The contractor shook his head. “Easy for you to say when your livelihood doesn’t depend on growth. Some of us are barely hanging on. We need this project.”
More voices joined in, the room growing louder as people shouted over each other to be heard. The mayor banged his gavel, trying to restore order, but the damage was done. The division in the room was unmistakable, a chasm that seemed to grow wider with each heated exchange. It seemed like the very fabric of their community was unraveling, torn apart by conflicting visions of the future.
She caught Cliff’s eye across the room. For a moment, she saw a flicker of the boy she’d once known, the one who loved this island as fiercely as she did. Then his expression hardened, and he looked away.
The mayor finally managed to quiet the crowd. “We will have order,” he said sternly. “Everyone will have a chance to speak. But we will do so respectfully. Let’s give Mr. Griffin a chance to speak again.”
She watched as Cliff stood, straightening his tie before returning to the podium. His shoulders were relaxed, and he carried himself with an easy confidence. A confidence he’d tried to portray when they were younger, but she’d known the insecure boy under his bravado. But his confidence now was sincere and polished, refined by years of business dealings.
His eyes met hers briefly before he looked away. She felt that familiar flutter in her chest, the one she’d been fighting since he returned to town.
“This project isn’t about erasing Magnolia Key’s past,” he said. “It’s about securing its future while honoring its heritage. We can preserve what makes this place special while creating opportunities for the next generation. This is one way to do it. When the bridge is finished, more people will find your—our—town. We need to rise to the challenge and provide for them.”
The crowd erupted into heated discussion again, their voices rising steadily. Some pointed at the renderings, while others gestured emphatically at their neighbors. The division in the room grew more apparent with each passing moment.
Miss Eleanor rose again, her spine straight as a rail. “Mr. Mayor, I have more to say about this matter.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Eleanor. The rules clearly state one comment per person. We need to give everyone a chance to speak.” The mayor’s tone was respectful but firm.
Miss Eleanor settled back into her seat, her lips pressed into a thin line. Beverly recognized the signs of her building frustration. The woman who usually commanded any room she entered had been silenced.
She glanced at Cliff, who stood near his presentation boards, arms crossed as he observed the room. His expression remained neutral, but she recognized the slight tension in his shoulders. He’d always carried his stress there, even as a teenager.
“This isn’t right,” Miss Eleanor muttered beside her. “They need to hear the whole story.”
The crowd’s volume increased further. Old friends who usually shared coffee and conversation at her shop now sat in opposing camps, their faces set in determined lines. The room felt smaller somehow, compressed by the conflicting hopes and fears for their town’s future.
The mayor banged his gavel again, quieting the crowd. “I think we’ve heard enough for now. We’ll turn all this over to the planning committee and they’ll take all your comments under advisement. Then they’ll make their decision. Meeting adjourned.”
Beverly rose from her seat. For now, all she could do was listen as her neighbors continued to argue, their voices rising and falling like the tide. She prayed that somehow they would find a way to bridge the divide and preserve what made Magnolia Key special while still allowing room for growth. The alternative—a town torn apart by discord and resentment—was too painful to contemplate.
Chapter 4
Beverly wiped down the counter one last time as the lunch crowd thinned out. Only a few tables remained, lingering over their coffee. Maxine had stayed to help clean up, though Beverly suspected she had ulterior motives.
“Come sit with me,” Maxine called from their usual corner table. “That counter won’t get any cleaner.”
She set down her cloth and joined her friend. The table was ready for tomorrow’s guests, with the salt and pepper shakers full and a small bowl of artificial sugar and creamer sitting beside them. She focused on adjusting shakers until they were perfectly lined up with the sugar shaker.
“So.” Maxine’s voice held that gentle, prodding tone she knew too well. “Are we going to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” She adjusted the shakers again.
“About how you nearly dropped that entire tray of mugs when you saw Cliff walk past the window this morning.”
“I did not.” But she had come close.
“Beverly.” Maxine waited until she looked up. “How are you really feeling about him being back?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. Talk to me.”
“I’m angry. So angry.” Her voice came out tight, strained. “But then I see the way Eleanor tears into him in public, and I remember that lost little boy who could never do anything right.” She sighed as she ran her fingers along the edge of the table. “I feel angry, but I also… I can’t help feeling sorry for him.”
Maxine waited for her to continue.
“Remember that science fair disaster?” She closed her eyes, remembering twelve-year-old Cliff standing in front of his project. He’d worked so hard on it, determined to win first place. To make his parents proud. But something went wrong with his volcano experiment, and instead of a controlled eruption, it sprayed red foam all over the gym floor. Eleanor had pressed her lips together in that way she had while his father had simply walked away.
