Page 43 of Sugar & Shadows

But she had the wrong impression of me.

Eyes closed, I gathered my thoughts. “I need to be very clear right now.” I took a deep breath, ready to admit to a truth I’d never said out loud before. “Most days, I don’t want to be mayor.”

She gripped the steering wheel tighter, making it creak, but otherwise didn’t react.

“There are days I hate this job. And more often than I’d like to admit, I resent Maplewood for putting all of this on my shoulders.” While I was sure I’d regret letting this secret out, it was surprisingly refreshing. Even knowing she’d twist this honesty and weaponize it against me, I felt lighter.

She said nothing, which I took as an invitation to keep talking.

“I’ve been on the job for two years, yet I get saddled with the blame for everything that’s happened in the last twenty. And despite the way I want to help this town, all my suggested changes get blocked and the committees hamstring me. I want to do right by Maplewood, but the citizens have a different view of what that means. They just want a yes-man. A useless figurehead to smile and look pretty while Bitsy Bramble and the Maple Street Mafia run things behind the scenes.”

She barked out a laugh.

“What?” I snapped, heat creeping up my neck. This was the most open I’d been in a long, long time, and being so exposed was nerve-racking.

“That’s the first honest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

The air escaped my lungs. That was not the response I expected.

“And you’re right,” she went on. “They don’t want an actual leader. They want nostalgia, a way of life that’s gone. This town needs to evolve to support its citizens in the twenty-first century, whether they like it or not.”

I nodded. What the hell was happening? Here I was, easily agreeing with Sabrina Monroe, of all people. Maplewood was running a playbook written in the 1970s. Society had changed greatly in the last fifty years, but the town’s older generation resisted change and innovation. They pushed back any time the younger crowd suggested we try new things and fought anyone who tried to build, develop, or innovate.

“They don’t want to evolve,” I responded. “Everyone wants the glory days again.”

She tapped the steering wheel half a dozen times. “And that,” she said sharply, “is why we don’t ask them what they want, Gabriel.”

She sighed, as if explaining this to me were a true chore. “You don’t take out a threat. You neutralize it. And when it’s gone, another will ultimately pop up in its place. The key is to keep them happy and spinning their wheels while doing what needs to be done.”

I was hit with a myriad of emotions—anger, guilt, shame, and uncertainty to name a few—as she spoke.

To the rest of the world, I was a superhero. To Sabrina Monroe, I was a flawed schlub just trying to do his best.

And her conclusion about me underscored the question I’d been asking myself for years.

Who the hell was I? Really?

“Maplewood citizens don’t truly understand what it takes to transition into a twenty-first-century small town. And they don’t have to. They elect people to do the heavy lifting. The key to being effective is to push through your agenda and make the progress happen, all while keeping them engaged and distracted. And then, when their lives are positively impacted by the work you’ve done, you make them think it was their idea.”

I cringed. “That sounds devious.”

“It sounds effective.”

We pulled off the highway and slowed as we approached town.

I let her words marinate in my mind. Maybe she had a point. I’d always sought consensus. It’d been my goal to rally everyone around my ideas. And then I’d found myself stuck in four-hour meetings where I had to break up fights about repainting the parking lines a slightly darker shade of yellow.

The citizens of this town loved to get bogged down in the details, and each time, I got pulled under with them.

Along Main Street, shop owners were out shoveling sidewalks and homeowners were snow-blowing driveways. There was easily a foot of the icy white powder on the ground. I’d have to deal with my own house shortly.

As Sabrina approached my place, she eased over to the curb. Then she put the car in park, gripped the steering wheel with both hands, and turned to face me.

“I’m beginning to realize that some of my assumptions about you may have been flawed.”

I broke into a cheek-aching smirk. “Are you admitting to being wrong?”

“Fuck no.” She glowered. “What I was trying to say is that I thought you were just an idiot who’d failed upward. But I see now that you actually care. That you want to do right by this town. So I can work with that.”