I wasn’t entirely sure yet about talking with Arthur. Not because I didn’t trust him because by this point, I did, but because . . . well, because the idea of telling him I didn’t want to return to Barrington felt awkward in a way I wasn’t yet willing to fully acknowledge.