Page 125 of Book and Ladder
Everyone but Daisy. The thought is on the tip of my tongue.
I realize I’m still standing, so I sit, my wheels turning.
In an instant, it occurs to me. There may be a way for me to preserve Daisy’s property—her family’s legacy—while still appeasing my dad.
I stand again, waiting for my father’s nod in my direction to speak.
"Is it possible …” I suggest. “… if we go forward with more development near the current site … Could we at least make sure to preserve the aesthetic and guarantee to protect the woods surrounding the area? We could prevent overcrowding by retaining some of the original structures. Is there a way to build condos without overriding that particular property?"
“I like the way you’re thinking, son,” Dad’s praise rings through the speaker system in the rafters for everyone in the room to witness.
My head pivots, my eyes instinctively seeking for Daisy. I hope she hears the compromise in my words, the effort to protect what matters to her. But when our gazes connect, her expression hardens. She looks down. Then the reality of what I’ve done slams into me like an unexpected uppercut to the jaw. My pulse stutters, a hollow thud in my throat.
My dad’s voice fades—muffled, distant, like words being spoken under water. Daisy’s shuttered look of disappointment and betrayal screams over everything.
I’d run to her—run out of here—but old habits die hard and I’m rooted in this familiar tug. Feet splayed wide. One on the gunwale, the other gripping the splintering plank. Water lapping beneath my duplicity.
Dad takes his seat. The meeting wraps up. People stand and mingle.
He turns to me, clapping me on the shoulder. “You’re coming around, Patrick. Finally thinking like a businessman, and one who will hold a position of influence in Waterford in the years to come. I didn’t appreciate the challenge in front of everyone, but in the end, I’m glad to see you taking an interest in the direction we’re moving. You’re showing promise.”
The weight of his hand lingers—warm, heavy, nearly impossible to shrug off.
I open my mouth to answer him, but he turns to greet an old friend.
Betty Faye Holt beelines toward me as I’m trying to disappear into the mid-sized crowd.
She grasps my bicep and looks up at me. “Patrick, it might not be my place.” She squares her shoulders. “But Waterford has always had a certain feel. We like who we are. We don’t need fixin’.”
All I can manage to say is, “I know.”
She drops her hand and pats the spot where her surprisingly strong grip had me stopped in my tracks. “You’ve got sway, Patrick. A lot more than you know.”
Do I, though?
Daisy passes by. She’s surrounded by her friends.
She stares at me. Keeps walking. Then she turns back, catches my gaze, which is already trained on her, and says, “You’ll never change. You’ll always be your father’s puppet.”
Before I can answer her, she walks on. What would I say anyway?
Betty Faye pats my arm. “Now there’s a woman in love.”
“What?!” My outburst comes out louder than I expected.
“Did you see the disappointment in her eyes?”
“Yes. Thanks for bringing that up.” As if I’m not feeling badly enough about it on my own.
Betty Faye shakes her head like I’m the dullest crayon in the box. “Patrick. Only the people we care deeply about have the power to disappoint us with a magnitude that matters. Those were the eyes of a woman who had high hopes for you.”
“I think the key word in that sentence ishad—if you’re even right.”
“I’m right.” She smiles a sugar-sweet smile that belies her skill at dressing a man down.
“I hate to disappoint you. Daisy Clark would rather see a shallow grave dug for me on the newly plowed field next to Moss and Maple than explore something romantic—or even platonic with me.”
“Tsk tsk.” Betty Faye literally scolds me with that old-school noise. “Young men these days. Where’s your fight? This is not the time to give up. Daisy doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. She looked at you with the expression of a woman who wants more. Give her reason to believe in you again.”
