4. Haven #2
Her arguments are more entertaining than persuasive, but after we split a can of cider, we make our way over to the Dragonfly Creek Town Hall.
It smells like dusty paper and lemony floor polish. There’s a hum of fluorescent lightbulbs at first, but that noise quickly gives way to busy chatter coming from the community room. It sounds…full.
My pulse flutters nervously at the base of my throat. I’ve avoided big town gatherings like this, but that strategy hasn’t helped me find my place, or friends. Stepping outside my comfort zone and kissing Cash has reconnected me with two people I genuinely like, and this is the next step from that.
As soon as we step into the room, a lot of eyeballs turn my way.
Some of the attention is curious, the kind of... Oh, she’s back …awareness I’ve been fielding for six months. I’ve learned to absorb that reaction without flinching.
But on the far side of the room, there’s sharp hostility as I come face to face with my uncle for the first time in almost seven years.
He’s surrounded by people from New Harvest, and their eyes are all as sharp and judgemental as Uncle Fred’s.
Meghan Pelley is there, and she looks ready to give me the cold shoulder for the second time today.
Her husband and daughter are here, too. Unlike Meghan, Kaitlyn looks right at me, her expression flat but her eyes sharp.
I swallow hard.
“Do you want to leave?” Mercy asks.
I refuse to be scared off.
“No,” I murmur as I give Kaitlyn a polite smile.
You never know when you’ll win a teen over. And, if I’m any proof of anything, you never know when a teen will start questioning the insanity of their parents and church. She’s not my enemy. Cruelty is my only enemy, and she’s a child.
Mercy grabs two seats in the back row. “Your uncle isn’t a regular attendee,” she whispers as I settle. “I wouldn’t have suggested this if I knew—”
“It’s all right. I had to see him at some point.” I think about what Cash said earlier. “He’s been avoiding me, too, so it’s not likely he’s going to cause trouble.”
“That’s the right attitude.” She pulls out her phone and opens a notes app and starts typing in names.
Pastor Fred Bingham.
“What’s that?”
“I keep my own set of informal minutes.” She taps on the screen, pulling up her bullet pointed notes from last month. “Nobody from New Harvest was here for that meeting, for example.”
I squeak as I read Mercy’s biting commentary in short form notes. Apartment zoning was the first thing discussed last month, and below that, she wrote, Stubborn fuckers really hate progress, huh?
“What was that about?”
She snorts. “They couldn’t come to an agreement about zoning changes. So they pushed it off to the fall, which will almost certainly mean the developer gives up.”
I think about how limited my own apartment hunt was. “What? That’s frustrating.”
“We could do with more rental units in town but…there aren’t many champions for that.”
I tap another note. Waste. Of. Money. “And this one?”
“A job fair that only lead to four hires the last year. But they’re going ahead with it again this year.” She launches into an entertaining but infuriating recount of the debate.
I can see why she gets invested in these meetings. “Maybe you should run for town council.”
“Oh, I will. One day.” She flips back to the note for this meeting as the chair brings the to order. “And it’s mostly lighthearted nonsense, I promise.”
Mercy’s right about that. Tonight’s meeting starts with a spirited debate about a culvert.
Then there’s a discussion about the definition of a roundabout goes on for longer than I imagined possible.
And things get heated when a man named Gus accuses another man, also named Gus, of engaging in spite-motivated farmers’ market signage shenanigans.
“Last item,” says the council chair, peering through her reading glasses at the agenda. “New business, submitted this week. Concerned Citizens for Community Standards?”
“What?” Mercy’s head jerks up. “That sounds like some conservative bullshit.”
Across the room, Meghan Pelley’s husband stands up, smoothing a piece of paper against his thigh, and the air goes thin in my lungs.
“Thank you, Madam Chair.” Brian Pelley clears his throat. “A number of families have concerns about decaying community values. Recently, there was the unpleasant incident on the Matthews ranch, outsiders bringing violence through our town—”
“Excuse me.” A middle-aged woman stands up, interrupting him. “That is an egregious misrepresentation of what happened on the Kincaid ranch, and this really isn’t the forum—”
“Do you remember Dr. Tailfeathers?” Mercy whispers to me as loud murmurs roll through the crowd. “Don’t mess with her, she’s the smartest person in town.”
“Order, please!” The council chair raps on the table. “Let’s be mindful to keep this on topic. Mr. Pelley, please continue.”