Page 50 of Book and Ladder
Patrick’s dad speaks as easily as if he’s folding paper. Creasing. Wetting the line. Waiting for the rip.His words are the seemingly harmless fingernail dragging slowly along that crease—poised to tear everything I cherish straight down the center.
He smiles broadly. Then he continues. “While we love Waterford—becausewe love Waterford—we want to see this town flourish for years to come. And the quaint shops in our historic downtown all do relatively well. But we’ve seen far too many small towns decline and perish over time.”
He looks around the room, making the kind of intentional eye contact a high school public speaking teacher would praise. He needs to drive home the fear of “perishing” before he dubs himself savior, apparently.
“Perishing?” I whisper to Carli. “Tell that to the Saturday morning line at Baker From Another Mother.”
She rolls her eyes in a show of solidarity.
“As most of you know, I specialize in development. And I’m well aware that the mere idea of expansion can raise hackles.”
He has the audacity to look me dead in the eyes. I stare back, unwilling to let him see how his very presence feels like a stab in the back.
“I have a proposal for our community that I think will be a compromise of sorts. No one wants to change anything about our downtown—myself included. The charm and simplicity of that sector of town remains a draw and serves its purpose.”
“How nice of him to concede that,” I mutter, shocked at the visceral reaction this whole speech is drawing out of me.
“Shhhh,” Winona warns softly.
She gently strokes my arm to calm my riotous nerves.
I’m a mess. If not for the fact that two of my closest friends were containing me with their hands, I might bolt out of my chair right now.
“So,” Mr. O’Connell continues, “We’re looking on the outskirts of town—at land that has very little development.”
“Looking for what?” someone shouts from the back.
“Ain’t gonna find much out there,” another chimes in.
Light laughter follows.
Not much but my shop.
Maybe he’s thinking of another outskirts. The area around Waterford is undeveloped in all directions.
“We’d like to expand in a direction where there’s already some existing minor development—residences and smaller shops.”
I close my eyes and bite my lower lip.
Winona and Carli softly pat and rub my arm and leg, reminding me I’m not alone.
“The open property to the north of Moss and Maple has access to existing water lines and electricity. We’re planning an exciting expansion there. Home Mart is interested in bringing a shop to Waterford. This will mean fewer trips to Nashville for your essentials, lower prices, and more access to products you want.”
Home Mart. The words detonate in my chest. Like a wrecking ball swung straight through my shelves. The O’Connells swing through town and I’m rubble.
“You mean to tell me you’re puttin’ a chain store in Waterford?” one elderly gentleman shouts out.
That’s exactly what he’s saying.
And not in Waterford, just outside the town limits. Right next to my shop.
I don’t dare look at any of my friends right now. The tears gathering on my lids will spill.
“You’ll all be included in the plans as we go,” Mr. O’Connell promises. “I encourage you not to think of this as a chain. It will be run by locals. This will be your store. The Waterford Home Mart.”
“Still sounds like a chain to me,” another older member of our community shouts.
Normally our town meetings have a little more decorum. But, when things get feisty, well, they get feisty.
