“I actually do things for this community already. I volunteer. I’m on the Chamber of Commerce.” I hate that I can’t stop letting them get to me. “What do you all do to help this town?”
“None of us are still trying to earn Granddad’s’ money,” Colin shoots back. “We don’t have to pretend to care.”
I grind my teeth. Amy received her inheritance two months ago, which was almost a year after her twenty-eighth birthday. I know she wasthis closeto having it denied. My father and aunt decide if we’ve met the requirements, and my dad was adamant that Amy did not. His proof was the daughter Amy gave birth to seven months after her wedding. Amy and Aunt Hilda swore the baby was premature. But Dad wasn’t buying it because she weighed six pounds and seven ounces. If we aren’t deemed to meet the requirements, the funds are supposed to be moved into the charity, but of course Amy and Aunt Hilda fought him. Iris refused to let it go to court, forcing them to battle it out with multiple meetings in this office. Eventually Aunt Hilda got a doctor to give a sworn statement and Dad gave up. Amy got her money. But he still comments on the kid’s early arrival every chance he gets. He literally calls her preemie-Lily instead of just Lily every time he sees her.
“I actually like helping the local businesses,” I reply but I know it’s futile. Nobody believes me, except maybe Iris and Peter who are both smiling at me sympathetically.
“So, I see the purpose of this meeting is to pick, not because you picked already,” Iris doesn’t bother to contain her sigh. “Jeremy! We’re going to need more coffee. And maybe some of the bourbon you keep in your desk.”
* * *
Two hours later I’m in the elevator with Dad and Colin, leaving the office of Sprysky and Gentry and I am completely exhausted, mentally. But at least we have a focus. At Iris’s suggestion we kind of melded Amy’s idea and mine and we’re going with a fund for local farms to help them expand their businesses. There will be money designated for things like equipment upgrades but also classes to expand their reach and visibility within the community. I volunteered to run that side of things, with Aunt Hilda overseeing things, and my dad and Colin and Amy are going to handle the funding requests for equipment.
“So local boy, know any farms that may need new equipment or tutorials on Instagram?” Colin asks, smirking. I have never been close to my only brother, and it used to bug me. It actually hurt me a lot as kids, but now… well he’s just some guy I have to deal with, like an annoying co-worker.
“I don’t know a farm that couldn’t use a boost,” I reply, ignoring his digs. “There’s an apple farm locally that is run by a family called the Adler’s. They’re struggling.”
“The Adler kid plays for the Moo U hockey team, right? He’s really good,” my dad surmises.
“And there’s a hemp farm that is looking to expand into marijuana production.”
Colin’s head snaps up at that and his usual cocky expression slides off his face, replaced by shock. “You want us to fund a grow-op?”
“Cannabis is legal in Vermont, Colin. It’s a legitimate farming industry and also, like I said, right now they produce hemp which isn’t the same thing,” I don’t know why I brought up Bowen’s farm. The truth is I don’t know many local farms. I knew of the Adler farm because a guy named Ben Adler came to one of my seminars wanting to advertise their baked goods. I was just suggesting anything I could think of, and I think of Bowen a lot so…
“What’s the name of the farm?” Dad asks, turning to look up at me with a scowl. “It isn’t Whitlock, is it?”
“It is.”
“Ha. No fucking way.”
“Colin, language,” Dad barks.
“You know Dad is very close friends with Murray Baldwin, Chase,” Colin explains. “And you’re friendly with Lacey, who is also running for mayor. Against this Whitlock dude.”
“What does that have to do with farming?”
“It’s a conflict of interest,” Dad says curtly, making it clear the subject is now closed.
The elevator doors open and we jostle awkwardly as we all try to exit at the very same moment. I sigh and let them both pass before me. Colin isn’t done being Colin, so he waits, whereas Dad is briskly striding towards the door. “You still in that little garage band of yours?”
“Imposter Syndrome. And yeah.” There is no point elaborating further.
“Play recently?” Colin asks and I start to feel a tingle at the back of my neck. He’s baiting me. “Around town?”
“You guys have a long drive back to Rhode Island,” I reply instead of answering the question. “You should get going.”
“Are you still honestly doing that band thing? You don’t even have original music. What’s the point?” Dad usually doesn’t listen when we speak, especially to each other, but of course he decides to break that pattern now.
“I have original music,” I reply and shove my hand in my jeans so he can’t see they’re balled into fists. I hate giving them any indication that their constant disapproval gets to me. “I just don’t play it with the guys. People like hearing songs they know. Cover bands are popular and it’s an easy outlet. It’s a hobby, Dad. Have you honestly never had one of those?”
I can’t think of one thing my father has done in my life that wasn’t work-related. Even having his two sons and marrying my mother may have actually been politically motivated. She was from a political family and we were created to follow in his footsteps. Colin has started that journey. My father hinted heavily that I should be on the path already as well.
“I don’t have time for a hobby,” Dad replies with a condescending frown. “And if you had the career ambition your brother and I do, you wouldn’t have it either. You’d be running for mayor instead of Lacey Baldwin. I told you the current mayor was going to retire and call a snap election months before he even announced it. You had time to prepare.”
“Speaking of time, wow! It’s getting late!” I exclaim without looking at my phone or a watch or any other time piece. “I have to get going. I have hobby practice. I mean band practice.”
“On a weekday? Before five?” Dad looks positively horrified.
