“That’s comforting.”
“Maybe we should be calling the FBI or something,” I said. “Don’t they handle this sort of thing? Or Homeland Security? What color alert are we at when the neighbors have murderous pit bulls?”
“Let’s give Orville another chance,” Dad said. “You were almost nice to him on the phone, which must have nearly killed you. We’ll lay it all out for him. You know, you really haven’t given him a chance. From the moment you got here you’ve been picking on him. And by the way, who loaded that dishwasher last? You or Lana?”
“Wasn’t me,” I said.
Dad shook his head. “She put the knives in blade up. Almost slit my wrist unloading it.”
“So many faults, so little time to correct them,” I said.
Dad tossed the paper at me. “Read the piece on the front.”
I grabbed the paper off the coffee table that separated us. “Which?” I said.
“The main piece.”
Had I bothered to read the headlines before asking Dad, I would have been able to figure out which one he meant. The headline on the lead story, written by Tracy, who also had all the other bylines on the front page, was “Mayor Mulls Canceling Parade.” It read:
Braynor mayor Alice Holland says she may cancel the fall fair parade on Saturday if she thinks the appearance of a gay activist group could lead to violence.
“Either the Fifty Lakes Gay and Lesbian Coalition will be in the parade,” the mayor said, “or there won’t be any parade at all.”
Mayor Holland said to exclude the coalition from the parade, something many people in Braynor want, would subject the town to a potential civil rights suit that could bankrupt the municipality.
“People are going around collecting names on petitions to keep the parade straight, and if they don’t mind seeing their property taxes double to pay the costs of going to court to defend a foolhardy decision, well then, fine. But if they have a problem with that, and still want the coalition banned from walking down Main Street, then we don’t have to have a parade at all.”
Charles Henry, manager of Henry’s Grocery, which puts a float in the parade every year, has been spearheading the petition to “Keep the Parade Straight” and he reacted angrily to the mayor’s comments.
“I can’t help but wonder,” he said, “whether the mayor is a lesbian. It would explain a lot.”
Henry said the mayor may not need to cancel the parade, that many of the participants may back out instead. “She can ride in her convertible all alone,” he said, but refused to say whether Henry’s Grocery would withdraw its own float, which this year was to depict a large cow, its body covered with dotted lines to depict different cuts of meat.
Stuart Lethbridge, of Red Lake, who heads the Fifty Lakes Gay and Lesbian Coalition, promises a tasteful display. “There’ll be a good crowd of people in the parade, carrying the Rainbow Flag, plus we’ll be displaying the number for our counseling line, which, as you can imagine in a community like Braynor, gets a lot of calls from gays and lesbians looking for a sympathetic ear.” Lethbridge said the coalition would not back out of the parade, even if that’s the only way it can be saved.
The Braynor council is divided on what to do. Most members are united in wanting to avoid a lawsuit, but a number are in favor of scrapping the parade altogether, even though it is a tradition.
But even if the parade is canceled, all other fall fair activities, including the pie-eating contest, the lawn tractor races, chainsaw competition, and cow-pie-tossing contest, will go ahead as planned.
“What’s a cow pie?” I asked.
“Shit,” Dad said.
I nodded. “And this chainsaw competition. What do they do? Juggle them?”
“You’re starting to annoy me.”
“And I see the lawn tractor races are still on. Too bad I won’t be able to help you there. I have a predisposition to whiplash.”
“I might be well enough by then,” Dad said. “I was putting some weight on my ankle today, and it didn’t seem that bad.”
“You think the mayor’s a lesbian?” I asked. “There’s no picture of her here.”
Dad started to answer, then could tell by the look on my face that I was still working at being annoying.
“But seriously,” I said. “Have you met her? She a nice lady?”
“Yes, and yes. She’s a bit too reasonable for this crowd up here. She moved up here from the city a few years ago, and she’s still a bit too sophisticated for her own good.”
“I wonder if she’d be worth talking to,” I said quietly, almost to myself. “Are you okay with gays in the parade?”
“I don’t give a shit,” Dad said. “You think we could look any more foolish when we’ve already got a marked-up cow in it?”
“How about Lana?” I asked. “Her business is on Main Street, right by Henry’s Grocery. She signed the petition yet?”
“Lana, and I, are a lot more tolerant, and forgiving, than you’ll ever know,” Dad said.
There was something in the way he’d said that that stayed with me for the rest of the afternoon, which I spent doing more chores around the camp. I felt we were in a holding pattern, waiting for Orville Thorne to show up, and, with any luck, Lawrence the next morning.
I was down by the docks, replacing a board that looked like it was about to break through, when Bob Spooner returned from an afternoon out on the lake. Once he’d killed the motor, I said, “Get anything?”
Bob lifted up the stringer from the bottom of the boat, revealing two good-sized pickerel and a large-mouth bass.
“Not bad,” I said. Beyond Dad’s cabin, I could hear a car approaching. I looked back and saw that it was a police car.
“The law,” Bob said ominously.
“I got an idea,” I said to Bob. “Let me get your picture with your catch.”
“Oh, I’ve done better than this.”
“No, come on. I want to get some pictures with Dad’s digital camera, send a couple snaps back to my wife, Sarah.”
Bob shrugged and secured the boat to the dock while I ran back for the camera. Orville was out of his car and walking toward the cabin. “Two seconds!” I shouted to him, burst into the cabin, grabbed Dad’s camera from the study, and ran back out the front door for the shoreline.
Chief Thorne, curious about what was going on, which seemed so unlike him, followed. Dad, on crutches, was coming down as well.
The commotion was attracting others. Leonard Colebert had been inside making himself some dinner, and Betty and Hank Wrigley were sitting on their porch, reading, but as is generally the case at a fishing camp, when someone comes in with a good catch, everyone wants to pass judgment.
Bob, his arm in a muscle-making position that kept the stringerful of fish from dragging on the ground, smiled proudly as I held up the camera.
“Nice!” said Leonard.
“Where’d you get ’em?” Betty wanted to know.
“What were ya using?” Orville asked.
I took a couple of shots, then said, “Hey, let’s get some other people in here.” I moved Betty into the frame on one side of Bob, then Hank on the other, and took a picture. Leonard took no persuading at all to have his picture taken with Bob.
“Tomorrow morning, early, we go on our hike, right?” Leonard said. Bob nodded resignedly.
“Hey, Chief, how about you?” I said, bringing Orville forward.
“No no, that’s okay.”