Page 65 of Always Meant for You
I look up. Cal’s watching me. He has one of Jamie’s notebooks open, pen in hand. When our eyes meet, he drops his gaze. But not fast enough to hide the strain behind it. I’ve seen it before, back at the house, in the silence between his words. He’s trying to hold this together. For Jamie. For the town. For himself.
Around him, Margaret Young, Betty, one of the Sperry women, and Joel Martinez nod along.
Cal straightens. “All right, folks, let’s begin.”
Abe taps my shoulder. “We’ll be seeing you around the farm.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “See you there.”
The room quiets, and I slide into the folding chair beside my father.
“Before we begin,” Cal says, voice steady but tight, “Claudine Lundgrin from the county animal rescue center has a few words.”
My dad straightens slightly, then removes his cap and pats down his cropped gray hair.
I study his movements. “Are you all right?”
“Just settling in,” he grumbles.
A woman in a butter-yellow dress, embroidered with tiny cats and dogs, steps beside Cal. She’s tall and slim, with silver-streaked hair swept into a loose twist, and wire-rimmed glasses that slide down her nose every time she nods. There’s an ease about her, something kind and quietly unshakable.
Claudine clasps her hands and smiles at the room, her voice warm but clear. “Thank you,” she begins. “Callan and I spoke about the overwhelming number of cats and kittens needing homes. We’d like to ask your permission to set up an adoption table at the farmers’ market.”
A faint cough echoes. A chair squeaks. Then quiet again.
Cal scans the room. “Any discussion?”
A low voice slices through the stillness. “When are we going to get to the real business about the Elverna Sustainable Farming Initiative?” Mr. Stewart calls, a scowl pasted to his lips.
“We’ll discuss the co-op initiative after this, Mr. Stewart,” Cal answers, a thread of exhaustion in his voice.
Nobody says another word.
“Let’s take it to a vote,” Cal says. “On allowing an adoption table at the farmers’ market.”
Margaret stands with practiced grace, a yellow legal pad pressed to her chest. “All in favor?”
Betty hums, soft and sure, and the rest of the council follows, voices rising in a scattered wave of ayes.
“Opposed?” Cal says.
Nothing. Only the buzz of fluorescent lights and the clink of someone stirring coffee too aggressively.
“Motion passes,” Margaret confirms, already scribbling. “Thank you, Ms. Lundgrin. Someone will be in touch.”
Claudine beams, her smile wide against the playful pattern stitched into her dress. “And remember, I’m also teaching computer classes at the library. Everyone is welcome.”
She peers into the sea of people, then waves to my father.
I lower my voice. “Do you know her?”
His gaze doesn’t shift. “It’s a small town.”
Of course. A non-answer answer.
“Now, can we talk about the failing farmers’ market? That’s two in a row,” a man in the back mutters.
Cal exhales a tight breath. “Yes, Mr. Sperry. That’s next on the agenda.”
