Chapter 22 #2
Aileen steps away from the podium, smiling over her shoulder at the mayor and then flashing smiles at each row as she makes her way back to her seat.
I take a deep breath, exhale in one long gust, and shoot my hand up in the air.
“What are you doing?” Cass hisses from the other side of Winona.
“A Hail Mary?” I whisper.
“Daisy Clark!” Mayor Briggs says.
Patrick’s head swivels and our eyes lock. I stand, squaring my shoulders, and I march up to the front of the room even though my feet feel like they’ve been set in concrete.
I stand behind the mic and canvas the sea of faces, including my parents, who are seated toward the back. I can’t hold their gaze or I’ll lose it.
Clearing my throat, I pull the mic down to my height. A shrill squeal of feedback rings through the rafters.
“Um, hi,” I start, my voice shakier than I anticipated.
The room is eerily quiet as everyone waits to hear my thoughts.
I inhale another shaky breath.
My eyes scan the room and land on Betty Faye Holt, Emberleigh’s grandma. She’s smiling softly at me. I zero in on her as if she’s my audience of one.
“Moss and Maple has been around since my grandparents fulfilled their dream of owning a bookshop here in Waterford.” My voice wobbles.
“I grew up in the bookshop, as did many of you.” I almost allow my eyes to rove the crowd, but Betty Faye smiles at me, so I keep telling her my story.
“Moss and Maple is the backdrop to some of our sweetest childhood memories. Isn’t it? ”
A few heads around Betty Faye nod.
My eyes seek out Patrick. Why him? I couldn’t tell you. His dad’s face is impassive—not unkind, but not friendly either. Patrick’s brow is drawn in just the slightest. Does he actually care?
“The field beside our shop may look like wasted land, but it isn’t.
It’s a reminder that open spaces still exist around us.
It’s also a barricade between what we are and what we could become.
First the Home Mart … What's next? Condos? Strip malls? One by one, we’ll stop being a town built on local businesses.
And when that happens, we’ll lose our charm—the very heart of what makes Waterford special. ”
I’m silently begging Patrick to see what I see. “I’m not against expansion or convenience. What I am for is the preservation of Waterford. We’re a small town, and we can be proud of the many mom-and-pop shops that continue to thrive and serve our community.”
I think I catch Patrick’s jaw clenching or ticking. It’s hard to tell if I’m imagining a reaction from him, or just conjuring one up from my overactive, foolish, wishful imagination.
I choke back an unexpected sob.
“And …” I have to look away from Patrick. My eyes land on Winona a few rows back. “And, bringing a big box store into our town—even on the outskirts—would mean certain death to some of those shops we all love with our whole hearts.” I nearly crack. So, I just add, “That’s all. Thank you.”
I step back. My vision’s blurry and my hands are shaking like leaves. I don’t even know how I make it back to my seat, or who takes the podium next, or what they say. The only thing holding me together are Winona and Carli’s hands on my thighs.
I said my piece. The rest is up to fate and the people of Waterford.
After ten or fifteen, or who knows how many other people come to the podium, Mayor Briggs steps up.
“Thank you, each one of you. And I sincerely apologize to any of you who wanted a turn at the mic. But, in the interest of time, we’re going to head into the vote.
Vanessa and Sharlene will hand each row a stack of ballots.
Take one, mark yes or no, sign your name, and pop it in the ballot box.
Then go help yourself to some of Emberleigh and Sydney’s pumpkin sheet cake while we tally the votes. ”
There’s a lot of shuffling while ballots and small pencils are handed out.
Then a hush falls over the room as everyone casts their vote.
I check NO and sign my slip of paper. Then I fold it over and hand it to Carli.
Vanessa and Sharlene gather all the ballots in baskets and take them up front where volunteers are sitting at folding tables counting the totals.
People stand and mingle, many following the invitation of our mayor to grab a slice of soft fall cake from the back tables. I remain glued to my chair. Winona stands.
“You want a piece of cake, Daisy?”
“I don’t think I can eat. I feel like there’s a ball of lead in my stomach.”
Emberleigh leans over and says, “I’ll make you a special batch this week.”
I practically break into tears, but I bite the inside of my cheek instead and manage to eke out a “Thanks.”
My brain feels heavy, my heart even heavier.
We anxiously wait for the vote to be tallied.
It’s not long before Mayor Briggs steps up to the podium and asks everyone to return to their seats.
Patrick and his dad stroll up the aisle like Waterford royalty, already taking up too much space—anticipating claiming even more.
“Well, it was a close one,” Mayor Briggs says, looking at a sheet of paper in his hand. “We did a second count just to confirm. And, I’m happy to announce …”
My head swims. I’m drowning. The Titanic is going under and I’ve got no life vest.
Mayor Briggs’ words are muffled “... approved by enough of a margin … building to begin … looks like we’re getting ourselves a Home Mart.”
My head drops.
Winona and Carli loop their arms around me and bend their heads in toward mine, forming a human cocoon.
The meeting is officially adjourned. Chairs scrape, people chatter, life resumes.
I’m still huddled in my spot, hoping this is an extremely vivid dream—or nightmare.
“I’ve gotta go,” I announce suddenly to my friends. “I have to get out of here.”
The dam of tears is about to burst and I will not cry in front of the O’Connells.
They won’t see me break. Carli and Winona stand with me and flank me like my own personal bodyguards as we make our way out the doors.
People say things as we go … “Nice speech,” or “Sorry, Daisy.” I nod and somehow manage a smile.
Once we’re outside, I take a breath.
“Are you okay to drive?” Winona asks.
“I’ll be okay.” I have to believe it.
Patrick strides out the doors, looking around frantically. It’s the most rattled I think I’ve ever seen him. When his eyes land on me, he walks over to where I’m standing with Winona and Carli. Bless my friends. They step in closer as he approaches.
“You don’t owe me a response,” he says, running his hand through his hair. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for how that went.”
My eyes go wide. Does he mean he wishes his dad’s construction would not have been approved? He can’t mean that.
“It is what it is,” I say, trying with all my might to keep my emotions out of my voice.
He nods one single bob of his head. I should look away, but I can’t.
Which one are you, Patrick?
The man who mops my shop after a storm—or the one putting me out of business?
You can’t be both.