Page 93 of A Hero Comes Home

Jake just grinned.

“She’s practically engaged to someone else.”

“Practically being the key word to a player like you.”

“I’m not a player. I’ve never been a player.”

Jake shrugged, as if that was debatable.

Mayor Ferguson blew a whistle, the signal for action. Apparently, she was second-in-command and only merited a whistle while the high honcho got the bullhorn.

Izzie and Durand got into the back seat of a convertible with a driver wearing a pirate outfit, complete with eye patch. Jake was glad he hadn’t gotten that particular ride. Instead, he and the colonel sat in the back seat of another convertible driven by a college kid dressed in red, white, and blue—What else?—as Uncle Sam complete with top hat and gray beard.

It was hard to tell exactly what the theme of this parade was. Patriotism. Pirates. Treasure hunting. Local pride. Or something else. When Jake had first talked to the mayor about this parade, she’d suggested “Hometown Heroes” as a theme. But, when he’d said he would be damned if he would be the highlight of a parade, she changed it to “Hometown Spirit,” which was much more inclusive. In other words, a potluck of whatevers.

From their seats in the open vehicle on the side street, while they waited their turn, they were able to watch the first half of the parade go by on the main drag leading into town, starting with a local high school marching band. Then there were antique cars, truck-drawn boats worth a fortune for sale from some marinas, motorcycle clubs, baton twirlers, color guards, more bands, including a colonial drum and fife one, and a small Army unit from Fort Bragg that must have come at Durand’s request. Scottish bagpipers added yet another type of music.

There was a pet parade section that marched along, or were tugged along, featuring everything from the usual dogs and cats, along with a goose on a leash, a llama, ferrets in a cage on a red wagon, a potbellied pig, a pygmy goat, several snakes, and a monkey. These were followed later by some of the wild ponies from Ocracoke and Corolla.

Intermixed with all these were local floats put together by a garden club and several bell choirs, not to mention some local stores, like Abe Bernstein’s deli, making the most of his Reuben’s Masterpiece. The float featured a huge canvas depicting the artist Rubens painting his own self-portrait, shown eating one of Abe’s corned beef sandwiches. An impressive Bell Forge float held early bell-making equipment being fired by laborers in early 1900s–type clothing. Then, historic Southern quilts were displayed by Blankety-Blank, a town square quilt store, which included a huge frame being worked by a woman in period costume sitting on a stool. The Rutledge Tree Farm float showcased a funny display of their famous Rutledge trees, which were horribly misshapen examples, not unlike Charlie Brown trees, that had become an Outer Banks sensation because they were so bad.

The Bell Cove Treasure and Salvaging Company float starred Merrill Good, “Uncle” Kevin, and several others, including two women, who must all be part of the team. They were gathered around a fake sailing ship of the 1800s, supposedly the one they’d uncovered recently, tossing candy gold coins to the crowds. They were dressed, not in pirate attire like Mayor Ferguson wanted them to, but jeans and T-shirts with the logo “Bell Cove Treasure Hunters.”

From other sectors of the Outer Banks, there were floats depicting the historic Wright Brothers flight from Kill Devil Hills, sponsored by Wright Brothers National Memorial, and a drama enactment of Virginia Dare and the Lost Colony of Roanoke.

There were also some OBX fire trucks, representatives of the Wicked Tuna TV show, and more bands.

“What a great town to live in!” the colonel remarked beside him.

“You think so?” Jake asked. “They can be irritating as hell.”

The colonel shrugged.

“Where do you live?”

“With my nephew in Richmond. I always thought it would be cool to grow up in a small town, though.”

Jake’s attention was drawn to the scout troops who were marching by then in haphazard rows that would drive a drill sergeant nuts. They must have been advised to keep their faces forward, but his boys darted glances and little smiles his way.

Jake stood up in the seat and waved, yelling, “Hooah!” at them, despite the scoutmasters’ glares his way. One of them, a female, gave him a little smile, though.

“Are those your sons?” the colonel asked.

“Yep. Three of them.”

“You’re a lucky man.”

Jake knew he was, but he looked at the old guy in question. “Do you have a family? I mean, other than your nephew.”

“Nope. Was married once, but we never had any babies before we got divorced. Heard she remarried a few years later and had three daughters. Coulda been mine.” Those last words were said on a kind of choked whisper.

Jake didn’t know what to say to that.

But no words were necessary as the old guy continued, “I was a wreck after I came back from that German war camp. And they didn’t have any of the services you young fellas have today for handling those kinds of problems.”

Jake still didn’t know what to say.

“You make sure you take advantage of all the help they give you,” the colonel advised him, squeezing his arm for emphasis. “Don’t lose those things most precious to you through fool pride. Y’hear?”