18. Ethan
ETHAN
The morning unfolded with unusual energy, a current of excitement humming through Cedar Hills that I felt even before I stepped outside.
Through my shop window, I watched people stopping to talk on the sidewalk, their heads bent together in conversation, their expressions animated in a way they hadn’t been for weeks.
Something had happened.
It took me less than an hour to discover what, or rather, who, was responsible for the buzz.
I should have known.
Lena’s name dropped from lips all over town, carried on waves of surprise and growing admiration.
I needed parts for the Wilsons’ minivan, so I locked up the shop and headed toward the general store, my feet dragging slightly. I had been avoiding public spaces for days, not ready for the inevitable questions about Lena and me.
But some repairs couldn’t wait, even for a bruised heart.
Mrs. Kline’s voice carried through the open door of her store before I even stepped inside. She stood behind the counter, surrounded by a small crowd that included the librarian, two teachers from the elementary school, and the man who ran the Christmas tree farm outside town.
“Sitting in the county records all this time, just waiting for someone smart enough to find them.” Her voice swelled with unmistakable pride. “Lena spent hours digging through those dusty archives. My niece works at the county office, says she’s never seen anyone so determined.”
I stepped inside, the bell above the door announcing my presence. I moved toward the back shelves where the plumbing supplies were kept, but Mrs. Kline’s voice followed me.
“My husband proposed to me up there in ‘58. Never thought that memory would help save the town, but there it is, part of the official record now.”
The Christmas tree farmer whistled low. “Sounds like she built a fortress around this place. Those developers would need an army of lawyers to find a way through, and even then…” She made a slicing motion across her throat.
I found the copper fitting I needed and approached the counter, waiting for a break in the conversation.
Mrs. Kline turned to me, her expression softening slightly. “Ethan. Van trouble at the Wilsons’?”
I nodded, setting the fitting on the counter. “Old system. Parts keep failing.”
She rang me up, her eyes never leaving my face. “You heard about what Lena did? With the recommendation?”
“Pieces,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “Sounds thorough.”
“What are you so sour about? That girl fought for us like Cedar Hills was her own. Not many outsiders would do that.”
I pocketed the change and nodded once, not trusting myself with more words. As I turned to leave, I heard her add more softly, “Especially not when it might cost them their job.”
The knot in my chest tightened as I stepped back outside.
There was a part of me that knew how happy I should be, that knew exactly how proud I was, but the sting of betrayal masked it all. The more time that passed, the worse it seemed to get.
The morning sun had burned away the early fog, leaving the kind of clear blue sky that made the hills around town look closer than they were. I squinted up at them briefly, then headed toward Marianne’s.
Coffee. I needed coffee before facing the Wilsons’ ancient Minivan.
Okay, that might have been a bad idea.
Marianne’s café was even more crowded than the general store.
I ordered my coffee and leaned against the wall to wait, trying not to listen to the gossip and failing.
“But why does it matter legally?” the new teacher asked. “They’re just stories.”
Mr. Schaeffer shook his head emphatically. “Not just stories. History. Community. Didn’t think the girl had it in her.” He smiled, satisfaction evident in the deep creases around his eyes. “Never been more happy to be proved wrong in my life.”
“And her proposal stops them from developing it?” the brewery owner asked.
“Makes it nearly impossible,” Mr. Alvarez confirmed.
Marianne handed me my coffee with a knowing look. “On the house today,” she said quietly.
I started to protest, but she waved me off. “The town’s celebrating,” she said simply. “You should too.”
She threw me a pointed look that told me that she thought I was being an idiot holding onto a grudge.
But that was the problem.
How did I celebrate what Lena had done for Cedar Hills while still nursing the hurt of what happened between us?
The coffee burned my tongue as I took a too-quick sip, the pain a welcome distraction from the thoughts circling my mind.
Back at my shop, I gathered tools for the Wilsons’ Minivan repair, but my focus kept slipping.
By evening, I was wrung out from hearing her name everywhere while seeing her nowhere. I sat in my workshop after closing, half-heartedly organizing tools that didn’t need organizing. The silence felt heavy after a day of constant conversation.
Movement on the stairs outside caught my attention. Through the small window, I saw Carol climbing the steps to Lena’s apartment, a bottle of wine in one hand and what looked like a folder in the other.
She knocked, waited. The door opened, and for a brief moment, I caught a glimpse of Lena. She had her hair down, and she was dressed more casually than I had seen her in days.
I hated the way my chest tightened at the sight of her.
Then the door closed, and she was gone again.
I continued organizing, but my ears strained to catch sounds from above. The murmur of voices. Occasional laughter, though muted. The clink of glasses.
I imagined Carol thanking Lena, toasting her success. Telling her she went above and beyond for a town that wasn’t even hers.
Hours passed. I heard Carol leave around ten, her steps lighter on the way down than they had been going up.
I locked up the shop and headed to my apartment, pausing at the bottom of the stairs that led to hers.
For a moment, I considered climbing them, knocking on her door, saying... what?
Congratulations? Thank you? I was still hurt but I was proud of you?
Instead, I turned away, fitting my key into my own lock.
The truth sat uncomfortably in my chest. Lena did more than save a road or protect a view. She fought for the heart of Cedar Hills in ways even those of us who had lived here all our lives never thought to do. And she did it knowing it might cost her everything she had worked for.
That kind of fight wasn’t the action of someone just passing through. She wasn’t the cold, heartless person I accused her of being.
Hell, I didn’t even know for sure that she ever considered approving the initial development clause.
The next morning, the wrench slipped in my hand as the shop door swung open, letting in a gust of morning air and Mark’s familiar footsteps.
I didn’t look up immediately, focused on tightening the final bolt on the Baker kid’s motorcycle, but I could feel Mark’s restless energy from across the room. He was practically vibrating with news, shifting his weight from foot to foot like he had when we were kids and he knew something I didn’t.
“You’re not going to believe what I just heard,” he said, not bothering with a greeting. He moved closer, lowering his voice despite the empty shop. “My cousin at the county planning office called. Said your consultant has the entire department in an uproar.”
I set down my wrench, wiping my hands on a shop rag. “She’s not my consultant. I wish everyone would stop saying that.”
“The recommendation she submitted? It’s unlike anything they’ve ever seen. My cousin says it would take years of legal battles to challenge even one layer of what she’s built around the overlook.”
I moved to my workbench, organizing tools that didn’t need organizing. “Good. That’s what the town needed.”
Something tightened in my chest. “Have you heard about what happens to her now?”
“Professionally?” Mark shrugged. “Nothing good. Firms like hers don’t appreciate consultants who prioritize small towns over corporate clients. Word gets around in those circles.”
The full weight of what Lena risked started to settle on me.
The shop door opened again, and Mrs. Donnelly stepped inside, her small frame nearly lost in an oversized cardigan despite the warming day. Her eyes brightened when she saw me.
“There you are, Ethan. Is my truck ready? I’ve got deliveries this afternoon.”
“All set,” I said, gesturing toward where her truck sat just outside the bay doors. “Hoping it’ll hold a little longer for you this time.”
Mark excused himself with a meaningful look as Mrs. Donnelly approached, fishing in her purse for her wallet.
“Put that away,” I told her. “We’ve been over this.”
She fixed me with the stubborn look I knew too well. “I won’t take charity, Ethan Talbot. Not even from you.”
“It’s not charity. It’s an installment plan.” I handed her the keys. “Pay what you can when you can.”
She accepted the keys with a small nod, then her expression softened. “I spent nearly two hours with your Lena the other day,” she said, the possessive making me wince. “Such thoughtful questions she asked. About Frank and me. About our last visit to the overlook.”
“What for?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“She wanted to know what the overlook meant to people here. Not just the pretty view, but the moments that happened there.” She pressed a hand against her heart. “Told me she’s had some pretty special moments there herself, and wanted to hear about mine.”
I swallowed hard.
“She cried,” Mrs. Donnelly said quietly.
“When I finished my story. Not obvious tears, but I saw anyhow.” She reached out, her weathered hand resting briefly on my arm.
“Now I’m an old woman, but I’m not daft.
You seem to be though, sulking around when that woman’s all but screamed how she feels about you from the rooftops.
Seems to me you need to get your head out of your ass, excuse my French. Before it’s too late.”
I couldn’t bite back the chuckle that escaped me at her brazen words.
After she left, her words echoed in my head as I finished the day’s work. By closing time, I had made a decision I had been avoiding for days. I locked up the shop, climbed into my truck, and headed for the overlook.
The late afternoon light stretched long shadows across the road as I wound my way up. The trees were just starting to show hints of color at their edges, Fall announcing itself quietly before making its grand entrance. I rounded the final curve and saw her car already parked in the small clearing.
Somehow I knew she would be here.
Lena sat on my father’s bench, papers spread beside her, though she wasn’t looking at them. Her gaze was fixed on the town below, and she didn’t turn when my truck pulled up. I cut the engine and sat for a moment, gathering my thoughts, then stepped out into the cool mountain air.
She tensed slightly at my footsteps but didn’t look up until I was standing a few feet away. Her face was carefully composed, but her eyes gave her away.
“Hi,” she said, the single syllable carrying the weight of days of silence.
“Hi.” I nodded toward the papers beside her. “Working late?”
“Not really,” she said, gathering the papers into a neat stack. “The recommendation is officially filed now. Nothing more to do but wait.”
I stepped closer, stopping short of the bench. “I’ve been hearing about it all over town. What you did.”
She looked down at her hands. “I did my job.”
“No.” The word came out more forcefully than I intended. “You did more than your job. Much more.”
Her eyes met mine then, something flashing in them that might be hurt or anger or both. “Ethan, I know you’ll probably never forgive me. But I am sorry. Not for doing my job, but for not being honest with you.”
“You could have told me what you were doing,” I said, the hurt I had been carrying finally finding voice. “About the hidden development clause. About your plan to fight it. I would have helped.”
“I know.” Her voice softened. “I was trying to maintain professional boundaries. To keep things... separate.” She looked down at her hands again. “If I’m being honest, I didn’t tell you because I still wasn’t sure what I was going to do.”
The admission hung in the air between us. I ran my hand along the worn wood of the bench, feeling the small notches my father had carved on the underside.
“Did you know he built this as a memorial?” I asked. “After Vietnam. For friends who never made it back.”
She nodded. “I found a photograph in the county archives. The installation in 1967.” Her fingers traced the edge of the bench, not quite touching where my hand rested. “That’s what gave me the idea for the cultural assessment.”
“Why did you fight so hard for this place?” I asked finally, voicing the question that had been haunting me. “You’ll leave eventually. That’s what you do. Move on to the next assignment, the next town, right?” I turned to look at her directly. “Why risk everything for Cedar Hills?”
She didn’t answer immediately. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet but steady.
“Because it matters. Because, even if I was horrible at showing it. You matter. To me.”
She met my gaze, her eyes revealing vulnerability she rarely showed, but offered no further explanation.
As the last light faded from the sky, we stood in silent agreement that our time on the bench was done for the night.
I walked toward my truck as she gathered her papers and moved toward her car.
“I know I haven’t said it yet, but… thank you.”
I pushed myself to say something else, anything else, but instead I watched as she gave me a small nod before getting into her car.
As I started my truck, I caught a final glimpse of Lena in my rearview mirror, silhouetted against the darkening sky.
For the first time in days, the knot in my chest loosened.
We both had made choices that brought us here, her to protect a town she never meant to care for, me to care for a woman who had built her life around leaving.
And sitting in my car, my hands still on the steering wheel, I wondered exactly what I was going to do about it.