The Show Must Go On
June 3rd
“Your mother always had a booth at the festival,” says Mrs. Middleton.
I’m not my mother. That’s what I want to say. “I apologize for the confusion, Mrs. Middleton. But I can’t throw a booth together in one week.”
“Your mother committed last year and —”
“My mother is dead. Unless you expect her to attend from beyond the grave, I fail to see how that commitment matters now.”
The only sound I hear from the other end of the phone is Mrs. Middleton’s Bichon Frisé, Tinkerbell, whining in the background. I look down at the confirmation letter than came in the mail from the Mullica Hill Summer Arts Festival committee. Mom loved the festival. She loved Mullica Hill. She said it always reminded her of a miniature version of Salem, Massachusetts. For a few years, s
