Chapter Seven
THE TOWN HALL’S ancient air-conditioning unit wheezed overhead like an asthmatic dragon, doing little to combat the wall of body heat generated by what had to be half of Service County packed into the meeting room.
Noah tugged at his collar, the starched material suddenly as constricting as a firefighter’s turnout gear in August. He’d chosen his best navy suit for his official swearing in, the one that made his shoulders look like they belonged on a superhero action figure.
The projection screen hung overhead, displaying his name in giant letters.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Pete’s voice boomed through the microphone, “I present to you the chairman of Service’s Redevelopment Committee, our very own Noah Calvary.”
The applause hit in waves. From the right side of the room came a thunderous round of approval.
His mama, Leah, beamed bright enough to replace the struggling fluorescent lights, his brothers Eli and Tobias whooped like they were at a rodeo, and the firefighters stood at attention with Easter Sunday grins.
Captain Novak gave a measured nod that whispered, Don’t screw this up, son.
From the left side, scattered clapping and murmurs rippled through the crowd like reluctant raindrops before a storm.
And there, third row, center aisle, sat Rachel, looking like she’d stepped out of one of those architecture magazines that cost more than his weekly grocery haul.
Her copper hair loose, falling in soft waves around a face that looked more beautiful than the day before.
Their eyes locked for a millisecond before Noah flashed his trademark Calvary grin, the one that had graced Service High’s yearbook three years running under “Most Likely to Make Your Mama Blush.” Benji, phone in hand, perched at Rachel’s left.
“Thank you, Mayor Pete,” Noah said, adjusting the microphone, which squealed in protest. “It’s an honor to be entrusted with Service’s future.
As many of you know, I’ve poured my heart into this town.
I love it almost as much as my mama’s buttermilk biscuits.
” Just as he planned, he got a few chuckles.
“I’m committed to making sure our redevelopment reflects the true spirit of Service. ”
Nailed it, he thought, straightening his tie.
“Help yourself to the sugar cookies set up in the back, courtesy of the Judelson family restaurant,” Pete said, clapping Noah on the shoulder good-naturedly. “Before you exit the building, congratulate our new chairman, who’ll work hard on your behalf to implement my plan.”
Noah anticipated a stampede for the cookies and then the door. Instead, all eyes targeted him. Hands shot up faster than flames in a grease fire.
“Chairman Noah, I have a question.” Mrs. Rosa Mae Perkins, his ninth-grade history teacher, who’d caught him putting a frog in Valerie Isaac’s desk before school, stood up.
Her silver hair was styled in the same helmet-like formation it had been in sixteen years ago.
“What assurances can you provide to our citizens that you aren’t in cahoots with the mayor to sell off our waterfront properties?
And to that end, what provisions are being made for a historical society in your plan?
Our artifacts are currently stored in Jeremiah’s garage next to his taxidermy experiments. ”
Noah blinked. Cahoots? Historical society? No color-coded tab labeled “waterfront property” or “historical society” filled his grant binder.
“Well, ma’am, I appreciate your concern for Service’s rich history and beautiful views,” he stalled, searching for words to gloss the oversight. “We’re definitely going to protect our properties and make room for our… uh… past. Right alongside our future.”
From the front row, Eli gave a slow eyebrow lift that screamed, Way to go, stupid.
“But what, specifically,” Mrs. Perkins pressed, sharpening her tone to one of teacher and student, “will your committee do when the Whynot developers come knocking? And where will the historical society be housed? We don’t intend to sit back while our town gets swallowed by big business…
that includes properties along the water like the old mill.
The grant specifies cultural preservation allocations. ”
The grant, right. The one he’d read all fifty-seven pages of before sunrise, and again this afternoon, skimming it during his lunch.
Night construction had delayed their drive over the mountain into Whynot last night.
Add another fifty-five minutes of waiting after Rachel’s hand examination and X-ray results.
She’d kept quiet, but he’d relaxed in her company.
Too much, if this meeting was any indication of the work he should have focused on last night.
Yet he couldn’t bring himself to regret the time alone with her.
“We’re exploring options and several locations,” Noah bluffed, feeling the first crack in his confident facade.
Before Mrs. Perkins could respond, Hank Gardner, owner of the Fresh Pick & Pay, rose to his feet. “What about the farmers market expansion? We need covered stalls that meet health code requirements if we want to compete with Whynot’s fancy food hub.”
Noah’s mouth went as dry as kindling. “Farmers market. Well, absolutely. Vital to our community. Covered stalls are”—he searched for a word, any word—“coverable. Count on me.”
From his periphery, Noah caught Captain Novak pinching the bridge of his nose. Not good.
“And the watershed protection measures?” called out Heath Leighton, the retired survivalist who lived up on Eagle’s Peak. “The grant explicitly requires green infrastructure components. What’s your plan for stormwater management around the creek?”
Stormwater? Noah’s brain started to overheat as the wall began to close in.
“Well, Heath, water management is outside of my wheelhouse.” Noah cleared his throat, feeling heat creep up his neck. Sweat trickled down his spine like gasoline headed straight for an unattended campfire. “But, but”—he held up one hand—“it’s important. Vital. We’ll make sure to look into it.”
A collective groan rippled through the audience.
Tobias, his middle brother, hoisted his EMT medical kit like he was seconds away from administering CPR to Noah’s dignity.
In case he missed the first hint, his nutty brother did an exaggerated eye roll with a bobblehead gesture before letting his big head flop on his chest. His feigned fainting drew more attention than the red bag floating in the air.
Their mama leaned over the empty chair that separated the two and swatted him on the hand with an audible thwack.
For anyone looking, his brother appeared to be in need of assistance, and Mama was administering punishments for bad behavior.
People stared at both, but the expression on her face said, There’s more where that came from.
Anyone who’d been on the business end of a mama’s spanking averted their gaze.
Noah wanted to disappear. Instead, he straightened his shoulders like they still belonged to a man who had things under control
Pete gave him a thumbs-up, motioning with his hand for Noah to keep going. Get it together, Calvary. Noah took in the crowd, the people who’d known him all his life. They were on his side. Or so he thought.
“Look, everybody,” he sighed, “it’s my first hour in the seat—”
“What about my Ferris wheel?” Tucker Willoughby shouted without bothering to stand. The town’s self-appointed fall festival director had been lobbying for carnival rides since Noah was in the Boy Scouts. “Every respectable town has a Ferris wheel. It’s in the Constitution.”
“It most certainly is not,” Mrs. Perkins huffed. More groans echoed around the room.
Noah latched on to the absurdity like a life preserver in a choppy sea. “Tucker, I don’t think the founding fathers had carnival rides in mind when they drafted the Constitution.”
“Not that one. The town’s constitution. Service needs attractions.” Tucker continued, undeterred. “Look at Whynot. It’s booming. We need something to put us on the map besides the Landing waterfall. We need to go big or go home, people. Am I right? Or am I right?”
As the questions kept coming, Noah found himself wishing ClamClam would barrel through the double doors.
The chaos of a MRAAAAOW-ing feline terrorizing the villagers could improve this meeting.
At least then, everyone would be too busy leaping onto chairs and protecting body parts to notice he was one question away from spontaneous combustion.
“No one’s voting for a Ferris wheel for people to fall off of, Tucker,” Pete injected.
“Nobody’s voting to give you money for a mayoral mansion or luxury condos on the water, either, Petey. We’ve all heard about you getting cozy with them resort developers,” Tucker countered. “No carnival. No peace!”
The room erupted into a cacophony of voices, each with their own agenda.
Noah felt sweat pooling in places he didn’t know had pits.
His rough draft PowerPoint presentation, a single slide with SERVICE STRONG in bold letters and clip art of a firefighter in a construction hat, seemed laughably inadequate now.
“What about the medical clinic? When will you add it to the agenda? To the grant allocations?” Bethany Walker stood, her voice cutting through the chaos like a fire ax through drywall.
“We’re a community consisting of growing families, aging adults, and hardworking men and women.
The school closed. Then the clinic. The nearest hospital is thirty-five minutes away, fifty in winter weather. ”
“You tell ’em, sunshine,” Matt cheered his lady on, while Noah’s imagined parade got rained out.