Chapter 15 Clara
CLARA
The town hall parking lot was a zoo.
"Holy shit," Megan said, pulling her minivan into one of the last spots at the far end of the lot. "I think the whole town showed up."
"Good." I unbuckled my seatbelt. "This is a big deal. Thanks for driving; I don't think I would've been able to get my truck into any of these spots."
After my morning shift at the coffee shop and afternoon Wizard of Oz run-throughs, I'd barely had time to walk Dash and get ready. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach.
"You look really pretty tonight." Megan checked her reflection in the vanity mirror and dabbed on some lip gloss.
"Thanks. After the meeting, Beck is taking me to dinner at ‘The Fork’ to celebrate."
"Ooh, fancy." Megan hopped out of the van. "I've never been, but Charlotte says the Chateaubriand is to die for."
I'd bought the dress for a wedding three years ago.
It was a tight-fitting emerald green sweater dress I hadn't worn since.
I smoothed down the front and shifted, trying to pick the thong out of my ass without Megan noticing.
I was excited to see Beck in his business clothes, and hoped he'd like my curled hair and winged eyeliner.
Inside, it was standing room only. Folding chairs filled the floor, and people were lined up along the walls or crowded near the doors. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, giving everyone a slightly jaundiced look.
"Over here." Charlotte waved toward a row in the middle where she'd saved us seats.
I spotted Mrs. K and Donnie near the front. My heart swelled as he took off his sweater and draped it over her shoulders.
Beck was even more handsome than I'd imagined.
Like most hockey players, he filled out a suit in exactly the right way.
But he wasn't at the podium. He was seated in the front row next to Everleigh King.
She looked completely different from the woman at the carnival.
Gone was the white snowsuit and the baby.
Tonight, she was in a white power suit, her almost-white hair pulled into a slicked-back bun.
She was wearing thick, black-rimmed glasses and a full face of makeup.
"Now, that's an ice queen," Charlotte mused, and I couldn't help but notice the slight adoration in her voice. For once, there was a woman as sophisticated as Charlotte O'Hare tromping around Chance Rapids in high heels.
Next to Beck sat a skinny man with thinning black hair and a bald spot. There was no sign of the good-looking older man I'd seen get out of the convoy at the carnival. "Where's Mr. King?" I whispered.
Charlotte shrugged. "He's got people to handle this for him."
"I think it's bad form." Megan crossed her arms.
I tried to catch Beck's eye. When he finally looked my way, he flinched and turned back to the front. My stomach dropped.
"Who's that?" I whispered to Megan, nodding toward the skinny man.
"Probably a lawyer."
The lawyer seemed to have a permanent smirk on his face. He kept leaning back to listen to someone behind him. I craned my neck to see who it was: Rob Cooper.
Something wasn't right.
Mayor Mavis stepped to the podium and tapped the microphone. "Alright, everyone. Let's get started."
The room went quiet. Mavis adjusted her glasses and shuffled her papers.
"Thank you all for coming. I know parking was a mess." A few people laughed. "We're here to discuss the proposal from King Development regarding our recreational facilities. I'll turn the floor over to their representatives."
I expected Beck to stand. He didn't.
The man with the thin hair rose instead, buttoning his jacket as he walked to the podium.
"Good evening. I'm Sidney Mouser, legal counsel for King Development Corporation. I'll be presenting the proposal."
I looked at Beck. The muscle in his jaw twitched. Before he could look away, I mouthed, "What the hell?"
He mouthed two words back: I'm sorry.
The projector hummed to life, filling the screen with a glossy rendering of a massive sports complex.
"The King Sports and Recreation Center will be a world-class facility," Mouser began.
He clicked through slides of economic projections and job numbers.
"Construction will bring millions of dollars to your community. "
I started to relax a little. This was the plan Beck had described.
Then Mouser got to the numbers.
"Ice time will be available at market rates of two hundred dollars per hour, with priority booking for our premium members..."
Two hundred dollars? Nobody in this town could afford that.
"...membership packages starting at five thousand dollars annually..."
I waited for the rest. The subsidized time, the figure skating program, the kids who couldn't afford gear. He kept clicking. Job numbers. Maintenance costs. A for-profit model. There was nothing about the community.
Then he got to the townhome slide. Cookie-cutter townhomes sat on the corner of Maple Street, the address of the Chance Rapids community rink.
I was on my feet. Megan tugged at my hand, but I swatted her away.
"What the hell is this?"
The room went silent. Mouser's smile stayed perfectly in place. "I'm sorry, and you are?"
"Clara Dalton." My voice quivered, but I continued. "Beckett Shepherd told this town that the community programs would be protected. Where is the clause for subsidized ice time?"
Mouser looked at me like I was a confused child. "Ms. Dalton, I appreciate your passion. However, Mr. Shepherd is not authorized to make commitments for King Development. Any informal assurances he gave were not sanctioned by the corporation."
I looked at Beck. His face was gray.
"Beck, tell them." My bottom lip trembled.
Beck stood and looked at the back of the room, past every single person there. "The clause regarding community programs has been removed from the proposal."
The room erupted. People shouted and chairs scraped on the floor. For a second, it felt like a riot was about to break out.
"That clause was reviewed by our legal team," Mouser shouted over the noise, "and it didn't align with our financial interests. It was removed."
I pushed through the row of seats until I was standing in the aisle, ten feet from Beck. "Did you know?"
The room went quiet again.
"I just found out." He still couldn't look at me.
"Mr. Shepherd." Mouser's voice was like a knife. "May I remind you of the NDA you signed this afternoon? I'd sit down and keep quiet unless you want to join your friends in the unemployment line tomorrow."
Beck hesitated. I watched him look at Mouser, then at me. He did the math right there in front of everyone. Then he sat down.
"I knew it," I seethed. "You used us stupid hicks to get your deal."
"Clara—"
"Don't!" I snapped. In my best leather boots, I marched to the front row and slapped Beckett across the face. A few people gasped, but a couple cheered. My hand stung, but I didn't shake it out. Clenching my fist, I marched out of the community center and didn't look back.
I made it outside before the tears spilled down my face. I walked fast, rubbing my arms to keep warm. My coat was still in Megan's van, and my truck was two blocks away, but I didn't care.
"Clara, wait!"
His footsteps were heavy behind me. "Clara, please." Beck caught my arm and I spun around, ready to hit him again.
"Get your hands off me."
"I didn't know." He was breathing hard, his breath fogging in the air between us. "Mouser changed it at the last second. Charlotte and I drafted that clause together. Ask her.”
"But it's gone, Beck. And when he threatened your paycheck, you sat down."
"I was trying to figure out a way to fix it—"
"You lied to me." My voice broke. "You looked at me this morning. In my bed. You told me it was handled."
"It was supposed to be."
"But it wasn't!" I was screaming now. "I believed you. Again. God, I'm so stupid."
"You're not—"
"I let you in. I let you meet my friends. I let you touch me." I swiped at my eyes with my sleeve. "And the whole time you were just playing the local girl so you could close your deal."
"That's not true. What happened between us was real, Clara. It had nothing to do with the rink."
"How am I supposed to believe that? You're still the same guy, Beck. You're the guy who leaves when things get messy. You're the guy who chooses himself every single time."
"That's not fair."
"Neither is what you just did to this town." I turned away from him.
"Clara—"
"Go away, Beck. You should have stayed gone."
The drive home was a blur. Dash met me at the door, his tail thumping on the wooden floors as I kicked off my boots. I dropped to my knees and buried my face in his neck. I let him lick the salt off my cheeks until I could breathe again.
"It's okay," I whispered into his fur. "We don't need him."
I stood and went into the kitchen. The wooden spatula was in the dishrack. I opened the woodstove door and threw it in. The flames caught the wood, and as it started to blacken, the reality of everything set in. It was over. Again.
My phone buzzed. There were twelve texts from Beck. I blocked his number and deleted the whole thread.
The spatula crackled and split in the heat. I watched the wood turn to ash, and then shut the door.