1. Organic Growers Yearly Fair

ORGANIC GROWERS YEARLY FAIR

MADDY

Eight years, eight months, and three weeks later

"I'm Julia's helper for today," Kate, my friend from my college undergrad days, teases me."Between us, I'm sure we can get ahead of any mischief. Charles might look in on us later."

My son, Paul, is immensely excited to make new friends. I am not feeling as confident about leaving him with people who are nearly strangers to me.

Julia, the clinic receptionist and daughter to the head of our security chief, Austin Moor, adds, "I'll keep a close eye on him. He can't be any more of a handful than Cece."

Cece is Kate's step-daughter, and the oldest child of Charles Emory, CEO of Spindizzy. His CFO, and chief engineer, is Kate's brother, James Bailey.

I'm the managing nurse practitioner for the Spindizzy Family Clinic located at the edge of Freedom, California.

Last week I had received an offer I couldn't refuse in the form of a letter from Charles Emory.

It read,

"The Quinn Foundation invites you to head up the First Aid and General Medical booth at the Organic Farm Fair. You will be compensated at double your normal rate of pay.

I know you had planned to take Paul for a day of fun, so a day or two off can be scheduled in. I know it is short notice and an imposition, but we need someone qualified to handle a variety of illnesses and accidents.

I would ask Julia, but she is already selected to run with the Child Pack and keep them out of mischief. You are more than welcome to bring your son, Paul. He will fit right in.

Thanking you in advance,

Charles Emory."

Julia had watched me read it grinning, "Uncle Charlie did it to you, too, didn't he?".

I definitely couldn't afford to say no. I'm a single parent. The extra money and the free childcare will go a long way to getting things caught up and making it possible to send Paul to an expensive camp he's been petitioning for.

My eight-year-old son, Paul, is my world. I've given up a great deal to keep him safe, and I would give even more if it ensures his safety. Call me a helicopter parent if you wish, but there is nothing more important in my life than my child.

"All right," I say, handing over the childcare forms that include standard items like contact information and permission to treat in case of emergency. "Let me just look in on Paul, and tell him I'm going."

"Dining room is down that hall and to the right," Kate says. "Have you had breakfast?"

I shake my head to indicate no.

"Then grab yourself a breakfast box. Things aren't likely to be busy this early."

I didn't tell her that when it comes to first aid, early could be just as busy as late. But I don't pass up the offer of free food.

I quickly grab a box of food, then look around for my son. Paul is seated at a low table with several other children and young people, ranging in age from Kate's seven-year-old, Abigail, to Julia who is enjoying a summer job as the clinic receptionist, thanks to family connections with Spindizzy.

"Paul, I'm going."

He pauses eating long enough to reply, "Okay. Bye, Mom, have a nice day."

I can't help giving a little sigh as we go back into the hall.

Kate says, "It's tough letting them grow up. Cece is so independent, I sometimes wake up in a sweat, especially after she's done something especially outrageous."

I purse my lips. "Does it show that much?"

"Remember, I worked in childcare before Charles hired me as Cece's nanny. You met her just now, she's your boy's guide, plus she was in just a few months ago for her school check-up.

Did you recognize her? She was sitting next to Paul."

I nod. "She's gotten tall this year. Is that a new haircut?"

Kate laughs. "It is, and not a trim that was chosen by the adults. She chewed bubble gum after going to bed, and fell asleep with it in her mouth."

"Oh, no!" I exclaim, imagining the mess.

"Oh, yes," Kate says with a laugh. "Come on. I'll find someone to guide you to the first aid tent."

The boss himself meets us at the door of the cottage that is serving as a childcare center and general meal prep and staging area for the fair's staff.

Charles Emory is a tall man with silvering dark hair, military bearing, and a slight limp.The limp is the result of a hunk of shrapnel that was removed long after the original wound was healed up. As he always puts it, "That little piece of metal put me on permanent desk duty."

"Good morning, Madeline," he says formally. "I think we have everything set up for you."

"Good morning, Charles," I say. "You know you can call me Maddy. Everyone else does."

He laughs. It's a nice laugh. He takes a moment to kiss his wife — nothing fancy, just a quick peck on the lips. "Don't wear yourself out," he says. "I'll see to it that someone relieves you before nap time."

She rolls her eyes at him. "I can always just nap with the children," she says.

"You can, but you won't," he says. "I know you. I'll find somebody competent. Don't worry."

He then turns to me. "Come on, Maddy. Let me guide you to your home base."

The cottage is right on the edge of the fairgrounds, behind the midway. Attendants are putting last-minute finishing touches on the decorations near the rides.

The susurrus of people in conversation as they work, and the clatter of hammers and tools provides the background to a scene that will elicit wonder when the fair opens. Creating a magical world that can be packed up and moved to a new location is clearly a busy process that takes many hands. There's something comforting and simple about the sight of so many people at work toward a common goal.

"I hope you won't mind if Julia brings the children to the midway to enjoy the rides," Charles comments in that way that means he knows you won't object, but he is bringing it up to be certain you are informed. "We've issued passes for all of them, and Austin plans to add an extra security team for while the kids are having fun."

"Thank you for telling me," I say. "I'm sure Paul will have a good time." I swallow my disappointment at not being the person to introduce him to the rides.

Since it is June in California, the day is already getting warm, even though it has hardly started.

When we reach the pavilion that looks like the M.A.S.H. unit from TV, only much brighter and cleaner, I'm relieved to discover that inside the tent is a comfortable room with beds, couches and chairs for people who've managed to get a little too much sun.

There is a separate room with a locking cabinet containing all sorts of medical supplies, from cleaning and soothing basics to a defibrillator that has a full charge.

In addition, there is a little sink with a foot pump and a drain going to a barrel. Beside it is an electric kettle in case hot water is needed. The padded exam table is well-stocked with paper covers, paper gowns, and towels of all kinds.

"Will this do?" Charles asks a little anxiously.

"It will do very well," I say. "We might want more electrolyte drinks, but other than that I can't think of anything else I should need."

"I'll get more sent over," Charles says. "Anyone needing specialized care can be sent to the clinic or the hospital. I'm sure that you know that this fair needs to do well."

"Of course," I say. "I always do my best. I'm sure everyone will enjoy the event. You and your family have done a lot to make it great for everyone."

By mid-morning, there is a growing crowd of people moving through the fairgrounds. I am glad Kate encouraged me to bring the box of food with me. The air is permeated with the rich odor of cooking food: spices, roasting meat, barbecue sauce, toasting bread, caramel apples, and much more. I'd be starving just taking all that in without anything to eat.

Two interns from Spindizzy Clinic and I have our hands full with bumps, scrapes, and bruises all day. Ramey is happy to be part of the hustle and bustle, and David is his usual cheerful self. Both are working toward their doctorates, and are my backup staff at Spindizzy Clinic. David's dark hair and his slim build remind me of Andrew and I struggle with little pangs of sadness when I catch him from the corner of my eye from time to time. My heart clearly won't accept that I won't ever see Andrew again.

There is a lull and the tent is finally empty of those needing medical attention. My stomach grumbles, and I fish a breakfast taco out of the bag. I am expecting the usual bland combination of rice and beans. Instead, I get a flavor medley of spices, peppers, ground meat, and the odd dash of a spice I can't name.

I am just savoring the last flavorful bite when I hear the screaming. I look out the tent flap, and see a tall, blond man running toward me. I can see the child is Cece and I can make out her words, called out in a wail. "Don't hurt the kitty! Please, please don't hurt the kitty. She just didn't want to be caught!"

She is clinging to a scrawny, orange cat that has chomped down on her hand. I open the door flap to the examining room, and the man places her on the table.

I keep my eyes fixed on the girl and the fiercely growling little beast that has sunk its teeth into her thumb joint with the tenacity of a frightened bulldog. A long-fingered, freckled hand with sun-bleached blond hair growing across its back is carefully restraining the kitten, keeping it from doing more harm. Despite the heat, the arm is covered by a long-sleeved, white dress shirt.

I massage the back of the little beast's jaws, getting it to release the girl's hand. Someone comes running up with a cat carrier, produced from who-knows-where. The kitten relaxes its death grip, and the anonymous, long-fingered, strong hand takes the little beast away, presumably to pop it into the carrier.

I place a towel under the sobbing child's hand. The freckled hands bring a basin of liquid to me. "Saline solution," a rich, masculine voice says. "I don't guess that by any miracle you have running water here? I'd like to scrub up."

"No," I say, plunging the child's hand into the solution. She starts wailing again as the solution stings the puncture wounds on her hand. "We'll just have to keep changing the saline baths. There's a camp wash basin, water container, and soap over there." I nod toward the set up.

"Don't hurt the kitty!" Cece says again. "I was trying to save it. I did save it! So please don't hurt it."

Cece's big blue eyes are filled with tears, but she doesn't stop pleading for the little kitten. "Please don't hurt it. I don't think it's sick."

I spare a glance for the contents of the cat carrier. The tiny scrap of orange fluff has plastered itself to the back wall of the carrier, growling ferociously. "Spicy little thing, isn't she?" I say. "It's hard to say for sure, but she doesn't look sick, just angry and scared. We'll get you patched up, and see about taking her to a vet to get checked out."

"Thank you," Cece says with a sniff. Then she gives a sharp intake of breath, not quite a little sob and adds, "This stuff really, really stings."

"That's because it's saline solution, which is essentially salt water," the voice that goes with the long-fingered hands says.

I look up into the face of the owner of the freckled hands, and my world stops. My heart thumps painfully in my chest, and my mouth goes as dry as the Sahara. I blink rapidly, some small part of my brain convinced I'm hallucinating. I know this man. Or to be more precise, I knew him in the biblical sense,eight years, eight months, and three weeks ago. Paul's father is looking down at me.

I can't breathe. I hear myself making some kind of little gasping noise and try to calm down. I thought he was dead. His grandfather had said he was dead. He was dead but now he's not .

I hold my breath, waiting for him to recognize me, to acknowledge that he knows me. But he doesn't. The pain caused by the blank expression on his face when he looks at me is much sharper than I expected. It's not that I hadn't contemplated this in the past, before I was told he was dead. I always wondered what his reaction would be when he saw me again after so many years apart. Never had I imagined that he would have no recollection of me at all.

My mouth turns down into a frown as my heart slows some. He's not going to ask me where I have been. He's not going to give me a chummy hug while we exchange awkward pleasantries. There won't be any kind of moment between us, because he has completely and irrevocably forgotten me.

And I have a little girl and a kitten who both need care. Shakily, I refocus and life goes on.