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Where you need to be.
One lunch with an old friend, and all of a sudden that question wasn’t so easy to answer.
“Promise me you’ll consider it,” he said.
Everybody wanted me to think about something, as if none of my choices were my own anymore. And I realized they weren’t. Maybe they never were.
I took the papers and deposited them back in their folder. “I’ll think about it,” I answered with as much intent as I’d given Presley when she’d asked the same thing of me.
Only now, it hurt that much worse.
19
Dirty, Dirty Feeling
PRESLEY
I was exhausted.
Main Street was filled with the sounds of peaceful protest, packed with townies sporting baby blue Keep It Local t-shirts, hats, signs, and I walked right along with them, chanting along next to Sebastian and the rest of our family, less Abuela and my mom. Cilla rode on Sebastian’s shoulders, clapping and chanting with her preschool impediments.
I did my best to keep my energy up with a regimen that included way too many energy drinks and enough coffee to spark what I suspected might be an ulcer. I’d named it Larry. Larry and I weren’t friends.
For the last few weeks, I’d been burning the physical and metaphorical candle at both ends, my days a never-ending rotation of waiting tables, completing a huge order for candles and soaps for a few stores here in town, being a mom, helping with the town fight, and Sebastian. I was on a merry-go-round that spun too fast to get off without breaking an ankle. There was just always too much to do and not enough time to do it, what with me being one human with two hands, one brain, and twenty-four hours in a day.
Sebastian and I hadn’t talked about his decision since I asked him to think about it. While I appreciated his thoroughness, I couldn’t suppress the desire for him to make the choice already. But it was a huge, life-changing decision. I couldn’t fault him for taking his sweet ass time—I wanted him to be absolutely fucking sure. And if that meant sitting on pins and needles while he mulled it over, I could do that.
I hated it, but I could do it.
It was about a trillion degrees as we marched up the street—the heat dragged me down, leaving me sluggish. I could have crushed a nap in a cool, dark room. Even the thought made me want to cry just a little. But we’d leave here in a few hours to go back to the farm where I had a shitload of goodies to make before finally putting Priscilla to bed and sneaking off to Sebastian’s for a few hours.
Tomorrow, I’d wake up and do it all again.
My face stretched open in a yawn that got away from me. Sebastian smiled down at me.
“You need a nap,” he said over the din.
“You’re telling me.”
Somebody in front of us yelled, “Wait, what’s that?”
The chanting died down in favor of a rolling murmur. We were nearing the park, where we’d planned to hold a small rally. But rather than an empty park ahead of us, it was jam-packed with townies in yellow shirts standing in front of a grandstand. Oddly, a white Silverado was parked just off the side of the stage.
As we cleared the tree line, the stage came into full view, and standing behind the microphone was the devil himself, Mayor Mitchell.
His face was shielded by the brim of his tan cowboy hat as he gave a speech rowdy enough to have the crowd cheering and waving their signs. Behind him was a banner spanning the length of the grandstand with their slogan on it—Let’s Grow! And between that and him stood his wife and Marnie, smiling like politicians in their Sunday best.
The mood of our crowd slithered into the dark. Protests came louder, and this time it wasn’t directed at Goody’s.
It was all aimed at the mayor.
“He can’t do this,” somebody yelled.
The crowd called out their support, the knot of people tightening and shuffling toward the park.
Sebastian grabbed Priscilla off his shoulders and handed her to me before turning to the crowd.
“Everybody, listen up,” he yelled between cupped hands. When they didn’t respond quickly enough, he split a whistle through his lips that got everyone’s attention. “We’ll get this sorted out, but we’ve gotta stay calm.”
“How can we when Mitchell just undercut us, that son of a bitch?” Brian Buchanan hollered. “We’ve gotta let him know we won’t stand for it.”
“But if this turns into a mob, we won’t get anything accomplished.”
“What do we do, then?” a faceless woman asked.
“Let’s pull up around them and drown them out. But don’t anybody get caught up in it. I need your promise. Because this’ll go bad fast if we don’t keep our cool. We’ve got kids here, families. And if we want to get this done, we’ve gotta do it with diplomacy, not force. Got it?”
