Page 62 of Checking Mr. Wrong
I grab a pint of pistachio and head for the register, feeling a little more like myself again.
CHAPTER 22
MABEL
I siton the worn floral couch in my mom’s living room, a mug of too-sweet tea balanced precariously on my knee. My head has a tiny knock, the sign of the headache to come if I don’t stop staring at documents and reading our research on all the digital devices. There is only so much blue light your eyes can take.
Fiona paces the room, her phone pressed to her ear as she listens to someone on the other end from one of the U. S. Fish and Wildlife’s regional offices. Neesha, of course,brought comfort cupcakes, and she sits cross-legged on the rug, clutching Willa’s kids’ book like it’s a golden ticket. Which, in a way, we’ve come to realize it is.
“Uh-huh. Yes. Yes. Yes.” Fiona’s eyes meet mine, which she rolls as she continues. “Of course. No, no, I understand. We can have this written up and the forms filled out within a few hours.”
Fiona throws her fist up and pumps the air as Neesha and I both freeze, my heart beginning to race.
“Thanks, you too,” Fiona says as she wraps the call, smiling. She disconnects and tosses her phone into the nearest armchair. “You guys, we did it. Mabel, you were right. Maple Falls Parkand the land that it uses, where you and Willa both saw the bird, is not supposed to be touched now.”
“All because of that Blue Stone… Wait—” Neesha stops herself, giggling. “What’s it called again?”
“Blue Rock Thrush,” I say as I grab Fiona’s hands and squeeze them. “The town owes Willa Blackwell-Beaumont a parade as far as I’m concerned. It’s not every day you stumble across an endangered bird and it ends up saving a town.”
“Not quite the whole town, but we’ll start with Maple Falls Park.” Fiona takes a sip of tea and then sets the mug on the coffee table. “Once this is done, we should tell the local paper to help pin this and cement it even further. That MacDonald guy can back off.”
Neesha clutches the folder tighter and bounces on her knees. “That weasely lawyer of his won’t be able to ignore this. We’ve got legally protected land now.”
The sound of someone clearing their throat makes all of our heads snap in its direction. I look over to find my mother leaning against the doorway of the living room, arms folded across her chest.
“Did I hear you say you’ve found a way to protect a section of the town?” she asks, her eyes wider than I think I’ve ever seen them before.
My eyes bounce from Neesha’s and Fiona’s until they land on my mom’s. I slowly nod my head. “We did. The park. We still have some things to do—fill out some paperwork and get some photographic evidence from Willa—but we found one way to help save a slice of Maple Falls.”
Mom stares at me for what feels like hours before a tiny grin begins to make its way across her features. She unfolds her arms and steps into the room, eyeing all of us.
“That is smart, ladies,” she says, heading over to the bookshelf on the other side of the room. “Is it one section of the park or the whole thing?”
“The whole thing,” Fiona answers, plucking her phone out of the cushions of the armchair. “But I know it’s not enough.”
“What do you mean?” Neesha asks.
Mom scans the shelves, taking a book down, its spine announcingMaps and Trails of Maple Falls.“Maple Falls Park is one part of the whole land grab equation. Protecting it is great news, but we need to find ways to protect more land.” She hands me the book. “Does that make sense?”
“So we need to find a way to show that this bird is also living in other areas of Maple Falls, too?” I look at Fiona who nods in understanding. “Like, nesting?”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Fiona says, biting her bottom lip as she scrolls something on her phone. “According to the guy on the phone,the first step is safeguarding the habitat, which is what we’ve done with the park.”
“Or will do once the documentation is filed,” I add.
“Exactly.” Fiona nods. “If someone can also find additional nesting, which is a very possible thing with these birds, as well as an area they use for foraging…”
“…we can protect more land,” my mother finishes, high-fiving Neesha as she does.
“This is nothing shy of amazing,” Neesha preens. “You guys, I can’t believe it. This is better than the time Mrs. Harkins accidentally set the town Christmas tree on fire during the lighting ceremony and tried to blame it on a rogue squirrel.”
My mother bursts out laughing. “Oh, my gosh, I forgot about that! She was waving that charred marshmallow stick around like it was Exhibit A.”
“It wasn’t even a squirrel,” Neesha says, wiping tears of laughter. “Turns out, she’d sprayed the whole tree with hairspray because she thought it would make the lights shinier.”
“Didn’t she still get voted to be head of the decorations committee the next year?” I ask, incredulous.
“Now, that, my dears,” my mother adds, shaking her head, “was a town miracle.”
