Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Even if it’s back to Newport, to his life. He’ll be here, the same way I’ll be there, because if he does leave, he’ll be taking a piece of me with him.
My heart.
Chapter 23
WYATT
The room is absolutely buzzing, the whole town piled into the too-small space at the courthouse. I’m standing at the back with Hazel, watching over everyone. Despite my sudden status as a figurehead for the protest, I’m not trying to take center stage.
Meanwhile, Dad is sitting at the center of the platform behind a small podium, Mom and Wren are sitting together toward the front, and Jed is standing along the side wall.
It should make it seem like he’s less important, but quite the opposite. From his vantage point, it’s as though he’s silently pulling the strings connecting everything. In a way, I guess he is, because most of the council is alternating looking at the paper in front of them and then looking at Jed.
Rinse, repeat.
There is also a small group of people sitting in the front row, their suited backs straight, jaws tight, and an air of stuffy arrogance surrounding them. I don’t know who they are, but I’ve never seen them around town.
Were they at Winston’s wedding, maybe?
I’m not sure, but one thing Dad taught me over the years is how to deduce who the most important person in the room is. And my gut says it’s the guy in the middle of the small group. He’s the only one garnering Jed’s attention, and that’s telling.
The hum grows as various people talk about possible outcomes of tonight’s votes. Mostly, they seem to be some combination of fearful and outraged. Scared of what the future of Cold Springs holds if the rezoning passes, and angry at the prospect of what the city council and mayor are doing under the guise of “leadership.”
Hazel squeezes my hand, and I look over. Her brows lift in question, silently asking if I’m okay, and I squeeze back, reassuring her.
Etta comes through the open door and stands near us. “Couldn’t get us a seat?”
Hazel shakes her head and talks out of the side of her mouth, not taking her eyes off the crowd. “We were early, but so was the whole town.”
I lean over, whispering in Etta’s ear, “Better to stand up. I don’t want to get lost in the crowd and only be able to see the back of Jed’s head. I want to see Dad’s face when he leads this vote, stare him down as he sells his soul.”
Etta tilts her head, looking at me approvingly. “Ooh, they say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, but you fell, rolled away, and started a whole new orchard of your own. You, my boy, are nothing like your uncle.”
That’s nothing like the previous conversation I had with Etta, where she called me a kid and scolded me for not handling my business. It warms me inside.
“Thank you.”
I look at Dad, noting the purple smudges under his eyes, and as though he feels my gaze, he finds me. I can’t read the expression there. He seems almost . . . vacant? I remember what Wren said about Dad realizing he’s in over his head with Jed, and want to feel some small degree of empathy, but when he calls the meeting to order, I push that down. Despite any doubts he has, he’s leading the charge here, and while Jed has no allegiance to anyone but himself, Dad is supposed to represent the town’s best interest. A duty he’s failing on miserably.
“First up, old business. Mrs. Capshaw?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Capshaw, a middle-aged woman in lululemon and a “Chaos Coordinator” sweatshirt, says. She pulls out a stack of papers, and someone in the crowd groans. I guess she’s a regular. “For three months, the council has done nothing as the Circle K out on the highway continues to advertise energy drinks. Numerous health experts, including Dr. Oz himself, have come out against these poisons in a can, but now the advertising is . . . salacious!”
Sighs fill the audience, and Karen Hicks, one of the council members, speaks up. “Mrs. Capshaw, what do you mean?”
“The poster outside the Circle K is now trying to push ‘Butt Banging Berry’ flavor drinks! They’re encouraging our children to engage in . . . that!”
I snort, I can’t help it, but I’m definitely not the only one. “Sounds like someone needs to be butt banged, if you ask me,” I whisper, and Hazel snickers. But I wasn’t quiet enough apparently, because Etta backhands my bicep and gives me a harsh glare. But an instant later, she’s fighting off laughter too.
“Mrs. Capshaw, while we understand your concerns,” Dad says, “we heard you last month and the month before that. And as we’ve told you . . . that is not in our purview. You need to speak with the Food and Drug Administration, or maybe your congressperson. But the Circle K isn’t even within city limits.”