At First Sight - Nicholas Sparks [27]
“That’s why we need your help.”
“I’d love to help, but I’ve just been so busy trying to straighten things out for the Heron Festival this summer. It’s the big event around here—even bigger than the Historic Homes Tour, if you can believe that. We have carnival rides for the kids, concession booths along Main Street, parades, and all sorts of contests. Anyway, the grand marshal of the parade was supposed to be Myrna Jackson from Savannah, but she just called saying she’s not going to be able to make it on account of her husband. You know Myrna Jackson?”
Jeremy tried to place the name. “I don’t think so.”
“The acclaimed photographer?”
“Sorry,” Jeremy said.
“Famous woman, Myrna,” he said, ignoring Jeremy’s comment. “Probably the most famous southern photographer there is. Wonderful work. She actually spent a summer in Boone Creek when she was a girl, and we were lucky to get her. But just like that, her husband comes down with cancer. A terrible, terrible thing, mind you, and we’ll all be praying for him—but it also puts us in a bind. We’re in quite a spot, and it’s going to take some time to find a new grand marshal. I’m going to have to spend hours on the phone trying to line someone up. Someone famous. . . . It’s just a shame I don’t have any connections in the celebrity world. Well, except you, of course.”
Jeremy stared at the mayor. “Are you asking me to be the grand marshal?”
“No, no, of course not. You’ve already got your key to the city. Someone else . . . someone whose name people will recognize.” He shook his head. “Despite the breathtaking beauty of our town and the wonder of our fine citizens, it’s not easy selling Boone Creek to someone from a major metropolis. Frankly, it’s not a duty I look forward to, not with everything else that needs to be arranged for the festival. And then, having to deal with those folks in state government . . .” He trailed off, as if even considering the request were too much to fathom.
Jeremy knew exactly what the mayor was doing. Gherkin had a way of getting people to do just what he wanted and making them think it was their idea. It was obvious he wanted Jeremy to take care of his grand marshal problem in exchange for getting the permit, and the only question was whether Jeremy wanted to play along. Frankly, he didn’t, but they did need a date. . . .
Jeremy sighed. “Maybe I can help. Who do you want?”
Gherkin brought a hand to his chin, looking as if the fate of the world rested on solving this particular dilemma. “Could be anyone, I suppose. I’m just looking for name recognition, someone who’ll make the town ooh and aah and bring in the crowds.”
“How about if I find someone? In exchange, of course, for helping us with the permit?”
“Well, now there’s an idea. Wonder why I hadn’t thought of it. Let me think about that for a bit.” Gherkin tapped his finger against his jaw. “Well, I suppose that might work. Assuming you get the right sort of person, I mean. What kind of person are you talking about?”
“I’ve interviewed a lot of people over the years. Scientists, professors, Nobel Prize winners . . .”
The mayor was already shaking his head as Jeremy continued.
“Physicists, chemists, mathematicians, explorers, astro- nauts . . .”
Gherkin looked up. “Did you say astronauts?”
Jeremy nodded. “The guys who fly the space shuttle. I did a big story on NASA a couple of years back, and I became friends with a few. I could give them a call. . . .”
“You’ve got yourself a deal.” Gherkin snapped his fingers. “I can see the billboards now: ‘The Heron Festival: Where Outer Space Is Brought to Your Doorstep.’ We can make use of that theme all weekend. Not just a pie-eating contest, but a Moon-Pie-eating contest; we can make floats that look like rockets and satellites—”
“You bothering Jeremy with that ridiculous catfish story again, Tom?” Doris said as she walked back into the room, the journal nestled beneath