“No, we don’t,” someone says from the audience.
I whip around as a woman stands, and I strain to make out her features in the dim lights.
It’s … Paul’s mom!
“I never took my kids to Mudflaps games until this year, because it felt like a dirty frat house. Miss Carville had focus groups, and she implemented almost every suggestion, including the splash pad and the sensory room. Families can buy season tickets for the same cost as a pass to a bounce house. While every stadium in the country is selling hot dogs and donuts the size of your head, the Mudflaps have fruit cups and chicken nuggets for kids meals.”
“And frozen yogurt!” Paul says, and a few people laugh.
“This is dumb,” Serena says. “It’s one woman. Does anyone else here agree?”
“If they don’t,” Paul’s mom says, “It’s because you told all hundred and twelve of your friends to get here early to make sure no one who supports Miss Carville could get a seat.”
The mayor seems shocked by this. “You did what?”
Serena shakes her head, but her face is flushed. “No, that’s not what happened.”
“It is,” a man’s voice says from all the way in the back. He stands up, and then five, ten, twenty men stand with him.
It’s Fletch. And the Mudflaps.
My team.
“We got here early,” Fletch says, “and we were told the seats were reserved. We sat down anyway.”
“Youhaveto be here! She pays your checks!” Serena says, but she’s losing steam. Her voice gets smaller with every lie, every protest.
“Believe me, I’d rather be working on my tan,” Lucas says. “But my owner’s being libeled.”
“Slandered,” Logan says. Their voices carry that way that arguing brothers’ voices always do. “Libel is print.”
“Come on, man,” Lucas says. “I had a good line. Couldn’t you let me have it?”
Fletch shakes his head and shushes them. “Point is, we’re here because we wouldn’t want to work for anyone else.”
“I’m here,” another woman says, standing, “because she paid the little league fees for every family that couldn’t afford to pay for their kids this year.” The woman’s voice is shaking, like she’s holding back tears, and now, so am I. “I know we weren’t supposed to find out, but Clementine Partridge couldn’t keep a secret if the Good Lord Himself told it to her.”
“I could, too!” Clementine says from further down the row. “It’d be hard, though.”
“I had my reservations,” another voice says. Goodness gracious, it’s the pastor.
“But Miss Kayla is the last to leave after every potluck. She puts up tables and chairs and throws away dirty napkins with a smile. She’s a credit to our community.”
The mayor waves his hands. “I’ve heard enough. Why do I get the feeling that this complaint was fabricated to harm Miss Carville’s reputation?” He glares at the table. “Tucker, next time your wife brings you some harebrained scheme, keep it to yourself.”
“No!” Serena cries, and she looks like she’s about to burst into tears. “Y’all know what these big outsiders have done to this town. My family’s livelihood was taken. We can’t let that happen again!”
A wave of compassion hits me. “Serena, I don’t know what it was like for you to see your family’s business get taken away. I don’t know what it was like for any of you to see outsiders come in and try to change everything that makes Mullet Ridge so special. But that’s not what I’m doing here. I didn’t come to Mullet Ridge to change it. I came because I needed it.”
I look at the townspeople in attendance, people who care so much about this place and its people that they would sacrifice time and energy to show up, whether for or against me. “I needed a place where success isn’t measured by who you know but by how you treat people. I needed a place where fitting in can’t be bought, but it can be earned. I needed a place where people remember each other—and what you brought to that church potluck last year.”
This gets me a wave of laughter, laughter that feels like a flame burning low and steady in my chest.
“I brought a Heritage Port Pie to a covered dish that cost more than some people’s rent. You were right to side-eye me. I didn’t get it then. But I’ve listened. I’ve watched. I’ve seen how the more I show up, the more you let me in. And I’m not going to stop until y’all forget where I came from.” I smile, love for this quirky, hard town swelling in me like a balloon … mingled with heartburn. “This town has changed me. I need Mullet Ridge, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Mayor Kent clears his throat. “Nicely said, Miss Carville. Mr. Voss, if Minor League Baseball wants to take some kind of action, that’s between you and Miss Carville. As for us, we’re happy to have her in Mullet Ridge for as long as she can put up with us.”
Mr. Voss exhales loudly, his nostrils flaring. He straightens his papers like he’s preparing to put them away. “I see no need for the league to get involved here. Miss Carville, the team is yours.”
