“They’ll need places to live too, Alfred. Not everyone will be able to afford a home in the West End. The Org. Homestead is a good place to start.” Simon matched Alfred’s tone.
“I think you’re forgetting where most of our revenue comes from, Mayor.”
“How could I forget when you remind me every council meeting?”
“I think the mayor has forgotten that all spending goes to acouncil vote.” Mac sounded like the voice behind the curtain in Oz.
Besides Bobby and Mac, Millie Leaf was a West End council member. Adrianna Holmes and Lester Walsh were East End members—who sat there like bumps on a log.
“The mayor has authority for discretionary spending up to three hundred thousand dollars.” Simon faced the citizens in the hall, not his council. “All I’m asking is for some funds to go to the East End.”
“And we know you have a good many properties in the East End, don’t we, Mayor?” Mac said.
“Yes, and I’m setting all my interests aside. Frankly, I’d like to see us do away with all this East End–West End business. We need to be one unified city. Those old Cracker homes tell our story. Just like the Starlight or the Sands Motor Motel or theGazette.” He nodded at Emery. “Or the Skylight on the west side. Or the Tidewater Tavern on the far corner of the west. It’s all a beautiful story. Folks, you’re here because you care. Let us know what you want.”
Crickets.
Bobby rose slowly to his feet. “He has a point. I move we fund a Main Street initiative and release funds to fix up the old downtown, try to build up business on Sea Blue Way. The old splash pad is an eye sore.” He glanced at the council members. “We all have memories of running to Alderman’s for a float after skating at the Starlight, or going to the Blue Plate for all-you-can-eat pancake breakfasts.”
Caleb closed his laptop and returned to his chair next to Emery.
After some discussion, Simon called for a vote, and it was passed to start the first Sea Blue Beach Main Street initiative and given a budget to restore parts of the old downtown. As for the Org. Homestead, it was tabled until further notice.
“They’re throwing us a bone,” Caleb whispered to Emery. “One yes for a hundred nos.”
But he took this as a win. By the look on Simon’s face, so did he. Then Emery stood.
“Emery Quinn, theGazette,” she said. “Mr. Gallagher, or Mr. Brockton, what are your views on preservation? Are you saying no money or effort should be made to restore and rebuild the town’s Original Homestead?”
“Well, Ms. Quinn, since you asked,” Mac Diamond said, “I think the whole East End should be bulldozed. It’s in the way of progress.”
EMERY
“How do you like that guy?” Caleb huffed.
Emery sat across from Caleb at the Blue Plate Diner. She had been in the middle of recording her notes at the meeting, stretching her journalistic muscles, when Caleb had whispered, “I need a drink,” and steered her out of building and down Sea Blue Way.
Hurrying alongside him, she voiced the last of her thoughts into her phone. When they slid into a front booth, Caleb didn’t bother with the menu but ordered two tall, tall chocolate shakes with extra ice cream and extra chocolate.
“Whoa, Caleb, slow your roll. Extra ice cream, extra chocolate?” Emery smiled. He did not. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know ... It’s just ... Mac saying the Org. Homestead Neighborhood should be bulldozed reveals way more than any of us want to admit. The East End is dying.”
“Seemed a rather bold declaration,” Emery said. “But after nine years of reporting in Cleveland, not much surprises me.” Shesorted through her notes from the meeting, squinting at a very weird autocorrect. “Alfred, Bobby, and who’s the other guy? Mac? You could say they’re in the way of preservation.” She glanced up at Caleb, then made a note for Jane Upperton’s West End story. “Talk to me about those West End council members.”
Emery shifted as their server, Elsie, set down two ginormous milkshakes. She jammed her straw through the thick ice cream and drew a long, cold sip. She never imagined a town controversy was brewing when she accepted this job.
“West Enders. Born and raised. Except for Mac. He’s a recent transplant. The prejudice between the two sides grows wider and deeper each year. I’ve not lived here for almost fourteen years, and while the tension was tangible when I was a kid, it was cordial. Now it’s taken a seat at the table. Literally.”
“Okay, but why such hate and loathing in Sea Blue Beach?”
“My guess? Rivalry, greed, envy, jealousy—all the seven deadlies.” He stirred his shake with the straw, then took a sip. “You’re the reporter. Go ask.”
“Jane’s working on a West End story. She and her husband own one of those houses bordering the Org. Homestead. If the West End wants to bulldoze one street, they’ll want to bulldoze more. They’ve put a lot of work into their place. That reminds me...” She looked down at her notes. “Who is Thorndike Alliance?”
“Investors. They get behind small-town projects where the town votes in a small tax to pay them back.”
Emery tapped a note on her phone before setting it aside. “This feels like more than east versus west for you, Caleb.” And just like that, she stepped onto an old, familiar lane. One she’d forged with Caleb when they were teens. Bonded by friendship and laughter, by sorrow.
