A Tiara Under the Tree

“Because your father is dying of chronic traumatic encephalopathy, and he listed you as his next of kin.”

* * *

After the embarrassing showdown in the waiting room at the hospital and the humiliating results of the hearing, Waverly didn’t blame Dominic for needing a break from whatever it was they were working on. Last month seemed so long ago. After learning about the absurd runoff, the first person Waverly needed to speak with was Dominic. She needed to apologize for the drama she’d dragged him and his shop into.

The radio silence killed her in the beginning. Was he fed up with her and the pageant world? Waverly wanted to give Dominic the benefit of the doubt, that he didn’t abandon her. Waverly tried to reason with logic. Maybe he had to go out of the country. He did mention his friends overseas. At least he could have given her a call or sent a note or something, right? She’d thought they were friends. A friendship shouldn’t ache as much as it did. Waverly even did the proverbial drive-by at his ranch with her coworkers. Andrew Mason, who ran Grits and Glam Gowns as well as Lexi’s pageant-focused Grits and Glam Studios, located on the first floor of the building next door, took Waverly out for a ride one night. Fall leaves gathered around the piled-up newspapers, and cars lined the driveway, but there was no sign of life. Waverly pathetically traveled down to Alisha’s apartment on the pretense of borrowing a cup of sugar, and even she had left. Her neighbors said they hadn’t seen Alisha or her pet pig in weeks.

Waverly’s French-manicured fingers hovered over the one photograph she had of her and Dominic together, taken moments after she’d won the crown. She frowned and pushed herself away from the cash register at Grits and Glam Gowns. She’d spent this morning listening to the band at Southwood Middle School prepare for the upcoming Christmas recital and it was painful to listen to. The tap-dancing session next door in the studios didn’t help the headache threatening behind Waverly’s temples.

“Girl, you look beat,” said Chantal, coming through the kitchen. Waverly adored Chantal Hairston, who gave up a financial career with her father’s

firm in Orlando to follow her dreams of teaching dance. “Why don’t you get some fresh air, stretch your legs...or eat a cupcake? The Cupcakery is kicking off their fall pumpkin menu early this year.”

Waverly glanced down at her hips and shook her head no. “Maybe after the runoff.”

Chantal frowned and turned up her nose. “So silly,” she mumbled with a shake of her head. It was easy for Chantal to eat whatever she wanted; the woman danced every day. “I’m serious about getting some fresh air. Go for a walk and bring me back a cupcake. I’ll hold things down.”

Not wanting to argue, Waverly slipped her heels back on her feet and headed out the doors onto Sunshine Street and turned the corner onto the Grits and Glam Studios side of the street. Through the windows, Waverly smiled and waved at the group of preschool girls standing in two lines, practicing their tap-dancing routines. Despite the bright sun, a chill whipped through the air. Waverly tugged the long sleeves of her thin, dark blue T-shirt. She took the tiara off for a brief moment to loosen her hair from the bun on top of her head. Her tresses warmed the back of her neck. With school still in session, the streets were quiet except for the faint sound of the band practicing in the distance. The sweet smell of apples floated down the street from The Cupcakery. Waverly hadn’t stepped foot in the bakery since the announcement of the runoff. She figured she’d follow the fragrance coming from the oven. Passing in front of Crowne’s Garage would be a sheer coincidence, right?

“Care for a cup of coffee?”

The deep voice startled her. Waverly spun around in her heels and found Anson coming out of the old post office building. “Anson,” Waverly breathed as she clutched her heart. Anson closed the doors to the old gray building with a set of large brass skeleton keys. He shoved the key ring into the pocket of his black peacoat. The weather was breezy but not that bad. “This building has been closed since I got here. I didn’t expect anyone to come outside.”

“Sorry.” He half smiled. “I didn’t mean to scare you. And this building won’t be empty for long. I’ve got the City Council to agree to sell it.” Anson nodded his head across the street toward the business next door to Grits and Glam Gowns. “I’ve even got Reyes Realty in the works.”

Lexi’s husband owned the space next door to her business. Stephen Reyes was the number one real estate agent in town. “Cool,” Waverly managed to say.

“And with any luck, we’ll get rid of this eyesore on the corner,” Anson said, pointing toward the corner of Sunshine Boulevard and Sunshine Street. Grits and Glam Studios faced an entrance of Crowne’s Garage. A lump formed in Waverly’s throat. Clueless, Anson continued, “Crowne left town, left his workers and even left a stack of bills. Bastard put a few people out of work because of his disappearing act.”

“No one’s heard from him?” Waverly asked, trying not to sound too eager. The two of them fell into step. In the weeks since the hospital incident, Anson had paid special attention to Waverly. Why she was so startled when he came out of the building baffled her. Anson managed to pop up wherever Waverly went these days. She expected to see him at the local events and the Christmas Advisory Council, but he also turned up and offered to walk her home on the nights she worked at Grits and Glam Studios.

Anson shook his head. “It seemed like the two of you were friends,” he said, then bumped his shoulder against hers, “or at least, I thought you two were just friends.”

“We are, or were,” said Waverly.

“Not as close as you thought, huh?”

She didn’t know how to answer. What was she supposed to say? “Well, who knows?”

“No one knows,” answered Anson. “Which is why going on with shutting this place down is for the better. We don’t want Southwood to turn into a ghost town.”

Shutting down seemed so official and final. Waverly shook her head and kept walking, crossing over to Main Street toward The Cupcakery. Just because she couldn’t indulge didn’t mean Chantal couldn’t. Anson still followed.

“Waverly,” he began. “I know you and Dominic worked out some deal where he drove you around to pick up the clothing Kenzie Swayne requested, but I want you to know I’m here for you if you need someone to drive you around. I know he’s disappeared on you.”

“I appreciate that,” Waverly mumbled. She hated to think of having to rely on Anson. His favors came with an unspoken price tag. “I don’t want to count Dominic out too soon.”

“You don’t owe him a thing.” Anson seethed. “What has he done for you?”

Taken aback by the mayor’s bluntness, Waverly stopped walking. “I at least owe him the benefit of doubt, Mr. Mayor. Without Dominic’s help, I wouldn’t have this crown.” She pointed to the top of her head, where the Miss Southwood tiara she had to wear whenever she was in public caught the sunlight and flickered off the glass window of The Scoop.

Anson shrugged his broad shoulders. “I get that you represented Crowne’s Garage for Miss Southwood. You garnered more business for him while he was here. But that’s all the man wanted from you. Unlike me. I couldn’t care if you went on to be Miss Georgia or anything else. Your best role would be by my side as Mrs. Wilson. We’re destined to be together.”

Not appreciating the dismissal of her hard work as a beauty queen, Waverly rolled her eyes and tried to remember her manners. “We’ve had this conversation before, when I first arrived in Southwood. You know I am not interested in settling down with anyone,” Waverly clarified in a clipped tone. She averted her eyes back toward the garage.

“I hope you’re not waiting on him,” Anson sneered.

Waverly shook her head, hating the uncomfortable turn of this conversation. “I have my goals.”