[Not Just Any Other] Ghost Story

Chapter 28

Thanksgiving was by far the most popular holiday in New Bedford.

No sooner had the Fall Festival's jack-o-lanterns been relegated to the compost piles did Pilgrim hat-wearing, larger-than-life turkey cut-outs replace them in the town square. Cranberries dominated every baked good and corn became an unavoidable side dish. With the original Plymouth colony less than one hundred miles away, it was little surprise that the town was ga-ga for the feast of gratitude that could be traced back to the Puritans.

Four centuries of tradition be damned, Sarah still couldn't get into the spirit.

"I don't know. I still think it's all kind of gross," she had replied when her aunt asked if she was as excited as she was about the annual Thanksgiving Day parade.

"Gross?" Jane had asked, dropping a tiny faux-gourd she'd been meticulously arranging in the cornucopia on the dining room table. "What's wrong with celebrating the three Fs: food, family and football?"

Sarah had scoffed. She loved her aunt dearly, but for a teacher, the woman could sometimes have a very naive world-view.

"There's nothing wrong with any of those," she had said, picking up the fallen decoration and placing it into the centerpiece next to a plastic ear of purple corn. "I just mean we shouldn't be doing it at the expense of ignoring the exploitation of Indigenous peoples who were actually responsible for the white colonizers' survival that first winter."

"Fair enough," Jane had said. "But you are still coming, right?"

Sarah had been prepared to say no—until she found out Caleb would be there. Since his restraining order against her still stood, a public event like this was the only way she could get near him. And there was one last thing Sarah needed to do before leaving New Bedford.

She wasn't even sure how she'd gotten the idea. But it was in the last few weeks when she had nothing better to do than to stew in her misery. After it had come to light that she had a history of acting weird and even blacking out, the DA declared her an unsympathetic witness and declined to press charges. Having been banned from the high school and now with no hope of getting justice for herself or the woman found behind the fireplace mantle, she was left with just one thing: revenge.

And revenge in this crappy-ass town apparently started with huddling, half-frozen in a folding chair on the corner of Main Street and Elm while waiting between hundreds of others for the parade to begin.

"Hot cocoa?" asked Jane, thrusting a Thermos in Sarah's face from the chair beside her.

But Sarah shook her head. "No, thanks," she said, holding up her own insulated container she usually used for water. "I'm good."

At that exact moment an emergency siren blipped on, the sound coming from the police car leading the parade. The signal made everyone lean into the street to watch the first of the two New Bedford patrol cars turn the corner—with lights ceremoniously flashing—as the festivities kicked off.

For the next half hour, everyone in town who wasn't on the route watching was in the street taking part in the procession. Music, costumed characters, and Chamber of Commerce supported businesses were interspersed between themed displays set up on flatbed trucks. The mayor rode in an open Cadillac like some fat-cat out of the Nixon era, waving to the cheering crowd while sitting next to a kid in a turkey costume. A troupe of Pilgrims and Indians marched after, twirling fake muskets and tomahawks to the beat of an accompanying drumline. People on bicycles dressed like ears of corn (sponsored by the local maize association per the preceding banner) were next, followed by the New Bedford High marching band.

Sarah's interest momentarily piqued as she scanned the musicians, easily spotting both Bennett and Venus. She almost waved, but both were too focused on playing their trumpets while stepping in formation to see her. Neither had talked to her in weeks, so she didn't even know why she'd expect any acknowledgement and she slumped back in her seat.