Page 124 of Book and Ladder
I shrug.
“In addition to the groundbreaking at the future site of Home Mart, we’ve got another development to consider.”
My ears ring and I feel like I’m free-falling with no parachute.
The only words I fully process are “... the property that was the home to Moss and Maple.”
Chapter 33
Patrick
Don't let your loyalty keep you in situations
your common sense should have gotten you out of.
~ Trent Shelton
I lookover at my dad—effortlessly composed, naturally dominant. His mouth curves into that familiar, passive grin that presses his lips thin and lifts the skin beneath his eyes. It isn’t warmth. It’s satisfaction—the quiet assurance of a man who’s come to mistake his authority for benevolence.
I don’t dare turn to see Daisy’s expression. I can already imagine the horror and shock she’s experiencing at the mention of plans for her property.
“Moss and Maple,” I whisper in my father’s direction, not turning toward him, eyes fixed on the podium.
“Mmmm,” he hums his affirmation.
I won’t have molars left if he keeps this up. Seeing the land plowed clear next to her property was jarring enough.Now this? My stomach tightens, a slow burn spreading like heat under turnout gear.
I’m squirrelly—channeling adrenaline the same way I harness it on the way toward a fire that’s quickly becoming an inferno. Outside, I’m the benign image of composure. Inside, I’m rabidly scaling the walls.
Daisy just closed shop. The body of Moss and Maple hasn’t even gone cold. Books still line the shelves like the gauze around Lazarus—seemingly dead, but awaiting resurrection.
Minutes tick by while townspeople take to the microphone discussing best practices for road and bridge salting schedules, emergency winter storm shelter options, then parade routes, floats and volunteer opportunities.
My knee bounces. My neck pulses with the need to make eye contact with Daisy.
My father stands without invitation and strides to the front of the room, tugging at his suit coat as he steps to the podium. The rest of us are dressed in jeans and thermals or sweaters.
“Good evening, friends and neighbors,” he smiles and scans the room. “I want to thank each of you for your support in the Home Mart project. We’ve broken ground, as most of you know, and hope to have the grand opening before Memorial Day—with any luck, by Easter.”
He pauses for reactions. Some people around the room whoop and clap. A number of us remain still.
“I know the land looks awful at the moment. Hang in there and we’ll have a beauty of a store for you soon.” He smiles confidently.
“Now, I don’t want a pitchfork mob coming for me,” he laughs, a refined burst of amusement. “I just want to bring up some options and let you mull them over.”
He’s placating. I don’t even think it’s calculated. Like a dancer who’s run her routines so often she can rely on muscle memory for every plié and arabesque, he’s operating on practiced skill. This is how you win the crowd: charm, relatability, a slow coaxing.
“We could really develop this side of town. Imagine some condos, out of the way, not in your neighborhood, we’re talking about the outskirts of Waterford. You don’t want your grown children leaving and never coming back. Let’s give them beautiful housing they can afford before they purchase their first house. Keep your grandkids here in town. And I know your ranch hands often live on your properties, but if you wanted to provide an alternative, the condos would be an option. Or …”
He beams with unrestrained anticipation. His softer, polished grin morphs into a smile that takes over his face.
“What if we were to build a practice facility for the Tennessee Thunder? All those football players would need a place to stay when they come here during pre-season. We could build the infrastructure of this town in such a way that we preserve the historic quaintness while adding value and building revenue for all of our small business owners in the process.”
“Is that in the plans?” The words are out before I can stop them. I shoot out of my seat, locking eyes with my father—those eyes that look so much like my own I could be looking in a mirror. “A football training facility for an NFL team? Here in Waterford?”
“Think big, Patrick,” Dad says, not showing one ounce of disturbance at my interruption.
He turns away from me, addressing the townspeople. “Think big. Wouldn’t it be special to have all those football players here in town before the season starts? It could putWaterford on the map. Your small shops wouldn’t change or go out of business. As a matter of fact, you could ensure they’d stay in business, making more than ever before. Progress means everyone wins.”
