Chapter 9
Citizens of Harper Landing packed the city council boardroom. Dawn sat on an uncomfortable wooden seat, wearing her darkest black jeans and a short-sleeved silk blouse from Mark’s mother. It wasn’t her style, but she wore it tonight because she wanted to look professional when she presented her comments to the city council. She’d practiced in front of the mirror with a stopwatch to make sure she could make her most important points without running over the three-minute time limit.
Looking around at the crowd, Dawn saw many people she knew. In the corner by the window, Paige from Paige’s Pages and Bob Lu from Wanderer’s Home chatted with the owners of the Smoothie Hut. Matt Guevara from the Gnome’s Backyard was in the front row next to Dawn’s barre instructor, Marlo Jonas from the Cascade Athletic Club. Marlo’s fiancé, Ben Wexler-Lowrey, sat between Marlo and Ben’s mom, Cheryl Lowrey, co-owner of the Nuthatch Bakery. Cheryl was Dawn’s mentor from the chamber of commerce. She was running for the same city council seat as Brittany Barrow, but except for a poster in the window of the Nuthatch, she wasn’t actively campaigning.
“I hope you don’t mind me keeping this chair empty,” said George Fiege, the chamber of commerce treasurer, who sat a couple seats down from Dawn.
“No, of course not.” Dawn checked her watch and saw there were still ten minutes to wait. “Are you saving it for someone?”
George nodded. “Yup. For Julia Harper or her husband.”
“We’re not sure which one will turn up,” said George’s wife, Shelly, who sat in her wheelchair by the aisle.
“It’s hard to get out of the house with a toddler,” Dawn said as she folded and unfolded the paper with her notes.
George and Shelly nodded.
Dawn looked to her right so she could see what Sierra was up to on her iPad. It had been two days since the disastrous barbecue, and Dawn had finally relented when it came to TikTok. Dawn still wasn’t sure that was the right decision, and neither was Mark, but they both agreed that Sierra was mature enough to have this opportunity to creatively connect with friends.
“Hey, Mom.” Sierra put down her tablet. “Maybe I could make a video of your speech.”
“It’s not exactly a speech.” Dawn clutched the piece of paper on her lap. “I signed up to make a three-minute public comment.”
“A video is a great idea,” said Melanie, who sat next to Sierra. “Text it to me, and I’ll post it on Harper Landing Moms.”
“I would text it to you if I had a phone.” Sierra pointed at Dawn. “But my mom says I have to wait until I’m twelve.”
“Wise woman.” Melanie smiled. “Well, maybe you can email it to me instead.”
“Okay.” Sierra nodded. “I’ll do that.”
Dawn fanned herself with her paper. “I’m surprised so many people came.”
“Why are you surprised?” Melanie asked. “Over three thousand people have signed your petition.”
Dawn shrugged. “Yeah, but...” She looked around the room. “That doesn’t mean the city council will listen to us.”
Dawn’s eyes zeroed in on Brittany, who wore a form-fitting white vest and matching pencil skirt. Brittany sat next to a firefighter who looked to be in his fifties and wore a dress uniform. Dawn was surprised that Warren wasn’t there, but maybe he was on shift tonight.
“I’ve only lived in Harper Landing for a few years,” said Melanie. “But I know the beach matters to everyone.”
“Mom, how many years have you lived in Harper Landing?” Sierra asked.
“Twenty years,” Dawn answered. “I moved here when I was fifteen.”
More people filtered into the stuffy room. Dawn started to panic, imagining that the new faces were against her. She wouldn’t blame them if they were, especially after listening to Warren’s heartfelt arguments for the bridge a few days ago. Plus, even though Dawn had lived in Harper Landing over half her life, she still had roots in Kennewick, where environmental causes were often viewed as anti-industry. “I’m not a wackadoodle tree hugger,” she murmured to herself.
Sierra rolled her eyes. “Tree huggers aren’t wackadoodles.”
“Whoops.” Dawn bit her lip. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
“It’s a weird thing to say.” Sierra swiped off her iPad.
“I know. That’s Grandpa Jim talking.” Dawn squeezed her eyes shut and tried to push away childhood memories of her father mocking environmentalists. It didn’t matter if they were speaking out against nuclear weapons, nuclear power, or radioactive pollution threatening the Columbia River, Jim had branded all of them idiots. “Grandpa probably wouldn’t understand why I’m here tonight,” she admitted.
“I thought you said Grandpa Jim got sick because of his work at Hanford?”
Dawn opened her eyes and nodded. “Lots of people got sick. That’s why Aunt Wendy and I got one hundred fifty thousand dollars after your grandpa died. It was called the Energy Employees Occupational Illness Compensation Program.”
“If working at Hanford made Grandpa sick, why did he hate environmentalists?” Sierra picked at her black nail polish. “They were trying to save his life.”
“Grandpa would have said the opposite. He believed they were trying to take his job away.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense.”
“No.” Dawn balled her fists. “It doesn’t. For most of my childhood, Grandpa did a dangerous job without the proper safety equipment. But to him, it seemed like a great opportunity. He grew up on a farm in Idaho and loved working at the Hanford Site because it paid so well.”
“Why didn’t they give him the right safety equipment?”
“Money, I guess. And also, time. See, during World War II, Hanford was where they made plutonium for atomic bombs. It was part of the Manhattan Project.”
“Isn’t Manhattan in New York?” Sierra asked.
“Yes. That’s where the army first started the work. But Kennewick, Pasco, and Richland played huge roles too. People from all over the country poured into the Tri-Cities. The area had what the government needed to make plutonium: a water supply, solid ground, electricity, and a small population.”
“But lots of people live there.” Sierra looked at her with confusion. “Aunt Wendy’s neighborhood is packed.”
“Over fifty-one thousand people moved there during World War II.” Dawn paused, unsure of what details to share with Sierra.
Kennewick would always be Dawn’s hometown, no matter how much she loved Harper Landing. But unlike Harper Landing’s quaint history of shingle mills and loggers, Kennewick had a dark past. Dawn took a deep breath and decided that as a middle-schooler, Sierra was old enough to comprehend.
“The U.S. made a bomb called Fat Man,” Dawn explained. “On August 9, 1945, we dropped it on Nagasaki, Japan. It killed almost forty thousand people.”
“Just with that one bomb?” Sierra asked in a soft voice.
Dawn nodded. “Yes. And because it was a nuclear bomb, the radiation kept killing people for years afterward.”
“What does that have to do with Grandpa Jim?”
“The plutonium for Fat Man came from Hanford,” said Dawn. “Some people say the bombings of Nagasaki and Hiroshima helped save lives because they ended World War II earlier than it might have otherwise gone on, but that’s something for history to debate, not me.”
Sierra frowned. “I still don’t understand how Grandpa was involved.”
“He wasn’t.” Dawn chided herself for doing such a poor job of explaining. Maybe she should have waited until the next time they visited Wendy, when they could go to the Reach Museum. But now that she was this far along, she needed to keep going. “After World War II ended, America continued making nuclear bombs because of the Cold War.”
“We learned about that in history class last year,” said Sierra. “The arms race or something.”
“That’s right. They didn’t stop making plutonium at Hanford until 1987. By then, there were one hundred seventy-seven storage tanks full of radioactive waste. Grandpa’s job was to help clean up that mess as quickly as possible, before it contaminated the ground water or made people sick.”
“Like Grandpa got sick.” Sierra rested her head on Dawn’s shoulder and held her hand.
“I didn’t know your father worked at Hanford,” said Melanie, who’d been quiet during the whole conversation. “Did he get cancer?”
“Lung problems,” Dawn said. “And sudden onset dementia. Plus, he had tremors. The doctors couldn’t explain why, but they’d seen dozens of cases just like my dad’s.”
“And yet you’re worried someone will think you’re a wackadoodle tree-hugger?” Melanie smiled sadly. “If anyone has the right to be a wackadoodle, it’s you.”
Sierra raised her head from Dawn’s shoulder. “Yeah, Mom, you absolutely get to be wackadoodle. Only nobody says that anymore.”
“They don’t?” Dawn raised her eyebrows. “What do they say instead?”
“Weirdo. Duh.” Sierra grinned. “So, is Hanford all cleaned up now?”
Dawn shook her head. “Not even close. They’ve been working at it for decades, and it’s still a disaster. Hanford is the most contaminated place in the whole United States.”
Sierra shuddered. “I’m glad we don’t live there.”
“It’s right next to the Columbia River,” Dawn pointed out. “If something bad happened, everyone who relies on the Columbia for power or water would be impacted, and that includes us.”
“Question,” said Melanie, raising her hand to her shoulder. “How long did it take you to realize all of this?”
“Realize what?” Dawn asked
“That you grew up in a boom town built to kill people?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way,” said Dawn. “ Former boom town, maybe.”
“I think you just answered my question,” said Melanie.
Dawn sighed, and her shoulders slumped. “Maybe so. The truth is, I was oblivious until my dad got sick and news crews from Seattle started doing stories about Hanford and all the workers there with respiratory problems.” Dawn felt guilty, remembering her ignorance. “Sierra was little. Mark and I were discussing divorce. My dad got sick.” She waved her hands around. “Everything swirled together into a stressful time. It wasn’t until the check from the compensation program cleared that it really sank in.”
“Companies don’t pay survivors unless they did something wrong,” said Melanie.
Dawn nodded and looked at her shoes. “Right.”
Sierra threw her arms around Dawn and hugged her. “Thanks for telling me all this,” she said. “I didn’t know Grandpa was a hero.”
“What?” The embrace had caught Dawn off guard, but she readily accepted the rare show of affection from her growing daughter.
“Grandpa Jim risked his life to clean up those tanks,” said Sierra, releasing the hug. “He died to make things better for everyone.”
A huge lump formed in Dawn’s throat. She nodded and brushed away tears. But then she saw George stand up so Aaron Baxter, Julia Harper’s husband, could scoot past him, and she pulled herself together. She straightened her spine and took a deep breath to steady her rocky emotions.
“Phew,” said Aaron, as he slid into the seat next to her. “I made it with four minutes to spare.” His thick brown hair was the same shade as his collared shirt. “How’s it going? Dawn, right?”
“That’s right.” Dawn nodded. “How’s Frank doing?”
“Much better. He had a urinary tract infection that made him extra confused. After twenty-four hours on antibiotics, he started acting like himself again.” Aaron frowned. “Or like himself with Alzheimer’s. Is this your daughter?”
Dawn leaned back so Aaron could see Sierra. “Yes, her name is Sierra. And this is my friend Melanie Knowles.”
Melanie smirked. “Oh, we’ve met.”
“Yeah.” Aaron rested his hands on his knees and glared. “Melanie won’t let me into Harper Landing Moms.”
“Harper Landing Moms?” Dawn chuckled. “Why would you want to join that group?”
“Because I’m a stay-at-home dad,” said Aaron. “And it’s sexist to exclude men from the only parenting Facebook group in town.”
“Sorry, Aaron.” Melanie folded her hands across her chest. “But the rules are the rules. Harper Landing Moms is for women only because we often discuss sensitive topics like ‘Should I have a hysterectomy?’ or ‘How do I stop my thighs from chafing while I run?’”
“What’s a hysterectomy?” Sierra asked.
“Google it,” said Dawn.
“That doesn’t mean men can’t be part of the group too,” said Aaron. “I know how to scroll past posts that don’t concern me. And I know how to answer running questions. They sell a special lubricant for chafing.”
“What’s lubricant?” Sierra asked. “Should I Google that too?”
“No!” Dawn exclaimed. “I’ll explain later.”
Melanie tightened her ponytail. “Start your own group, Aaron, if it matters so much to you.”
“Shhh!” George whispered. “The meeting’s about to start.”
“Sorry.” Dawn looked at the agenda. Tonight, the city council was learning about the proposal. The vote on whether or not to accept it would happen in two weeks.
The first ten minutes dragged. Then the public comments started, and things got interesting.
“Our first commenter is Marlo Jonas.” Mayor Jordan pulled down her glasses and looked across the frames into the audience. “Marlo?”
Marlo sprang to her feet. “I’m right here.”
“Good.” Mayor Jordan nodded. “We have a lot of commenters tonight, so please stick to the three-minute rule.”
Dawn couldn’t remember what number she’d signed up next to, but fortunately, the list flashed up on the screen. She would be the fifth person to speak.
“Is it too late to sign up?” Aaron whispered.
“I think so,” Dawn answered.
“I’ll clap loudly after you talk,” he said. “That will at least be some support.”
The room quieted as Marlo took the mic. “My name is Marlo Jonas, and I’ve lived in Harper Landing my entire life. My parents and I own the Cascade Athletic Club, which is in the marina district currently under discussion.”
Uh oh. It hadn’t occurred to Dawn that friends like Marlo might be on the opposing side. As a business owner in the marina district, Marlo might prefer the bridge plan because it was the simplest.
“The health of our eighteen hundred members is my number one concern.” Marlo’s long brown hair was slicked back in a bun, and her perfect posture spoke of her training as a professional ballerina. “Safety is also a high priority. We have six defibrillators on site as well as twenty-two fire extinguishers. Last year, the Cascade Athletic Club called emergency dispatch one hundred thirty-nine times for situations ranging from a three-year-old who choked on a pretzel in the childcare”—Marlo glanced up from her notecards—“and who was rescued by our well-trained staff before the ambulance arrived to an elderly gentleman who had a stroke in the parking lot on his way to water aerobics.” Marlo paused a moment as she let that comment sink in.
This was it, Dawn thought. This was when Marlo would drive home Warren’s point about how important that bridge would be without taking any other option into consideration. Damn it. Did this mean she should quit barre class? Dawn could never exercise with the enemy.
“One of the things that makes Cascade Athletic Club so special,” Marlo continued, “is its location on the waterfront, next to notable spots like the yacht club, senior center, dog park, and yes, Harper Landing Beach. That’s why I ask the council to seek options for safety that don’t involve destroying one of our town’s most valuable resources, our waterfront.”
“Yeah!” Aaron called, clapping loudly.
Other people in the audience joined in. Dawn was too stunned to remember to clap. Marlo agreed with her after all.
“Order!” Mayor Jordan banged her gavel.
“Surely there is a better way to provide emergency service access than by destroying our beach,” said Marlo. “Thank you for listening.” She bobbed into a slight curtsy and sat down.
“Our next speaker is Paige Lu,” said the mayor.
Paige moved to the podium and put on her reading glasses. “We have the good fortune to live next to one of the earth’s most biologically rich inland seas,” she said, not bothering to introduce herself. “Puget Sound is just one part of the larger Salish Sea, the body of water that encompasses the San Juan Islands, Vancouver, British Columbia, the Gulf Islands, and yes, Puget Sound. Thirty-seven types of mammals live here, including J, K, and L pod orcas that were brutally ravaged in the 1970s, when Sea World took hundreds of whales from our waters.”
“I feel like I’m getting a science lesson,” Sierra whispered.
Dawn nodded. She wasn’t surprised that Paige had come well prepared, considering she was a bookshop owner. Hopefully, the city council was ready for the fact bombs in Paige’s arsenal.
“In addition to mammals,” Paige droned on, “we have one hundred seventy-two types of birds, two hundred fifty-three varieties of fish, and more than three thousand forms of invertebrates. Our goal as stewards for the next generation is to protect the delicate ecosystem in our own backyard, not destroy nature’s balance so greedy property developers can make a quick buck.”
Paige looked over at the corner of the room where Will Gladstone sat wearing a tailored suit. When he sneered at her, Paige licked her fingertip, turned a page of her speech, and kept going. “The biggest risk to public safety is not what would happen if a coal train derailed and somebody on the other side of the tracks needed an ambulance. The crisis we must face right now is global warming and the life-and-death consequences of dozens of coal trains a day heading off on their path to China.”
Global warming? Dawn felt tension creep down her neck. How did Paige jump from a bad bridge proposal to global warming? Dawn recognized that global warning was real, but she didn’t like the idea of this becoming political. Obviously, it was political, because they were at a city council meeting. But she didn’t want elephants and donkeys brawling over the beach.
“I implore the council to reject the bridge proposal and to tell the railroad and coal industry to stand down.” Paige folded her paper. “Stop mortgaging our children’s future.”
“Way to go, Paige.” Aaron whistled between two fingers and encouraged a number of other people to cheer rowdily as well.
“Quiet!” Mayor Jordan pointed her gavel at Aaron. “I want no more disruptions like that one. Is that understood?”
Aaron didn’t flinch. He focused his eyes on the mayor like they were in a staring contest.
Seemingly unnerved, Mayor Jordan shuffled through some paper and read the next name. “George Fiege,” she said. “You’re up.”
George walked up to the podium and cleared his throat. He didn’t have a prepared speech in front of him but spoke out in a clear voice that the microphone picked up with ease. “My name is George Fiege, and I’ve lived in Harper Landing for forty-three years. Thirty-one of those years have been with my beautiful bride, Shelly, who taught fifth grade at Harper Landing Elementary before taking an early retirement for health reasons. I am in favor of the proposal to build a bridge over the railroad tracks.”
“What?” Aaron gasped.
Dawn didn’t share Aaron’s surprise. Her experience with George at the chamber of commerce meetings had taught her that the accountant could be annoying. Last winter, when Heather Woodhouse from the Ferry’s Closet had wanted the chamber to sponsor a caroling and hot cocoa event to help kick off holiday shopping, George had shot the idea down because he said there might be a lawsuit if someone scalded their tongue on hot cocoa. They’d held the event anyway, but thanks to George, every serving station had to test the cocoa with a thermometer.
“Harper Landing is a great place to live,” George continued, “if you are able-bodied. Too often we make decisions based on ableism, and that’s not only a violation of the Americans with Disabilities Act, but it’s morally wrong.”
Well then... Dawn snapped to attention and began listening to George’s comments with an open mind. Maybe she’d misjudged him.
“For example, Harper Landing has eight beautiful playgrounds, but none of them meet current ADA standards.” George leaned forward over the microphone and looked at each one of the council members. “Do you know how hard it is for wheelchairs to move over wood chips? It’s darn near impossible. Bellevue and Mercer Island have built playgrounds with rubber surfaces. Harper Landing has not. Parking is another problematic issue, especially during the Farmer’s Market, when fourteen percent of the ADA parking spaces are commandeered by produce stands.”
Dawn felt horrible. She’d never considered any of these factors. When Sierra was little, they’d played at every one of those playgrounds, and Dawn had always assumed they were fine for children with special needs because each one had an ADA-compliant swing. Wood chips being a problem hadn’t occurred to her. But when her gaze drifted over to Shelly’s motorized wheelchair, she understood the concern.
“Does Harper Landing Beach belong to all of our residents?” George asked. “Or just the ones who are able bodied?”
“Thank you for your comments,” said Mayor Jordan as many people clapped. “Next on the list is Shelly Fiege.”
Shelly rolled up to the podium and waited while George removed the microphone and handed it to her. The podium blocked her view of the council, so she rolled around it before she began speaking. “I’m Shelly Fiege, and no matter how much I love my husband and appreciate his concern for my wellbeing, I can speak for myself.” She continued talking as George folded his arms across his chest and grunted his disapproval. “When I was a fifth-grade teacher at Harper Elementary School, I took my students to the beach to study the tide pools every spring. A volunteer marine biologist would give us a tour.”
“I did that, too, last year,” Sierra whispered. “It was really fun.”
“Multiple sclerosis has made it so that I can no longer climb around the tide pools, but I still enjoy the beach every chance I can get.” Shelly glanced over her shoulder at George, who stood behind her, frowning. “My husband and I are in disagreement over the bridge proposal.” She looked back at the elected officials. “He believes that building a bridge is the quickest and most efficient way to solve this problem of coal train derailment and marina safety. But I taught my students that the beach is worth protecting.”
“That’s right, Mrs. Fiege!” Marlo called from the front row.
Mayor Jordan banged her gavel to settle down the crowd. Marlo wasn’t the only one offering support to the former teacher.
Shelly raised her chin. “I taught my fifth graders that if they had a problem to solve, they could come up with the best solution by working together. So that’s what I ask the council to do. Yes, we need access for emergency services on the other side of the tracks. But let’s collaborate and come up with a solution that doesn’t involve ruining the beach.”
Aaron leapt to his feet and applauded as Shelly rolled away from the podium.
Dawn stood too, because it was her turn next. “Wish me luck,” she whispered to Sierra.
“You’ve got this, Mom.” Sierra gave her a thumbs-up.
Emotions swirled inside her like a rip current. When Dawn reached the podium and unfolded her speech, the words she’d planned to say seemed hollow compared to what had already been said. “I’m Dawn Maddox,” she said. “I’ve lived in Harper Landing for twenty years. I started a petition on Hear Our Voice to save the beach, and that petition has gathered over three thousand signatures in less than a week.” She looked over her shoulder and saw Sierra filming her. Knowing that her daughter was proud of her made Dawn brave.
Dawn crumpled her notes and went off script. “I grew up in Kennewick, Washington, next to the most polluted area in the entire country, Hanford. My father gave his life, cleaning up the mess a previous generation made. Here in Harper Landing, a coal train could derail at any moment, causing epic havoc to our environment.” Dawn turned so she could address not only the council, but the audience sitting behind her. “Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen. A bridge is a Band-Aid solution. We need to either stop the coal trains or make the railroad tunnel a byway under Main Street to bypass the beach altogether. Harper Landing Beach is sacred, and we shouldn’t let the coal trains near it.”
“Yes!” Aaron whistled.
“This is our children’s future we’re fighting for,” Dawn said quickly before Mayor Jordan could reprimand Aaron for his outburst. “We owe it to them to do better. Who’s with me?”
A chorus of cheers greeted her as she walked back to her seat. Sierra clapped so hard her iPad slipped off her lap. Fortunately, the screen protector saved it from cracking.