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I see a few nods and feel bolstered.
“Caring for injured animals takes a lot of coordination. I have lots of grants. That’s how my sanctuary runs. You can’t just move the bears without some consequences. I guess all I’m saying is, this is my livelihood. And I guess what bothers me is, there are other plots of land. There are other places this retreat could open.”
My pulse races, and I feel my cheeks redden with my strong emotions.
“Mr. Haywood’s property has been for sale for less than a year. Not being able to sell it in that time—that’s not all that unusual. If the property is rezoned, my business will close. I don’t care if someone buys some of the land from me. I won’t be able to do what I do for business on the land I own. And why? So a house can sell faster? So a developer can open a new business? That seems so pointless.” My eyes sting, but I make sure my voice stays steady. “As humans, it’s our job to watch out for animals and help them. Please consider us as you make your decision.”
I give one last snarile: calculated; awful. I hold it a second longer than usual, so everyone in the room can see the paralyzed left side of my mouth. So maybe someone will feel pity. At this point, I’ll take anything.
I walk quickly back down the aisle, which feels much longer now. I get a few smiles, and some averted faces. A few outright stares. I look for the man wearing the dark hat, but he’s gone. Another man—a shorter, sterner one wearing a suit—is standing where the tall one was. His lips tighten as I come to stand against the back wall.
God, I wish I could just go now.
I hear a “bless your heart” from my right and turn my head to see a short, elderly woman with huge, magenta reading glasses hanging off the end of her nose. “You were in that movie. With the retirement community, and the brother-sister duo. End of Day.”
I nod.
“You’re still a very pretty girl.” She pats my forearm.
You asked for this, Gwen. You just asked for pity. Suck it up.
I blink, keeping my face still. “Thank you.”
She pats my shoulder and I want to run. Instead, I stay and listen to the developer, Carolina Burns, talk about her plans for Mr. Haywood’s land. She swears she won’t build anything within two hundred yards of the enclosure. She says if she gets this development up and running, she’ll buy some more land in the Gatlinburg area as a thank you to the commission for their “faith” in her.
My awesome blonde councilwoman asks why Ms. Burns can’t buy other land now, and she says, “I can’t find anything that works. Now is the time I’m looking to buy.”
She talks about how she’ll put up a new building or two to the right of the Haywood house, on the opposite side from where I am, and prattles on about how she’ll hire a staff of “only” ten or twenty.
“This
is such a beautiful area,” she croons. “And you guys, let me tell you, my clients are the quiet type. They want to relax. They are educated people. They are respectful of the environment and would be more than happy to be located next door to an animal preserve. If it helps, I even know a woman who works in the environment board’s office. Based on what I hear from her, I genuinely believe Miss White is wrong. She’s nervous, maybe, and I get that, but we would be a very conscientious neighbor.”
The discussion drags on, with the commission members squabbling over local precedent, then over what’s the “right thing” to do since Mr. Haywood “so kindly” did away with his own plans to make his home next door into a B&B to help “a new person in the community” bring the sanctuary here.
“He did that out of the goodness of his heart,” says Mr. Jacobs, an influential African-American realtor who is a friend of Mr. Haywood. “Now he’s asking for the same thing. You know his wife died there. Owning the property is painful for him.”
I’m contemplating the look on Mr. Jacobs’ face after catching one of my jump-front kicks right between his legs when the male TV news reporter with the camera appears in front of me and asks if he can see me outside the room.
“We’re using a clip of your speech on the ten o’clock news,” he tells me when we’re in the hall. “I think it’s inspiring, that story you told. Would you want to do an interview with us? To raise awareness? I saw that movie you did… End of Night?”
It’s End of Day. Middle of Knight released last year; another redhead played my part.
I can feel my pulse pound in my tight throat. “Thanks for asking, but I don’t think so.”
He spends the next five minutes trying to sell me on it. I can’t help notice, he doesn’t once check out my tits or ass. His eyes avoid them just as they avoid my mouth. It’s how a lot of guys act toward me now.
I hear the meeting room shush and lean in through the doorway just in time to see the vote. I see several hands raised in favor, but I can’t see the blonde woman’s, so I’m not sure in favor of what exactly. Then her hand raises, along with another man’s. My chest aches.
“The county votes to re-zone the Haywood property ‘limited business,’ as well as write a special petition to the state enviro board on behalf of Bear Hugs. In the event that the sanctuary should be required to relocate, the developer may offer to buy Miss White’s land and the council will do everything it can to help Miss White resettle elsewhere.”
Tears well in my eyes. My throat tightens so much, I’m worried I might choke.
A few heads turn to me. I see a woman lean behind her program, whispering to the lady beside her.
Beside me, the TV news reporter looks impassive. He doesn’t give a shit about my fate.
I suck a big breath back, then hurry toward the stairs. I manage to keep my face impassive until I round the Dolly Parton statue randomly positioned in front of the court house. Tears glitter in my eyes as I crank Anderson, but I don’t let them fall. I don’t cry until I’m home. Until I’m in my quiet house under the blankets on my couch. I cry for half an hour, then text Jamie, Mom, and my brother Rett.
