Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
HAWK
“I am only resolved to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without reference to you, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me.”
~ Elizabeth Bennet
I read somewhere once that a peacefulness follows any decision, even the wrong one.
I wasn’t a hundred percent sure that storming out of the diner today had been the correct way to handle things—if I let myself remember the stunned, sad look on Jack’s face, my stomach hurt—but as I pulled my car to a stop in front of the farmhouse, I decided it felt really good to be doing something instead of trying to ignore the creepy-crawly feeling under my skin that something needed to be done. It was time for action. Drastic action.
“Hawk?” Drew turned in surprise as I banged through the back door into the kitchen.
He was dressed in full-on tie-dye today, from his Jerry Garcia T-shirt down to his organic cotton harem pants.
“I thought you were working through lunch and then heading right to your Scout thing. I was about to leave to meet Marco and the others at the diner, but I lost my keys—”
“Check the junk drawer,” I called over my shoulder, heading upstairs to shove a few pieces of clothing in my hiking backpack. “And I no longer work at Panini Jack’s. I’m heading up to Glassy Ridge to protest the development.”
“Protest?” Drew panted up the stairs behind me and paused in my bedroom doorway to catch his breath. “You quit your job? You love your job—”
“From now on, my full-time job is saving Fogg Peak from Evola, and I’m gonna stay out there until people take notice.
I’m thinking I’ll start a social media campaign.
Lots of pictures showing the beautiful vistas and endangered species.
Maybe tagging some environmental groups and celebrities.
” I broke off for a moment, making a mental list of which activist groups I could invite to join me in the protest, and then I shook myself.
First things first. “Hey, where’d Porter put my sleeping bag?
He borrowed it when he was home a few weeks ago and never gave it back. ”
“I thought you were already protesting the development. You sent all those letters last spring—”
I zipped my backpack and slung it on my shoulder, then tucked a pillow and blanket from my bed under my arm.
“Uncle Drew,” I said seriously, “I shouldn’t have to explain to you of all people that I cannot continue to work for The Man while the brutal machinery of capitalism is set to grind the town I love into dust. You might not be fired up to protect the wild spaces on our planet from corporate greed anymore—”
“‘The Man?’” He scowled. “You work for Jack. And I’m as fired up as I’ve ever been, whippersnapper!”
“Then you should know our letter-writing campaign wasn’t enough.
No one’s taking this issue seriously.” I headed back downstairs.
“Do you know that clear-cutting often contributes to reductions in root strength and the water-holding capacity of the soil? It also reduces the area’s ability to remove carbon from the atmosphere.
We’re basically agreeing to poison ourselves if we allow them to come in here with this project. ”
Drew followed me down and stood in the hall as I rifled through the front closet for equipment. “But they’re not proposing to clear-cut the entire ridge. They said—”
“Why’d they say clear-cutting if they didn’t mean clear-cutting, huh?” I demanded. “Have you asked yourself that? Does anyone else care about this land?”
Drew shook his head. “Hawk, of course I care. Christ, kiddo, I haven’t used a pesticide since 1965—”
I emerged from the closet long enough to glare at him. “I. Am not. A kid.”
Drew’s eyes widened, and his mouth shut with a clack. “Okay, then,” he said cautiously.
“Whenever I bring up my questions, everyone’s answer seems to be ‘Well, of course Evola wouldn’t do that, silly Hawk!
’ and then they pat me on the head. But nobody can point to a part of the proposal where it says they won’t do that.
So what if they do it? Then everyone will be really sorry, and it’ll be too late.
If Dad were here, he’d…” I broke off with a headshake.
“Anyway. I’ve gotta go. I told Maryanne I’d take her Mini Nature Scout Herd on a short hike, and I don’t wanna disappoint the kiddos, but then I’m pitching my tent up there and getting to work.
” I stacked the camping lantern, the two-person tent, a first aid kit, and a wind-up generator on top of my blanket and pillow.
“Please take a breath.” Drew put his hand on my shoulder.
“I hear you, and… maybe you have a point. I just don’t know that camping out there is the best way to make your stand.
What about scheduling another meeting between the Environmental Committee and that Simon guy to see if Evola will change the proposal?
Or contacting the town attorneys to see if they can negotiate—”
“We don’t negotiate with terrorists, Uncle Drew!” I yanked a thick fleece off the hanger and dropped that into my stack as well. The nights would be cold up there.
I heard Drew’s sigh before he leaned against the front door. “See, now, I think talking is the best place to start. For example, why don’t you talk to me about what’s really bothering you? Because I know you, Henry Hawkins Sunday, and this is not the only bee in your bonnet.”
“I’m tired of talking. Talking doesn’t fix anything when the people you’re talking to have no desire to change.
All it does is make you more frustrated.
” I wasn’t sure if I meant the development or Jack or both.
It had all sort of blended together, despite my best efforts to keep them separated.
“Aren’t you the one who had that Janis Joplin quote on your wall for years that said, ‘You are what you settle for’?
Well, I’m tired of settling. Just imagine what would have happened if Elizabeth Bennet had settled for what everyone said was a good deal.
She’d have ended up married to dumbass Mr. Collins and regretted it for the rest of her natural life. No, thank you.”
“Honey,” Drew began, but I cut him off by throwing my arms around him and giving him a hard, brief hug.
“I love you, Uncle Drew, but please trust me to know what I’m doing. I’m saying no to Mr. Collins. I’m moving forward. That’s a good thing.”
I remembered Elizabeth Bennet’s own mantra, “You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.” I’d recited it to myself when I thought of my mom and how she’d left us behind when she divorced my dad years ago.
I’d recited it when I thought of my dad and how much I missed him. And I’d recite it now, too.
I blew out a shaky breath. It wasn’t easy to focus only on the good times, but it was better than getting mired in it.
A thought occurred to me, and I darted into Webb’s office, where Aiden kept some of his art supplies, and grabbed some poster board and markers.
I needed to make some signs. “I’m going to educate Evola and the people of Little Pippin Hollow on the heritage and history of the land,” I told Drew when I saw he’d followed me down the hall.
“Maybe that will make it more personal. And maybe it’ll help engage the rest of the town to join me in this protest.” I tossed the markers in my bag before yanking the zipper closed again.
Drew shook his head sadly. “Man oh man. I suddenly realize how your grandma must’ve felt right before I hitchhiked to the Bull Island Rock Festival.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing. Just… be safe.” He drew me into a rough hug, patted me firmly on the back, then hugged me tightly again. “I love you, Hawk. And I promise you, you’re not alone. Okay?”
I nodded, but seven minutes later, when I’d grabbed some snacks from the kitchen, loaded up my car, and hauled ass from Sunday Orchard to Fogg Peak, I couldn’t help noticing there was no one riding shotgun.
And maybe that was a good thing. Maybe alone time was what I needed to finally make a clear plan for how to handle Evola… and the rest of my life.
I was surrounded by a gaggle of four-and-five-year-old nature enthusiasts, bent over a thatch of Canada Milkvetch plants, when Crys found me on the mountain later that afternoon.
“These stems aren’t fully grown yet. They can grow four feet tall—that’s taller than you, Calliope,” I told one of the kids.
“See how pretty the tiny flowers are? Some people think the name is because the flowers are milk colored, but other people say it’s because people used to feed it to cows to make them produce more milk.
Unfortunately, it can also give them a very sick tummy. ”
“I had a sick tummy last week,” Cosmo informed me.
“Yes, I heard about that—” I agreed.
“Mumma said it was carnage,” my little oversharer went on. He frowned. “What’s carnage, Mr. Hawk?”
“Uh… well,” I began.
“Mr. Hawk, Mr. Hawk!” Grayson, one of the other Scouts, had wandered to the far side of the small clearing and was practically vibrating with excitement as he pointed at a low bush. “I know this one! We learned it last week! It’s a pincushion plant!”
I straightened and walked over to him. “That’s right. Diapensia. Nice job spotting that.”
“I wanna see!” Mirabelle yelled, hip-checking Grayson aside in her enthusiasm and almost landing him in the bush.
Grayson put a restraining hand on her shoulder and gave her a solemn look. “Mira. Mr. Hawk says we needa be gentle with the plants, remember? Look but neeeeever touch.”
“Oh, yeah.” Mirabelle instantly sobered and gave me an apologetic look. “Sorry, Mr. Hawk.”
I bit my lip and exchanged a laughing glance with Maryanne.