Page 77 of Book and Ladder
Hands shoot up all over the room and the low murmur of private conversations fills the air.
“Bucky Dennison!” Mayor Briggs shouts. “Come on upand tell us what you’re thinkin’. And for the sake of all our bedtimes, let’s keep these brief.”
Bucky eases his way out from the center of the row where he’s sitting, saying, “’Scuse me. Pardon me,” to each person he passes. When he’s at the mic, he says, “I’ve been knowin’ Conrad for years. Haven’t I, Connie?”
Mr. O’Connell is seated two rows ahead of me. And right next to him, in his dutiful-son seat, is Patrick. Mr. O’Connell nods his head in agreement with Bucky.
“Anyhoo, I believe in Connie and his heart for our community. To tell the truth, I’m sick of runnin’ to Nashville whenever I need something special. It would be awfully nice to have a supercenter right here in town. And if anyone’s gonna be the one to bring it to us, I’d say that’s the man, right there.”
Bucky steps away from the podium, then he turns around, re-approaches the mic, and adds, “Also, we’re havin’ a sale on end-of-the-season corn at the farmer’s market this weekend, so come on out.”
Winona’s hand lands on my knee. Usually her touch would comfort me. Right now, it feels like confirmation that my ship is going down and I’m going to suffer the fate of Leonardo DiCaprio inTitanic.
Hands shoot up before Mayor Briggs even makes it back to the microphone.
“Okay, then.” He chuckles. “Let’s have Aileen McFarland come on up. Aileen?”
“I’m comin’!” She shouts and then she practically runs to the podium like a contestant onThe Price is Right, her big blond curls bouncing along with her.
She’s out of breath and smiling big when she reaches the podium.
“Hey, everyone!” Aileen waves. “So, here’s all I have to say. Y’all know I love a bargain. And with my children at the agesthey are, I can’t just be zippin’ off to Nashville every time I want to go shoppin’. I really think the Home Mart would be a blessing to all us moms. Think of it. Gettin’ your kiddie pool at a discount each summer. Christmas decor. Towels and whatnot. That land’s just sittin’ there wide open. We’ve got plenty of space ’round here. Giving up that one spot won’t hurt a fly.” She pauses and giggles. “I mean. It might hurt a fly or two, but we’ve got flies to spare, am I right?” She looks around. “That’s it. Bring on the deals! That’s what I say.”
Aileen steps away from the podium, smiling over her shoulder at the mayor and then flashing smiles at each row as she makes her way back to her seat.
I take a deep breath, exhale in one long gust, and shoot my hand up in the air.
“What are you doing?” Cass hisses from the other side of Winona.
“A Hail Mary?” I whisper.
“Daisy Clark!” Mayor Briggs says.
Patrick’s head swivels and our eyes lock. I stand, squaring my shoulders, and I march up to the front of the room even though my feet feel like they’ve been set in concrete.
I stand behind the mic and canvas the sea of faces, including my parents, who are seated toward the back. I can’t hold their gaze or I’ll lose it.
Clearing my throat, I pull the mic down to my height. A shrill squeal of feedback rings through the rafters.
“Um, hi,” I start, my voice shakier than I anticipated.
The room is eerily quiet as everyone waits to hear my thoughts.
I inhale another shaky breath.
My eyes scan the room and land on Betty Faye Holt, Emberleigh’s grandma. She’s smiling softly at me. I zero in on her as if she’s my audience of one.
“Moss and Maple has been around since my grandparentsfulfilled their dream of owning a bookshop here in Waterford.” My voice wobbles. “I grew up in the bookshop, as did many of you.” I almost allow my eyes to rove the crowd, but Betty Faye smiles at me, so I keep telling her my story. “Moss and Maple is the backdrop to some of our sweetest childhood memories. Isn’t it?”
A few heads around Betty Faye nod.
My eyes seek out Patrick. Why him? I couldn’t tell you. His dad’s face is impassive—not unkind, but not friendly either. Patrick’s brow is drawn in just the slightest. Does he actually care?
“The field beside our shop may look like wasted land, but it isn’t. It’s a reminder that open spaces still exist around us. It’s also a barricade between what we are and what we could become. First the Home Mart … What's next? Condos? Strip malls? One by one, we’ll stop being a town built on local businesses. And when that happens, we’ll lose our charm—the very heart of what makes Waterford special.”
I’m silently begging Patrick to see what I see. “I’m not against expansion or convenience. What I am for is the preservation of Waterford. We’re a small town, and we can be proud of the many mom-and-pop shops that continue to thrive and serve our community.”
I think I catch Patrick’s jaw clenching or ticking. It’s hard to tell if I’m imagining a reaction from him, or just conjuring one up from my overactive, foolish, wishful imagination.
