Page 10 of Nashville Lights

“A 0.2 acre section is all many families require, Mr. Boone,” says the one named Darren. “Townhouses are very desirable. Especially with country views.”

“You’re telling me you want to putseven hundred houseson a hundred and fifty acre property.” I don’t ask it. I state it as an unbelievably stupid idea.

“Yes. That’s what we’re proposing.”

Fucking hell. “The infrastructure required for seven hundred houses would drastically change the landscape ofthe entire area. And I’m not just talking about the views. I’m talking about the traffic, the impact on the ecosystems and the wildlife, the businesses that would be required to feed, school and provide for all the needs of that kind of population growth. The carbon footprint of a project like that?—”

“Mr. Boone,” interrupts Wesley. Or Everett. Or Darren. Who the fuck cares. “You—and all of us—stand to make asignificantamount of money out of this project. We’re talking multi,multimillions. Let’s keep our eye on the ball.”

I’ve had just about enough of this. “How about this, Wesley: you keep your fucking eye onyourfucking ball and I’ll keep an eye on mine.”

Damn it all to hell, Jed.I don’t know how he smiled his way through meetings like this every day of the week. My tie feels more like a noose around my neck with every passing second.

Daisy will be waiting at the house and once again I’ll be late because I so often get held up by assholes like these.

I look at these watery-eyed men and all I can feel is contempt. They’re quiet now, in the wake of my rant.

Jed and I started this company when we were both twenty-two and our skillsets were well-matched. He was the people person with a good-natured knack for dealing with clients. He knew how to talk sense into people like this and appeal to their sense of integrity, no matter how deeply it might be buried under all those layers of greed.

I was good at dealing with the nuts and bolts of the ground-breaking and the building—and do it in a way thatwas in the best interests of the community, the history of the place while also doing my best to preserve the aesthetics of the countryside. Making all of the above line up can be a juggling act. And I can admit that, without Jed, I’m dropping a few fucking balls.

“Look,” I say, mining deep for an inkling of patience. “I don’t disagree with you guys. Progressdoesmean change. You’re right. And I have no problem with change. But I can’t—and I won’t—agree to the kind of change that’s going to destroy Tennessee.”

Sure, I could take on a project like this, cash in and retire. And have all the time in the world for Daisy.

I’m already pretty close to being able to do that, come to think of it, or way past the point of being already there. But these projects should never beonlyabout the money.

Either way, I’d rather be dirt poor than see seven hundred houses built on the doorstep of Sugar Mountain.

I’ll fight them tooth and nail with everything I’ve got.

“Mr. Boone, I don’t think you understand the amount of money we’re talking about here,” Everett pleads.

“And I don’t think you understand how easy it would be for me to kill this project with one five-minute phone call.” Which is exactly what I plan on doing. I can’t blame them for trying, but there’s no fucking way. I can admit my people skills are severely lacking today. I’ve barely had five hours of sleep a night for months on end, with Daisy’s nightmares and my own tossing and turning with worry about everyone I care about, who all seem to need my help.

Julian correctly reads the room. “I think we’ve gone as far as we’re going to go with this today. But Mr. Boone—please—read through this business proposal here when you’ve had some time to go through the numbers. I’m sure you’ll be impressed by just how lucrative this project could be for you.” He slides a manila envelope over to me.

As much as I’d like to tell him to shove his manila envelope up his pasty white ass, I see this as my out.

I stand up from the table, taking the envelope. “I’ll look it over.”

Julian and the others stand. “Could we reconvene in, say, a week? Same time, same day?”

“I’m afraid the answer to that question is no. I’ll call you if I change my mind or if hell freezes over, whichever comes first. Nice meeting y’all,” I add, because manners are still ingrained in me even if patience isn’t. With that, I walk out.

4

I makemy way out to my truck and throw the manila envelope into the back seat, where I don’t have to look at it during my drive. I loosen my tie, and decide it’s the last time I wear one.

The engine roars to life, a growl that matches my mood.

I think of home, relieved as fuck that I’m headed there now.

I think of Daisy’s laugh, the one that bubbles up every now and then, a pure, perfect sound that makes all the bullshit fade out.

I can admit the sound of Daisy’s laughter is all too rare these days.

Which is to be expected. Her parents just died. She’s a grieving little girl with a world of emotions that she can’t possibly begin to understand or process.

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