Page 1 of Omega’s Fold

1. Wyatt

The folding chair rocks every time I shift my weight but I don’t move to another seat. I chose this one on purpose. It’s in the corner in the back row, corner and near the side door. If I need to leave, I can leave.

The Linden Group’s man is on the stage at the front of the hall, doing his thing. I’ve seen him twice before. Once when he offered for the ranch, the second in a town hall meeting just like this one.

He doesn’t look like he belongs out here. It’s the gray suit and tie, his shiny black shoes and designer stubble. I don’t know about watches to value the one on his wrist but I’d bet it costs thousands.

His name is Brent Payley and he’s been droning on about community investment for what feels like forever.

There are another two Linden Group personnel beside him, both looking as out of place as he does. The woman at the end of the row is smiling constantly, as if she can project cheer onto the rest of us by sheer will power.

“—and what we want you to understand,” Payley is saying, in the warm voice he uses for this part, “is that Linden Group isn’t just a developer. We’re neighbors. We’re investing in this town for the long haul. Construction jobs. Local contracts. We’re not hiding the impact too. We know there are going to be some people impacted by the development and that’s why we’ve put together our mitigation package. And even then, we know that we don’t understand everything about life out here. That’s why we had it independently reviewed. We are proud to stand behind it. I’m proud to stand behind it.”

Sure, you are, I think. I don’t know if he believes his own crap. Certainly, no one else in this room does.

Nobody claps.

I breathe through my nose and keep my eyes on the scuffed tile between my boots. The hall smells like pine cleaner and the scent of bodies packed close on a still evening. I wish I didn’t have to be here.

Ray Hegenbach is chairing. He’s standing off to the side of the stage in his usual heavy plaid, arms folded across his chest. He’s the mayor because nobody’s ever been stupid enough to run against him, and he’s been mayor for as long as I’ve been alive. His wife Donna was my mother’s maid of honor at her wedding. I’ve known them both my entire life. He’s never said a word to me about my father leaving, for which I am grateful. He’s a good man and a competent one, but I think even Ray is feeling out of his depth.

Payley finishes. The smiling Linden woman steps half a pace forward like she has something to add, then doesn’t. Payley steps back.

“Thank you, Brent,” Ray says, in the dry voice he uses when he means the opposite. “Now, it’s time for the public comment portion of the evening.”

The woman’s smile falters for a split second.

The room stirs.

A man stands up two rows ahead of me. I know him like I know every single person in this room who isn’t part of the Linden Group.

“I’ll say it,” he says, already half turned so he’s addressing the room rather than the stage. “I’ve got two nephews been out of work since the cannery closed. I’ve got a son-in-law drives ninety miles a day to a job he doesn’t like. Construction is construction. I’m not saying the rest of it doesn’t matter. I’m saying jobs matter too. That’s all.”

He sits back down.

Someone at the back of the room gives a half-hearted clap then it peters out.

“Anyone else?”

A woman stands up near the middle, and her voice is steadier than his was. I know her too. She taught my brother Matthew last year.

“My father’s well silted up last month,” she says. “First time in my mother’s memory. I had the hydro people out. I had the county out. They all said the same thing. The water table’s dropping, just like we knew that it would.” She’s looking at Payley directly when she says it. “So, I would like to know, please, where in your mitigation package it says he gets paid for about a hundred and eighty feet of new casing, which is what his driller quoted to reach the new level. Because I looked at your summary, and I didn’t see it.”

She sits.

Payley starts to answer, and Ray holds up a hand. “Public comment first, Brent. You’ll get your chance. Anyone else.”

I keep my eyes on the tile.

Don’t call on me, I think, at the top of my head, as clear as if I were saying it out loud. Don’t call on me, Ray. Don’t you dare.

“Wyatt Briggs.”

Damn you, Ray Hegenbach. I did not put my hand up and you know it.

I don’t move for a second. My ears go hot, the way they always do, instant and traitorous.

“Wyatt.”