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“Mayor—”
“I know it’s not going to be easy.”
“The festival is in three weeks. We have all the vendors booked, contracts signed, and marketing in place across three counties. We have a live-broadcast slot on the local news. A tree that’s supposed to be lit next Friday. We have a town that’s built its entire holiday economy around this event, and you’re telling me I have three weeks to move all of it somewhere else? There is nowhere else.”
“Griffin.”
“I need to think.”
I turn away from them and pull my phone out of my pocket.
It’s already ringing.
Meredith. Then a vendor. Then another vendor. Then someone from the Chamber board. Then a reporter from the Burlington paper because, of course, somebody has already leaked this and everyone wants answers now.
Emmett calls, and it’s the first one I want to answer.
“Griffin, oh my god—”
“I know. I’m here.”
“What are we doing?”
“I don’t know yet. Get to the office. Start pulling every vendor contract. Get me the exact list of who’s booked, what they’ve paid, and what the consequences are if we can’t deliver.”
“On it.”
“And get me the emergency contact list for the board.”
“Already pulling it.”
“Thank you.”
I hang up and answer the next call. Then the next. Then the next. I lose track of who I’m talking to. I lose track of what I’m saying. At some point, I’m standing in the middle of the sealed-off square in my coat that isn’t warm enough, my hair now completely frozen against my scalp, giving the same answer on repeat like an old record.
“I don’t know yet. We’re working on it. I’ll have an update by the end of the day tomorrow. Please don’t call the papers. Yes, I know. I know. I know.”
By the time I look up, it’s just past one p.m.
I’ve been here for over five hours. I haven’t eaten or drank anything. My phone battery is at eleven percent, and I can feel every single one of my back muscles.
I was supposed to be at the farm by noon. Fox is already there, catching up with the band and my parents, pretending he’s been traveling the country on his own.
The funny thing is, the one thing I was worried about is so far down on my list now.
Silver linings and all that.
CHAPTER TWELVE
FOX
sThe kitchen at the Halls’ farmhouse smells familiar and divine.
Sylvie is managing side dishes on the stove, a wooden spoon in each hand like she’s conducting an orchestra. Henry is at the head of the table with the same carving knife he’s used since I first started coming here in my twenties.
Kay has commandeered the seat next to Stone and is telling him, in exhaustive detail, about her driving lessons. Stone’s face is a mix of horror and delight.
“—and then I only hopped the curb a little bit.”
