Story of My Life (Story Lake #1)

31. A poop problem

31

A POOP PROBLEM

HAZEL

With a head full of revenge fantasies and a house full of vengeful men, I got very little writing done the rest of the day. Rather than trying to force the words, I threw in the towel and took out my frustrations on the front yard, clearing a swath of debris from the overgrown landscaping.

I kept at it until everyone left. Cam’s disgruntled gaze carried actual weight as he headed for his truck. But his brothers talked him into stopping by their parents’ farm to do something to a pasture fence. I waited until the driveway and street were clear before taking five on the porch in my new rocking chair.

I waved to a few neighbors, guzzled a glass of water, and then hit the only shower left standing in the house. Hair, makeup, and wardrobe were tricky when factoring in the bike ride to the council dinner. With any luck, I could talk a sexy, grumpy contractor into driving me home afterward and then taking off both our clothes.

I really needed to consider a vehicle with actual doors. I added it to my “Worry about Later” list and then got to work on my seduction outfit. One reasonably sexy high ponytail, a bodysuit that featured tasteful cleavage, and a pair of high-waisted slacks later, I deemed myself ready.

I was just wheeling my bike out of the garage when a peppy little electric SUV turned into my driveway. Darius leaned out of the driver’s-side window. “Thought I’d offer you a ride,” he called.

That would make a ride home from Cam less likely, which would significantly lower the chances of me having sex tonight. But at least I wouldn’t arrive at the meeting perspiring like a fever patient.

I hid my disappointment behind a cheery smile. “Sure, thanks!” I climbed in the passenger seat to find that my mayoral chauffeur was blasting a marching band drum line playlist that was surprisingly riveting.

“This is my hype music,” he explained, keeping the beat with his hands at a law-abiding ten and two on the wheel.

“You need hype music for a council dinner?” I asked.

“It’s more of an unofficial meeting to discuss unofficial business before we make everything official. With breadsticks,” he added.

With Story Lake’s rush hour being not a thing at all, we arrived at the lodge ten minutes early. I was happy to see more cars in the parking lot this time. While Darius went to check on the private room for our dinner, I stepped out onto the terrace and snapped a few stunning shots of the sunset over the lake.

I noticed a small group of women gathered around a fire pit on the far end of the patio. It looked as if they were passing around multiple bottles of wine and taking selfies.

I was just about to go back inside when I realized that all the women were suddenly looking at me.

“Oh my God, it’s her !” a woman with a thick Long Island accent and two bottles of wine in hand screeched.

They erupted like a flock of excited chickens, giggling and hurrying my way. I picked out Bronx and New Jersey flavors in the gleeful stampede.

“You’re Hazel Hart!” announced a blunt-bobbed woman with purple-tipped hair.

“It’s like we manifested her,” said a tall angular woman with ice cubes clinking in her wineglass.

“Uh, wow. Hi,” I said.

“We’re here because of you,” a third woman, this one in a sleeveless turtleneck and beanie, announced. “I’ve been a reader for years, and when I saw you ran away from everything to start over, I felt like you were speaking to my soul.”

“Really? Wow. Well, thank you,” I said.

“No! We need to thank you ,” the woman with dueling wine bottles insisted. “I picked up the first book in your Spring Gate series and devoured it in one sitting. Then I started on the next. And by the time I got my hands on the third?—”

“We decided to run away ourselves—for a long weekend—and come check out the place that inspired you to start a new book,” the woman in the beanie explained.

“And maybe also to catch a glimpse of those contractors you’ve got working on your place,” said the fourth woman, who was shorter than the rest with glossy black curls and divine taste in shoes. “Yummy!”

“Now, we did drive by your house, but I swear we weren’t creeping about,” Two Bottles confessed.

“We took a couple of selfies from the sidewalk, but that’s just for us. No sharing online,” the woman with ice cubes explained sternly.

“And we absolutely are not going to invite ourselves over because that would be super stalkery and you’re writing a new book, so you need to concentrate,” Good Shoes said.

“I appreciate that,” I said with a laugh.

“Would you hate taking a picture with us? The girls in the group will absolutely die,” Beanie asked.

“I’d be happy to. Uh, what group?”

“Hazel Hart Stans,” they said together.

“We’re on Facebook and we’ve got almost a thousand members, most of them since you announced your divorce, escaped New York, and did the whole fresh-start thing. Do you know how many times I’ve fantasized about packing a bag and hitting the road?” Two Bottles asked.

“I have no idea.”

“At least three times a week.”

“More like three times a day for me,” Good Shoes quipped. “But I’ve got four-year-old twin boys.”

“Can I just say you are so pretty? I mean, your pictures are great, of course, but seeing you in person? The hair. The eyeliner. The smile,” Ice Cubes crooned.

“You’re too sweet,” I said, feeling as if I’d been swept away in some kind of flash flood of goodwill.

“And don’t you worry about that turd of an ex-husband. We all saw his interview, and he came off smelling like someone desperate to prove how important he is,” Two Bottles said.

“If there’s anything we can do, Hazel Hart Stans are ready and willing to be activated,” Beanie said as they all continued to converge on me.

I didn’t know what to say, so I smiled instead as my eyes prickled with something that felt suspiciously like tears.

“Who’s got the best camera and the longest arm?” Good Shoes asked.

We took several selfies to ensure at least one where everyone had their eyes open, Good Shoes wasn’t midsentence, and Ice Cubes was satisfied with her smile.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Ice Cubes said. “I just…ugh! I was hoping to meet you because I wanted to tell you what your books meant to me. And now that you’re standing here, all I can think to say is you’re pretty.” She waved a hand in front of her misty blue eyes. “I should have written a damn letter.”

“Believe me, these days pretty goes a long way with me,” I joked, now in danger of actually crying. “I really appreciate it.”

“You got Joan through her stroke. And Millie through her bed rest. And me through my divorce. You’re the reason we all met in the first place, and now we’re here on this beautiful night in this gorgeous lodge in this adorable town with you. Shit. Now I’m going to cry,” Beanie said.

“Oh no. If you go, I go,” I warned.

The tears happened. Happy ones. We hugged and took a few more pictures. I was just taking a hit of wine straight from the bottle with my new best friends when a manly throat clearing cut through our merriment.

“Everything okay?”

Cam, looking fifty shades of uncomfortable, stood a few feet away. There was a collective swoon before the titters started.

“That’s Hot Contractor number three,” Beanie whispered.

I cleared the emotion out of my throat. “Ladies, duty calls.”

“How do I get on that duty roster?” Good Shoes said into her wineglass.

“You made my entire year. I’m so happy to meet you, and I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay in Story Lake,” I said, clasping my hands at my heart. “I’m going to go take care of some town business.”

“Maybe you should take care of some personal business,” Two Bottles suggested through the side of her mouth, looking pointedly at Cam.

“Friends of yours?” Cam asked when I got to him.

“Kinda. Yeah,” I said with a half smile.

“You look good,” he said gruffly.

The warm flush that had begun with my readers morphed into something a little more fiery at Cam’s words. “Thanks. Darius picked me up, so I didn’t get all disgusting on the way here. On my bike. Because I don’t have a car.”

“Why are you babbling?”

“I’m not babbling.”

He flashed me a “yeah, okay, liar ” look.

“Ugh. Fine. I’m babbling. You make me nervous when you’re looking at me and being all handsome,” I said, waving at his handsomeness.

“Good.”

“Good? You like making women nervous? Because that is serial killery, which is not an admirable trait in this day and age.”

“I like that I make you nervous. It’s payback for you making me?—”

“Come on, party council people! Who’s ready for some breadsticks? What what!” Darius interrupted from the terrace door, where he pumped his arms in the air.

I almost bared my teeth at the kid. I needed to know how Cam’s sentence was going to end. For research purposes.

Cam muttered something unintelligible and marched for the door.

I followed his broad, muscular back inside, wondering if I could pass him a note inviting him for sex after dinner. Maybe a text would be smarter?

Like any respectable woman, all thoughts of sex temporarily left my head when we walked into the private dining room and the smell of fresh bread hit me in the olfactory sensors. We took our seats at the round table. I sat between Dr. Ace and Erleen Dabner. Ace was in another colorful cardigan, and Erleen looked as if she’d just come from a Stevie Nicks consignment sale in long and layered black.

Emilie scowled at, well, everyone from her spot between Darius and Cam.

“Cheese and meat tray?” Darius offered, holding up the serving plate.

“Cut to the chase,” Cam said, kicking back in his chair. “Why are we here?”

“This better not be like that time you wanted us to get to know each other better and made us do a bunch of team-building exercises. My big toe still hurts,” Emilie complained.

“I’ll take the cheese and meat,” Erleen said.

“I was hoping to wait until the entrées were served before getting into it,” Darius said sheepishly. “Mac and cheese, fried chicken, mashed potatoes.”

Those all ranked high on the comfort foods list. I was starting to worry.

“No time like the present,” Ace said, tearing open a dinner roll and slathering it with butter.

“We’re broke. Who wants wine?” Darius offered.

I raised my hand. “That would be me.”

“What do you mean, ‘We’re broke’?” Cam asked.

Everyone else started slinging questions at Darius. I got up and helped myself to one of the open bottles of wine on the counter. After filling my glass, I offered it up. “Anyone?”

“People who drink wine are either snobs or drunkards,” Emilie said on a hiss.

“I’ll be sure to pass that along to Jesus,” I said under my breath.

Erleen took the bottle from me and filled her glass to the rim. “I pride myself on being a snobbish drunkard.”

“I knew things weren’t great budget-wise, but how exactly did we go broke?” Ace asked with an elegant wave of his dinner roll.

“With the mass exodus of residents over the past two years, the revenue we collect from property taxes was cut in half,” Darius began.

“Which is why we hiked property taxes,” Cam pointed out.

“Unfortunately, those hikes aren’t enough to cover the sewage treatment plant upgrade to increase efficiency and reduce environmental pollutants, which the county commissioners over in Dominion have ruled is imperative. I looked into what they’re asking us to do, and let’s just say we can’t afford the property taxes that would be required to cover the cost,” Darius said. “Who wants mashed potatoes?”

Everyone began talking at once.

I raised my hand. “Hi. New to this whole council thing. What happens if we can’t come up with the money?”

“I’m so glad you asked, Hazel. If we don’t upgrade the plant in the allotted twelve months, we’ll be facing some serious fines, which will further tax our shrinking budget, and we’ll be forced to declare bankruptcy. If that happens, there’s a possibility we’ll lose our charter and Story Lake will cease to exist,” Darius explained.

There was a strained silence as we all took it in.

“That’s…horrible,” I murmured.

“Gee, you think?” Emilie said snidely. No one acknowledged her.

“So what are our options?” Erleen asked.

“That’s why we’re here. I want to look beyond the obvious options. For instance, we can hike taxes again, but we’ll end up losing more residents who can’t afford them,” Darius said.

“And who the hell’s going to buy property in an abandoned town with the highest tax rate in the county?” Cam added.

“Then there’s municipal bankruptcy,” Darius said.

“What would that entail?” Ace asked, reaching for a second bread roll.

“Well, I’ve only given that option a cursory glance, but I’d like it to be our plan Y,” Darius said with an uncharacteristic grimace.

“Just in case you didn’t know, that’s even worse,” Emilie said to me.

I picked up my wine and took a loud sip. “Ahh,” I said.

“I’m sure I’m gonna regret this,” Cam said. “But what’s plan Z?”

Darius cleared his throat. “Dominion has offered to essentially absorb Story Lake.”

I didn’t see a record player or a DJ in the room, but our mayor’s announcement had the same effect as a record scratch.

Cam broke the silence first. “I believe I speak for everyone when I say… Fuck. No.”

“There has to be some other solution,” Erleen said, brushing her long, silver hair from her face. “I can consult my tarot cards tonight.”

“Here we go again with the goddamn cards,” Emilie snarled.

“Okay. That’s enough. All those in favor of giving Emilie a time-out, say aye,” Ace said, buttering heavily.

“Aye!”

“This isn’t even a real meeting,” she hissed, crossing her arms.

Everyone but me pointed to the corner where a chair sat by itself, facing the wall.

On a huff, the disgruntled woman vacated the table and sat in the designated chair.

“Emilie’s the one who came up with the time-out vote,” Erleen whispered to me from behind her wineglass. “I shouldn’t take quite so much satisfaction in using it against her, but nobody’s perfect.”

“I’m open to alternate solutions. Think of this meal as a brainstorming session. There are no bad ideas,” Darius insisted.

Emilie snorted in derision from the corner.

“Maybe we could set up a meeting with the health system and ask them to lower the price on the hospital facilities?” Ace suggested. “If they know we’re on the edge of bankruptcy, they’d probably try to unload the property as quickly as possible. That could entice a buyer.”

“And how long would that take? We’ve got twelve months to upgrade the entire sewage treatment plant, not to raise the money,” Cam pointed out.

“No bad ideas,” Darius repeated as he scrawled a note on his tablet.

“What about a grant?” Erleen said. “There have to be grants available for small towns in situations like this. And we’ve got Hazel, a professional writer, on the council. That could win us some points in the application process.”

Darius pointed his stylus. “I like it.”

“If we’re raising property taxes, we could also raise the rent on all borough-owned real estate,” Cam suggested, before angrily biting into a piece of fried chicken.

“Cam the Man, going on the list,” Darius said.

“What are your thoughts, Hazel?” Ace asked.

“Yeah, what would one of your towns do in this situation?” Erleen asked.

All eyes turned to me. Emilie made a noise that sounded like strangulation.

“Oh, um. Well, I don’t know. I–I’ll have to think about it,” I said, awkwardly floundering. Not only did I have no idea what I was talking about when it came to funding a town budget, I also didn’t really do the words-out-of-the-mouth thing. I was much better at the words-on-the-page thing.

“Of course, of course,” Darius said. “This was just to get the conversation started because I would really love it if we had some viable options to present at the next official meeting. I’m one thousand percent confident that we’ll find a solution.”

The poor optimistic kid sounded like he really meant it. Old Hazel with her happyish marriage and her best-selling rom-com series would have believed it too. But now I knew that happily ever afters didn’t really happen off the page.

Every time I started to forget that, life reared up and smacked me in the face with a fish…or a potential bankruptcy. I’d come here hoping to get laid tonight. Now all I could think about was losing my new hometown to a poop problem.