by Nina Bocci
“I’m following this schedule to a tee, and I know why it’s needed, but it’s just so much I feel deep-fried. Whit thinks it’s too much, too. That I should pare some of it back.”
I lowered my voice, not wanting to draw the attention of the crowd of people who had just entered and were milling about by our booth. “You asked me for help. I didn’t go chasing you around to take on this headache. If Whitney has an opinion, she can come to me with it. I’m only here to help, and her going against the plan isn’t helping.”
Whitney was always like a little argumentative bee in his ear.
“I’m not trying to sound like an ass, but she’s right. You don’t explain anything to me, and it’s frustrating. You tell me what to do in as few words as possible. For someone who normally likes to talk, it’s pretty apparent that you don’t want to converse with me.”
“Oh, please! All I try and get you to do is talk and tell me what’s wrong, and you’re Mr. Subject Changer!” I exclaimed, picking up my fork. I felt Nick stiffen next to me.
Cooper threw his head back and roared with laughter. It was so loud and booming that half the restaurant turned and smiled. At least they thought we were having fun. “You do talk and talk and talk, but it’s at me, not to me. I’m not a lapdog for you to train.”
“Oh, so now I’m supposed to take advice from Whitney on how to talk to you? That’s rich coming from her.”
Cooper narrowed his eyes. “Jealous?”
I bit my tongue before I could say another word. How had this devolved so quickly?
But I couldn’t help myself.
“Of Whitney?” I said hysterically. “As if.”
Yes, was what I should have said. I’m sure it was written all over my face.
“What’s the matter? You don’t like having to listen to a woman? Or is it just me?”
He leaned across the table, plastering a smile onto his face. If anyone looked over, they’d think we were having a fun conversation among friends. “Trust me, I have no problem when a woman tells me what to do.”
I inhaled deeply, trying to pull strength from a higher power so I wouldn’t thrash him. “I’m getting whiplash from your mood swings, Cooper. Which is it? You’re a shameless flirt like the papers say, or you’ve got some moral fiber and a backbone? From where I’m sitting, the paper is right.”
“Whitney just thinks that we’re missing opportunities—we’re focusing on the wrong areas.”
“Ah, Nick mentioned that she was full of ideas. Well, if you’d rather work with Whitney, then by all means do. I won’t let the door hit me in the ass on the way out.”
“Really, dude?” Cooper said to Nick, clearly annoyed. “You were supposed to keep that to yourself.”
“Don’t blame him,” I cut Nick off before he could speak. “You should have told me she’s been giving you shit about what I’m planning. We could have had a plan together to include her in events and to the press as your . . . whatever she is.”
“Not everything needs a plan, Emma,” Cooper said, taking a sip of his tea. “I’m sorry. I’m being a dick. I don’t want to be. Fuck. I’m just . . . give me a second. I can’t focus with all these voices in my head. Everyone is telling me what to do, and I need a fucking second. I’m exhausted.”
I should have given him that second. A minute or even three just to calm himself down before either of us said something rash that we couldn’t take back.
But I didn’t.
“Listen. If Whitney knows better than me and you think her opinion holds more water, let her run this show. I’ll walk today and sleep just fine at night.”
“Emma, no!” he snapped, crumpling the napkin and tossing it onto the plate. “I don’t want her.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I said, feeling the hurt and doubt creeping up.
“Hey, come on, guys. Don’t make me separate you two,” Nick interjected. “We’re all friends here. Who wants dessert? Let’s all have a piece of pie. Pie is safe. No one gets mad at pie. Apple pie for us all!” He looked to the waitress for help. She took one look at the table and turned around. Smart move.
“No pie. I’m not hungry.” Which was true—if I ate anything right now, my rolling stomach would revolt.
“I’m good. We’re all good, Nick.” Cooper sighed, but nothing about his tone seemed genuine. He was just trying to change the subject.
“So what else is on the agenda today? Anything fun?” Nick asked desperately, trying to pull the conversation out of the gutter. “Where the hell is the waitress?”
“Can I get the check, actually?” Cooper asked, pulling his wallet out of his pocket. Without waiting for it to come, he threw too much money on the table.
I pushed the cash back at him. “I’ll get my own lunch!” I slapped a twenty on the table. “Think long and hard about what you want here, Cooper. If you’re exhausted, fed up, and stressed now, what’s it going to be like when you’re mayor?”
Sliding out of the booth, I threw my purse over my shoulder and turned to Nick. “Instead of financial numbers, you may want to explain to Cooper about poll numbers. Even with the bullshit headlines, they’re reporting that if that election was today, he’d win in a landslide. I’m sure Whitney could have told him that, though. I certainly had nothing to do with it.” Ignoring the stunned expressions on their faces, I headed out into the damp air.
17
* * *
Emma, you can’t squeeze in another meeting today. It’s literally not possible,” Nancy said, coming into my office with yet another cup of coffee.
“You realize this isn’t your job anymore, right?” I said, gesturing at the cup. “Come to think of it, it wasn’t really your job before.” Nevertheless, I took it gratefully. After the past couple days, I was a step away from having a caffeine drip hooked up.
Behind Nancy was her replacement, hot on her heels with a notebook and a beaming smile. Her name was Anne, she was about forty, and she was one of the happiest people I had ever met. As in, she was happy. All. The. Time. It took a bit of getting used to. Not that Nancy wasn’t always chipper, but Anne’s personality went above and beyond. She was a mom of twin four-year-old boys, and I think being out of the house with other adults was keeping her spirits high. She was positively ebullient.
“I’m happy to take another meeting. Working keeps my mind off of other things,” I said lightly. Like Whitney being here. In my town. Or fighting with Cooper or planning stuff for Cooper or kissing Cooper.
Or the one that had popped into my head at three this morning: Whitney kissing Cooper.
Setting the cup down, I rubbed my eyes, trying to will some life into my face. I was exhausted from working endlessly on the Jackson project. The Jacksons’ schedule was jam-packed and Monday was one of the only times they had free, so we had to make it work. No matter how crammed the prep time was. The words had been floating off the pages for the last hour. “I hate that word, you know.”
Nancy laughed. “Squeeze or meeting?”
I picked up the cup. “Neither. I hate literally. It’s such a throwaway word. One of those words that people put into sentences just to make them longer or to make something sound more dire than it is.” I gulped the barely warm coffee and spat it back into the cup, disgusted. “Gross! What the hell is in this?”
“Nothing, unfortunately. I was going to spike it, but I thought it would backfire and make you more sleepy. Then I forgot to reheat it since it came from the pot I made this morning—which is why it’s cold. But I figured you could still use the caffeine.”
“Where’s the sugar?”
“We’re out. It was Cooper’s turn to bring in supplies right before he left. We never redid the list of who brings in what to account for him not being here anymore.”
I ignored the pang I got thinking about him. Instead I focused on the bitterness in my mouth. “I’ll still take it, but it’s gross. Anyway, what about my meeting? Were you able to get my dad up here? What is this for again?” I started pacing a
round the room. If I didn’t keep moving, I was going to crash and sleep for a month.
Nancy stopped me before I could finish my lap. “You realize you can see Mayor Dad anytime you want, right? It’s part of the whole ‘dad’ thing. It’s basically a rule.”
“I know that. I just don’t want it to look suspect, that’s all. I want it on the books so when the Jackson deal goes through, people see that we busted our asses to get it done.” I collapsed exhaustedly into my squishy seat.
I could hear Nancy and Anne murmuring beside me. Words like She needs to get some rest.
They weren’t wrong. There just wasn’t time. “I can hear you,” I groaned.
Anne excused herself to make a few calls.
“You know I love you, but you’re not as young as you used to be, you know,” Nancy teased.
“I’m not old, lady,” I shot back, lifting my heavy arm to slap her knee.
“Semantics. You’re sleeping for, what, a few hours a night if you’re lucky? Where’s the you time? When was the last time you went out and got yourself laid?”
My eyes popped open. “Laid or good laid?”
She snorted derisively. “Either. Is there really a difference?”
“Of course,” I said, thinking back to the last guy I’d dated. Mediocre was the kindest description I could have given it.
“That’s so depressing. When was the last time you got laid? Either good or meh.”
A throat cleared from the doorway. “This isn’t the conversation I wanted to walk in on,” my father muttered. “I had a five o’clock appointment with my daughter. I can come back when this topic is—” He paused, shuffling backward into the hallway. “Never. I never want to come back.”
With his hands over his ears, he stammered, “L-Let’s reschedule. I’ll stop back in later or never. Nancy, would you mind heading down to my office instead?”
“Take five and close your eyes,” she said, closing the door behind her.
After they left, I sat staring at the wall for a few minutes until Cooper knocked on the door. “Am I interrupting anything?”
It must have gotten chilly outside because his cheeks were pink and he was rubbing his hands together. The deep blue puffy vest he was wearing couldn’t have provided much warmth. The effect was there, though. He looked less like a loaded Wall Street guy and more like a guy who’d just returned from a casual hike in the woods.
“Come on in. I’m not great company at the moment. A bit preoccupied,” I admitted.
He closed the door behind him. “You ready for the Jacksons next week?” he asked, glancing down at my opening proposal for the meeting.
“Yep, want to read?” I asked, handing it to him.
“Present it,” he suggested, handing the speech back to me. “Wow me.”
“Are you sure?” We hadn’t yet discussed what had happened at the diner. That was the MO with Cooper and me. We never discussed anything. Ever. It was part of the reason that we had gone on so many years being antagonistic to each other.
“Honestly, go for it. Consider it my penance for being a dick the other day.”
“I wasn’t exactly a peach, either,” I admitted, feeling better already.
He shrugged and held up his fingers in a peace sign. We had a way to go, but it was better than being stuck on the side of the road.
“It’s not weird if I do this speech for you?”
Shaking his head, he motioned for me to speak. “Go for it. I’m all ears,” he said, moving to lean against the corner of the desk. “I’m here for moral support. Maybe I can give you a few pointers.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?”
Cooper pushed off from the desk and walked toward me. Closing the small distance between us, he stretched out his right arm behind my head.
The small clip that held all my hair back was pulled out slowly, the strands falling down my back and over his hand. “Better,” he said, tucking the clip into his vest pocket. “You look more approachable now. Less intimidating.”
He kept his eyes on mine while I fought for a witty comeback. It never came. “Thanks,” I said lamely.
“Don’t use the podium in the conference room. Walk the space with your shoulders back. Like this,” he said, touching my shoulders gently to straighten my posture a bit. His hands lingered just a second too long before they slid down to my elbows, finishing with a small squeeze. Was that for good luck or a signal to continue with the speech? Or . . . did it mean something else?
“All right, let’s see it,” he said, clapping his hands together and interrupting my psychoanalyzing. “Forget it’s me here, and keep going through to the end.”
He watched carefully as I pulled my note cards out and took a deep breath. I ignored the fact that he was intently watching me and focused on my speech.
“When my father was first elected to office more than two decades ago,” I began, “the town had just closed one of its last factories. The economy was crippled in a way that people hadn’t seen in their lifetimes. The loss of jobs was a slow, depressing descent into the unknown for its eight thousand residents. People fled in droves because we didn’t have any big businesses hiring, and there were no new businesses coming in to replace all of the factory businesses we’d lost—along with all of the jobs that had gone with them.
“Those hard times didn’t deter my father or the town council. They had to focus on the positive. So after a bit of panic and a lot of work, they started making some changes. They looked to big cities for inspiration. What worked there could work in a small town, too. Now, the changes weren’t immediate. Everything took time, but in a town named Hope Lake, people pull together. Your neighbors are your friends here.”
Cooper sat across from me, a blank expression on his face. Nothing indicated how I was doing; and I wanted to do well. It was more than just proving to myself that I could do well with the Jacksons. I needed him to know that I could do it.
“One of the main points that never got lost from Hope Lake,” I continued, “was the focus on enriching the town and making life better for its citizens. Immigrants first came here hoping for a better future, and a better future is what we hope to continue to deliver for years to come.
“In a town remembered for coal miners and steel factories, Hope Lake’s council and leadership embraced wind power and clean energy. Companies pushing a green future were courted. Furloughed factory workers were trained to work on turbines, grid building, and solar installation. Eventually, empty factories morphed into apartments and turbines sprouted like cornstalks in once-empty fields. Years ago, Hope Lake was looked down upon as a small-town tourist trap. The poor man’s Poconos. But instead of being put off by that description, we’ve embraced it, catering to the crowd looking for something different: quaint, cozy, family-oriented businesses that aren’t absurdly expensive and out of reach. That draw people in who need an escape from their busy lives in the city. Hope Lake is their home away from home. And we hope it will become your home, too.”
I carried on like that for a few more minutes. Finally, after my last word hung heavily in the air, Cooper stood. And to my relief, he looked impressed: a nugget I would carry with me proudly.
“What do you think?” I finally asked.
He cleared his throat. We weren’t far apart, but it felt like there was a field of empty space between us. Maybe my taking over the Jackson deal really was bothering him more than he was willing to admit to me.
“Honestly,” he said slowly, a grin spreading across his face, “if they don’t like it, we don’t want them here. But don’t tell anyone I said that.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking thoughtful. “I do think you need a couple more lines and one killer ending, though. Something about why Hope Lake is perfect for JOE—especially why we’re better than the Poconos. That could seal the deal right there.”
Nodding, I stacked my notes and tucked them into my back pants pocket. Cooper’s eyes followed the movement until he realized I was watching him. I quickly turne
d away, embarrassed at catching him in the act.
“Good luck. I’ll be waiting for an update.”
18
* * *
The night before the pitch, I couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t nerves but an eagerness that kept my mind in a constant whir. It felt like it had in college just before a huge test. It went above and beyond just being amped up—I was tossing and turning, pacing and staring at the cracks in my ceiling for hours.
Finally I queued up a marathon of Bob Ross on Netflix. It usually took only one sweetly whispered phthalo blue for me to be snoring until morning. And thankfully, sometime around four, I crashed. Unfortunately, I did so curled up on the sofa and woke with a crick in my neck.
Even in the heat of the shower, I couldn’t fight the chill that snaked down my spine as I thought about the presentation. Everything is perfect, I tried to convince myself. I knew everything was set and that there was no more prep I could do, but something still wasn’t sitting quite right. There was a looming feeling that I couldn’t quite shake. It was more than the presentation at stake—it was everything. So much good could come from this. Not just for the town but for the CDO, with Cooper as the next mayor.
The pressure was on me to deliver. And I was determined to do so.
“You’re so excited,” Nancy commented at the office, walking alongside me as I paced a circle around the conference room. “You’ll do fine—you just need to burn off some of this nervous energy. Think about the champagne afterward.” She didn’t say anything further, just remained a reassuring friend beside me. I needed it.
We’d painstakingly arranged and rearranged the room in an effort to make it inviting yet formal. Businesslike but friendly.
Historical photos from various areas of town had been pulled from other offices and departments and placed strategically along the Jacksons’ route from the front door of Borough Building to the conference room. They were scenes of Hope Lake that told a story of our ever-improving town—a story that would hopefully continue with my speech and with the Jacksons’ business.
