Part 19 (1/2)
By the time I got home from Calvary, the skies had cleared and the day was beginning to heat up. Even better, Sarah Gold sat on my front steps.
”You're early,” I said.
”It's my first parade. I'm excited.”
”What do you got there?” I pointed to a white bag by her feet.
Sarah pulled out a handful of silver tubes. ”What do you think?”
”What is it?”
”Face paint. Red, white, and blue.”
”Not happening.”
”It's the Fourth of July.”
I shook my head. Sarah already had a tube of red open and a tube of blue. She smeared a couple of fingers worth down both sides of her face.
”I live here, Sarah.”
”It will be fun.” She handed me the tube of red. ”Please?”
I squirted a little on my finger and wondered what I'd gotten myself into. Maybe it was just what I needed.
A half hour later, we were standing in front of a diner on Central called Prairie Joe's. They sat us at a table outside. Sarah ordered the huevos rancheros. I got scrambled eggs. Our orders were served with warm tortillas and coffee. By the time we finished, it was almost eleven, and the street was filling up with life. We walked for a bit and drank it in. Parents carrying cups of Starbucks and pus.h.i.+ng strollers. Kids in baseball caps. Ice cream. Balloons. Flags. And face paint. I'd agreed to turn myself into a red, white, and blue fool, but only once the parade actually started.
We stopped at an antiques shop where Sarah looked at an old set of silver and a wooden box of some sort. Then we walked next door to the Spice House. I'd never been in the Spice House and, apparently, with good reason. The moment I walked through the door, I started sneezing.
”You all right?”
I shook my head and retreated to a bench outside.
”What's in there?” I said.
”Spices.”
”What kind of spices?”
”Well, the sign says they have eight different kinds of paprika.”
”Great.”
I stayed on the bench while Sarah perused the stores of paprika, pepper, and whatever else they ground up inside the G.o.d-awful place. She came out with a small bag she kept at a careful distance.
”Sorry about that,” she said.
”What did you get?”
”c.u.min, red pepper, and chili powder. Good for tacos.”
We walked some more. The sun was bright and hot now. A trombone had fired up somewhere, and the parade started. I bought us some ice cream. People smiled at us. Mostly because of Sarah, but I smiled back anyway. She linked her arm in mine and whispered in my ear.
”Time for the face paint.”
I laughed and let her smear my face with streaks of color. Then I did the same to her. After that, we painted the faces of a couple of kids whose parents weren't around. We watched the parade go by. Yelled and cheered at the Evanston Marching Kazoo Band. Then some cops and firemen. Uncle Sam on a high two-wheeled bicycle did crazy circles around the parade mascot, Sparky the Firecracker. Kids floated by on floats. Old people rode past in cars that were even older. The governor of Illinois stopped to shake my hand. Best I could tell, he wasn't even wearing a monitoring bracelet.
We watched for two hours and got sunburned until someone gave us some sunscreen. Then we headed down the block to a bar called Clarence's. It had an outdoor patio that was filled with parade people. We found a table, and I went up to get a couple of beers. Sarah drank half of hers in one go.
”Fun?” I said.
”Wonderful.” She clinked her nearly empty gla.s.s into mine. ”Thank you very much.”
”You don't go to parades in Michigan?”
”Charlevoix has a parade. We usually watch it from our boat.”
”Nice.”
”Not really. You sit out there all day with the same seven people.”
”I guess it would be all right if it were the right seven people?”
”I guess. You want another one?”
”Sure.”
Sarah started to get up, but a waitress was nearby and took her order. Sarah sat back down. We'd wiped off the face paint, but a handful of guys at the bar couldn't keep their eyes off her anyway. She was wearing shorts, a yellow tank top, and oversize sungla.s.ses. With her hair pulled back and the glow from her day in the sun, I couldn't blame them.
”What?” Sarah slid the gla.s.ses up on her forehead.
”Huh?”
”You're sitting there, smiling.”
”Can't I smile?”
”It's just that you don't do it that often.”
”Do what?”
”Smile.” She broke out a killer as the waitress put down our second round of beers. ”It looks good on you, Ian. The smile, that is.”
”You think so?”
”I do.”
The beer was cold. Sarah insisted we clink gla.s.ses again. She giggled and slid her eyes over my shoulder, toward her admirers at the bar.