I startle, turning to find Gramps at the end of the counter, his hand held out expectantly. I reach down and hand him a bottle of water, watching him lean on his cane as he opens it.
He’s still not well enough after his fall to actually help with projects, so he’s declared himself the foreman and has been wandering from room to room, making little noises and complimenting our work. It actually seems to motivate some of the teens, who must be running out of steam this close to the end of the project, when everything is all just minor details and touch-ups.
“I’m sorry I skipped the brainstorming session,” I say, voice low, trying to keep the embarrassment from spreading through me.
“Eh,” Gramps says, shrugging like it doesn’t matter much. Then, he fixes me with a look rife with amusement. “We’ve all been there, son.”
“Been where?”
He gives me a look like it’s obvious. “Head over heels for a woman you’re not sure you’ll get.”
I sputter, try to gather myself, but Gramps just laughs, shaking his head, reaching forward to clap me on the shoulder. “I have a feeling things are going to work out, Evan. You’ll see.”
My head is still a mess about Amy, trying to parse what I know about her with the evidence I have. Gramps thinks everything will work out.
I’m not so sure.
“I’ve been upthrough Evan’s tract of land often,” Carp says, sitting at the council table and looking right at the representative from the State. “And I can personally attest to the fact that he keeps it maintained, and his top priority is the safety of those driving through.”
The state representative doesn’t look convinced. Even worse than that, he looks bored.
The town hall is filled with people all willing to testify to the fact that I’ve always taken very good care of the land. I’m already getting the sense that it’s not going to be enough. Therepresentative isn’t even looking at Carp as he speaks and keeps darting glances down at his phone, like he can’t wait to get out of here.
Before the meeting started, there was a town potluck. Edna convinced me to use the communal kitchen at the lodge to make a batch of chili, and even though it smelled amazing—like my childhood, and like comfort—I couldn’t bring myself to take a single bite, knowing my future was about to be decided by some asshole who doesn’t even know me, or anything about this town.
I’d allowed myself to hope the state rep might take a closer look at what was going on, that they might see how McKay had been trying to take the land for years, but when the guy walked in—wearing a plain gray, ill-tailored suit and a bored expression—I’d let go of any hope I had.
Beverly takes the stand next, and the state rep actually slumps back in his seat, looking to the ceiling.
Finally, it’s my turn to walk up to the stand. I have my papers with me, the notes I prepared, and I read from them, feeling pressure build up in my throat.
I don’t like being in a room of people on a good day. But being at the front of it like this, feeling everyone looking at me, is much worse.
“Good afternoon,” I start, clearing my throat, trying to make my voice a little smoother, more in control. When I realize the state rep is on his phone again, I can’t stop myself from raising my voice, directing my next sentence to him. “Thanks for making the drive out here, man.”
He starts—as do many of the other people in the town hall, rousing from their blank stares and low-energy postures.
Blinking, he nods, clearing his throat and answering, “Oh, of course. It’s my job.”
“Right,” I say pointedly, hoping he gets the meaning. “Well, I’ll keep this quick for you, since I’m sure you have a lot of other work to take care of, too.”
I take a deep breath, sit up taller, and glance down at the papers in my hand. If this doesn’t go my way, and I end up losing my place, I won’t let it be because I didn’t try.
“Several years ago, as you can see from the file of documents, McKay Capital Management first started showing interest in my land. Back then, the land was owned by my grandfather, Wilbur Thatcher, but since has transferred to me.”
“I don’t see what McKay has to do with your poor maintenance of public roads,” the state rep says, crossing his arms. “This is a pretty clear-cut case?—”
Carp surprises me by banging a gavel, which I have never seen before and didn’t even know was a feature of the town halls, interrupting the state rep and startling everyone in the room.
“I don’t believe Mr. Thatcher was finished,” Carp says, somehow managing to sound both professional and pissed off at once. “In this room, we let people say what they have to say.”
To my surprise, the state rep nods, waving toward me. “All right, then.”
“It matters,” I say, going on, “because it’snota clear-cut case of poor maintenance,” I argue. “Look closely at the pictures of the hazard in the road, and you’ll see the bottom of the tree that fell. A clean cut through. A few months ago, there was another tree like that on the property, and I was confused by the way it hadfallen. Like someone had cut through it with a chainsaw. The wood was still green. The tree was alive and had no reason to come down like that.”
“It’s impossible to make out the tree break in this picture,” the state rep says, lowering the photo and shaking his head at me. “And we have several complaints, including one that the hazard caused a car accident. You really think McKay would go to all this trouble to hire all these different people and file formal complaints against you and your land, Mr. Thatcher?”
“Yes, I do.” My throat gets thick, and I have to work through it. “I do think that. You canseehow long they’ve been offering money for the land. And, if you’ll look through the other papers, you’ll see photos from my trail cameras. Someone coming through my land just days before that complaint was filed with the state.”
