“That doesn’t even make sense,” Ms. Patty huffed. She turned to me and said, “Are you selling your land to out-of-towners?”
“We aren’t set on selling the land,” I said. “I think we’re just going to listen to what the mayor and the development company have to say.”
“I know that new, young mayor wants to help Creekstone, but I hate the idea of out-of-towners coming to town and building discount stores and bringing HOAs and all that nonsense to Creekstone,” Ms. Patty said.
“And traffic.” Ms. Pearl pursed her lips together in a frown. “Did you see how they did over near Dawsonville? I know it’s closer to Atlanta, but who wants to sit in traffic to go from one side of the middle of nowhere to the other side of the middle of nowhere?”
“If there’s traffic, it’s notnowhere,” Ms. Patty countered.
“Well still,” Ms. Pearl said thoughtfully, “Maybe I’m glad they haven’t asked about buying my land. Once we start selling our land, we really lose control and influence over the character of our community. Are you going to sell your house, too?”
I chuckled at the back and forth between the two, but I couldn’t help but agree with Ms. Patty and Ms. Pearl. Creekstone was the perfect small town. My mom would say that of all the places she’d ever traveled, and she did quite a bit of traveling before she had me, Creekstone had the most heart, and that’s why she decided to move back and raise me here. She marveled at the ordinary. She said that people spent entire lifetimes inpursuit of “the good life,” but she believed that “the good life” was a state of mind, not a status.
Ms. Patty crossed her arms in front of her chest and took a deep breath. “Let me ask you something.” She looked at me so seriously, as if what I said could really weigh on her.
“Sure. What’s that?” I asked, my eyes wide in anticipation of what she might ask.
Ms. Patty lowered her voice. “Do you and Rita need money? Is that why you’re trying to sell the land?”
“Oh, no,” I said quickly. “We aren’t trying to sell the land! They approached Aunt Rita about buying some lots. I think they want land near the river, so they’re interested in the property we own on the edge of town. They want to meet to see if we’re even interested in selling. But, please don’t worry. We’re doing great,” I added a little too emphatically. This was partially true. Aunt Rita and I were approached by the mayor about selling our land, but the truth was Aunt Rita and I had started renting rooms in our house for extra income. My mom’s medical bills had been more than any of us could ever have imagined, and we were still recovering financially.
“Well, sweetie. If you and Rita need anything, you just tell us,” Ms. Pearl said softly. I know she was being sincere. Before my mom passed, Ms. Pearl had been one of the community members who kept a meal train going to help us get through those last weeks. She would appear every other day or so with a casserole or a basket of soup and sandwiches from the deli. She would linger in the kitchen to help load or unload the dishwasher. Sometimes Ms. Pearl would sit with my mom when Aunt Rita and I both had to be away.
“You two are sweet to ask.” I forced a smile. “But we really are doing fine.” I checked my watch. “And I should scoot because I don’t want to be late for the meeting.”
I stood up as Ms. Patty put a hand on her hip, turned to Ms. Pearl, and said, “And what do you mean, wetlands? I’ll have you know that land is perfectly buildable.”
“You’re joking,” Ms. Pearl exclaimed after she blew air through her lips. “You could sail a boat on that lake you call a buildable lot.”
I smiled and gave a little wave as I exited the conversation and coffee shop. I hurried down the wet sidewalk toward the mayor’s office. North Georgia wasn’t a particularly snowy place in the winter, but we did get some freezing rain and ice storms that created a pretty glum atmosphere in the winter. I think this is one of the reasons Christmas lights helped brighten up everything on Main Street.
The mayor’s office was in the middle of the town square. It was a historic brick building right next to the courthouse. The walkway was lined with hedges that were covered with lights. The doors and windows had all been decorated with wreaths and red bows. The black light post had been wrapped in green garland and had festive holiday bells at the tops. As I approached the building, a tall, thin man with wavy blonde hair walked through the front doors of the office building. Seeing me approach on the sidewalk, he started waving emphatically.
I waved back. The man beamed with a huge smile. He called out, “Kit! Hey, Kit!”
“Hi, Nick,” I said as I climbed the stairs to the entrance to the building. Nick Martin, like me, was a native of Creekstone. But Nick was about ten years younger than me, a recent college graduate, and most notably, he was the youngest mayor in Creekstone history.
“Kit, I’m so glad you came.” Nick sounded a little breathless. He extended his hand as I approached. Even though he was young, he was still a politician through and through. I shook his hand.
“I was worried you wouldn’t come,” he said.
“Aww, Nick. I told Aunt Rita I would come. Why would you worry?” I asked. I did want to show my support for Nick as our new mayor. Our former mayor, Brian Bigbsy, had been in office for nearly thirty years. The man loved his town. He knew his people, but you could only trust him as far as you could throw him. Nick’s announcement to run for mayor was dismissed as foolishness…until he won.
Nick’s campaign and victory was just what Creekstone needed. The town needed people who loved it and wanted the best for it, not just for themselves. Now Nick was being tasked with bringing about some of the changes he had promised, and this was proving more difficult than he could ever have imagined.
“Well,” Nick nervously ran his hands through his hair. He still had a bit of a boyish charm to him. “I guess I assumed you wouldn’t want to entertain the thought of selling that property by the river.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I’m always happy to listen,” I said, patting Nick on the shoulder. We walked into the building.
“Well, that’s good. The folks from the company are here, and they’re all set up in the conference room to give you and Aunt Rita a great presentation on the potential projects they could do here in town.”
“I promise I’ll listen with an open mind,” I said, holding up three fingers, “Scout’s honor.”
Nick clapped his hands. “Kit, you’re the best. You remind me so much of your mom. Did I ever tell you she was my art teacher in high school?”
“That’s so nice,” I smiled. One of the great things about living in a small town is that people always shared stories like this about my mom. “She loved teaching.”
We headed into the office building. I spotted Aunt Rita in the lobby of the building, talking to a man as they both admired the Christmas tree. She waved at me, and I walked over. Aunt Rita was my mother’s youngest sister. She was a few years younger than my mother, and they were best friends. My mom was seventeen years old when she moved out of the house to go to art school. When Mom was twenty-five, she returned to Creekstone seven months pregnant. My grandparents and Aunt Rita welcomed her back into the house, and Mom and I had been there ever since.
