4. Gabe
Gabe
Arecall.
Damn. I knew I’d get my ass kicked verbally, but I hadn’t even considered that they’d want to vote me out of office. Mainly because no one else around here wanted this ridiculous, thankless job.
As people line up to sign the recall petition, Bitsy looks especially pleased, holding court behind her folding table.
God, I want to go home and punch something. But there wasn’t time for that.
So I wandered outside, pasted on my mayor smile and gave the firefighters who were prepping the bonfire two thumbs-up.
“Mayor.” Curtis Miller grabbed my arm. “Wild night, huh?”
“Small towns thrive on excitement,” I said as my brain chanted an endless loop of they’re recalling you. You failed. You let everyone down. Shaking his hand, I clapped him on the shoulder. “It will be okay,” I reassured him. “We’re already working on a plan.” It was a lie, but it was all I had.
As the night went on, several people offered condolences, support, and kindness. I accepted it humbly, inquired about their kids and pets, and did everything I could to keep a gracious and composed mask on.
Despite my best efforts, I could only take so much, and before long, my hands were shaking, both with cold and anxiety.
I considered making a break for it, but before I could, Logan and Josh appeared like bodyguards, ushering me away from the fire and toward the tree line.
“Drink this before another person asks you to solve a problem,” Logan commanded, handing me one of the Sweetwater Ales that Nate had tapped tonight.
“I gave them everything I had,” I mumbled, taking the bottle from him.
Josh crossed his arms over his barrel chest and scanned the crowd. He’d always been a big guy, but the beard added to the intimidation factor. “I’ll keep them back. You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I’m fine.”
Logan snorted. “You’re pale and shaking. And if my medical instincts are correct, you’re on the verge of hypoglycemia. Josh, get this man a hotdog.”
“On it.” My cousin took off, lumbering toward the food tent.
“You’re not a doctor,” I snapped, bringing the cold beer to my lips.
He arched a brow. “Um. My medical degree says otherwise.”
“You’re an animal doctor.” I glared at him and took a long pull from the bottle.
“Yeah, key word there being doctor,” he hissed. “And you’re an overgrown, cranky animal. Now sit your ass on that bench and eat the hotdog Josh brings you.”
Two hotdogs and a bottle of water later, some of my energy had returned. And, naturally, my constituents had again tracked me down.
“Thanks so much for helping with the plow issue last week,” Rob McNamara said. “It made a big difference.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” I said even as my mind reeled. Despite spending every waking minute fixing every problem this town comes up with, I’m still not enough.
“Don’t take this recall personally,” his wife Nancy, Maplewood’s resident dog groomer, said. “It’s just Bitsy on a power trip.”
“Of course.” My words were full of forced lightness. How could I not take it personally?
“If the recall goes through and we have to elect a new mayor, are we still going to have a spring zoning vote?” Curtis said.
My eye twitched. He’d always been an opportunist.
“I’ll personally make sure you do not get that variance,” Josh growled, chasing him away.
Logan put his arm around me. “You good?”
I nodded.
He jostled me around, making my head bobble. “You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?” I asked, my vision blurry.
“The smiling while dying inside thing.”
Josh nodded, his expression stoic, as always. “It’s very convincing.”
I didn’t bother responding. Just stared into the fire, trying to feel anything but numbness and obligation.
Kids ran around, laughing and screeching and playing. Clusters of people chatted and smiled. It made a lovely small-town scene. Yet all I could feel was the hurt. The loss of the festival, the recall, the loss of faith in me.
As I stared at the flames, every meeting, every late night, every last-minute grant application flashed through my mind. The hard decisions and the compromises. The opportunities I’d turned down. All for this town.
And now they wanted me gone.
Logan stood next to me, silent and supportive. From his lack of fidgeting, I guessed he didn’t have any animals on his person tonight. Not that I much cared.
“There she is.” After I’d spent a good twenty minutes dissociating, he nudged me.
Sure enough, Sabrina was on the other side of the firepit, talking to Ethan Calloway.
The ache and the numbness faded, and I was filled with white hot rage.
“I hate to say it,” Logan murmured, “but she’s gorgeous.”
I blinked, then blinked again, though I couldn’t look away from her. “What?”
He shrugged. “Just an objective observation. Beautiful, but evil. Like a Bond villain.”
I studied her. She hadn’t changed. She was still all sharp voice and sharper mind.
He grunted. “You didn’t notice.”
“No,” I lied.
His laugh was low. “You’re either a saint or a moron. If she threw a taco at me, I’m pretty sure I’d beg her to do it again. I don’t remember much about her from school,” he said. “Except that she was annoying and you were always competing with her. Did she look like this back then?”
“No.” High school Sabrina had just been there. The endless thorn in my side. My rival in every area.
As I recalled those days, I struggled to remember her physically. She was more like a specter of confidence, good grades, and anger.
Had her hair always been so shiny? Her lips always so pouty? I didn’t have the time or energy or inclination to care.
“Not my type,” he went on. “Too buttoned-up and fancy. But for you?” Lips pursed, he let out a low whistle. “You may hate her, and I’m pretty sure she’s plotting your demise over there, but I feel like she’d rip the buttons right off your Brooks Brothers shirt with those red nails.”
“Go away, Logan.” I considered punching him in the solar plexus, but I couldn’t look away from her.
She was laughing and chatting so damn naturally. Like she hadn’t been gone for almost two decades.
“Fine,” he said. “I promised Mrs. Knox I’d talk to her about her dog’s anxiety. Holler if you need me.”
She was completely at ease, her eyes bright and her smile brighter, chatting and laughing.
Every few minutes, she looked over at me.
The expression would vanish, though the look there wasn’t anger.
No, it was curiosity. Like she was sizing me up and assessing my weaknesses. Making a plan to destroy me.
Now that the townsfolk had gotten what they needed from me, it was time to pull my attention away from her and head home. But before I could leave, Stella Stone approached, wearing a bright red coat and a smile, her chin-length hair curling up under her beanie and a small brown bag in her hand.
Stella Stone’s crush on me had been an open secret since she was in middle school. For decades, I’d waited for it to run its course. For her to meet a wonderful guy who deserved her. And yet it had persisted.
“My secret snickerdoodles,” she said, holding the bag out. “I saved these for you. Figured you could use them tonight.”
“Thanks,” I said, taking the offered treats. Stella was an amazing baker and always seemed to have my favorites on hand.
She had always been in little sister territory.
Never once had my feelings for her veered away from that.
I adored her and respected her. I wanted what was best for her.
But I was not it. A stronger man—a man with real principles—would just tell her.
I’d tried to a thousand times, but each time I worked up the courage, I’d think about how sad she would be afterward, how disappointed, and I’d lose my nerve.
Maybe Josh was right. Maybe I did need therapy to deal with my pathological need to be liked.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, squeezing my arm.
I stiffened. I didn’t mean to, but I was overstimulated and exhausted.
“No one works harder for this town,” she said. “If you need help, just ask.”
I nodded, mouth pressed in a line. She meant well. She was one of the best people I knew. But in that moment, it was as though yet another person was here, asking for something from me.
I took a step back. “I appreciate it,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “But I don’t have the energy for this right now.”
Her eyes widened and her cheeks went red.
My stomach clenched. Fuck.
She dropped her head. “So sorry,” she said, more to her feet than me. “I didn’t mean to add to your stress.”
Turning on her heel, she headed back toward her sister and her friends, leaving me holding a bag of homemade cookies and feeling like the world’s biggest asshole.
I’d tried to be careful with her. Hell, I’d tried to tread lightly with everyone. Living my life in a way that wouldn’t cause harm.
But tonight I didn’t have the strength to carry the weight of others’ emotions along with my own.