by Kait Nolan
The outcome was painfully obvious. “She picked George Mason.”
“It was the better, more prestigious program. She believed if she turned them down, she’d never get another shot at it, and her career was too important to put on hold.”
“So she dumped him?”
“Not then,” Anita said. “They did the long distance thing for a while. Couple years, if I remember. He didn’t see much of her. She didn’t come down here much, and he wasn’t willing to go far from Sandy. At least not until she’d stabilized. Even then, we had to practically kick him out of the house to make him go up to Virginia to surprise her.”
“He drove up and came back in just over twenty four hours,” Aunt Liz said. “Never did tell us what happened, just that they’d decided to go their separate ways, that they wanted different things. Cam’s not the sort to bad-mouth anybody.”
Grammy harumphed. “You ask me, they could’ve figured that out without all that driving. I think she’d moved right on without him and didn’t have the decency to say so on account of she couldn’t figure out how to break it to him given what was going on with Sandy. Figure our boy walked in on something.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her.” Miranda flung a hand toward the album. “I mean, seriously. What kind of woman puts her own ambitions ahead of what’s supposed to be the most important relationship in her life?”
A woman who wants more out of life than being a wife and mother, trapped in a small town that doesn’t support her career choices. But she kept the comment to herself. She didn’t condone the way Melody had handled the situation, but she understood the choice the girl had faced in a way that no one else here could. She understood because she’d watched her mother live with the wrong one for far too long and then dealt with the fallout when Margaret finally made the tough call that her career and the lives she could save were more important than family.
“At least she figured it out before he married her. Before there was a child to be impacted by the inevitable divorce.”
Miranda leaned in to give Norah a hug. “You shouldn’t have had to pay for your parents’ selfishness.”
“It’s better than if they’d stayed together. All those years before the divorce was like watching my mother slowly die. Better that they be true to who they really are, what they really want.”
Which leaves me, where exactly? Norah wondered. Who am I and what do I want?
A month ago she could’ve answered that question without hesitation. But now? Here she was without the job she’d worked her ass off to earn, unexpectedly involved with a man who’d so rapidly worked his way under her skin, she couldn’t imagine going back to a life without him in it. But neither could she imagine what life with him in it would look like. And she was lying to her best friend and the rest of his family about their involvement because, quite clearly, they wouldn’t approve.
When exactly had she become someone who knowingly hid the truth? So much for that moral compass.
Reed jolted her back to the conversation. “Either way, she did a number on him. As far as we know, he hasn’t had more than a couple of dates with anybody since his mom went into remission.”
Yeah, about that…
“So Mitch is dating enough for them both?” she asked, hoping to shift the conversation.
“Hey! I resemble that remark.”
Aunt Liz put in her two cents. “Cam needs to find a nice local girl. That boy was made for marriage, family, and babies. He needs somebody that can actually appreciate the deep sunk roots he has here instead of being all bound up in career.”
In other words, someone who isn’t me, Norah thought. And that was the clincher of all of it. She recognized and respected Cam’s roots, found his connection to family and the community unaccountably appealing. But she wasn’t local—couldn’t be local and keep the career she’d poured herself into. And even if, by some miracle, she could sort that mess out, she wasn’t made for a traditional role of wife and mother any more than her mother had been.
Grammy pivoted with a casserole dish in her hands. “Everybody take a bowl into the dining room. Dinner is served!”
Norah stood and took the bread basket on autopilot, but she found she’d lost her appetite.
Chapter 7
Vick Burgess was smiling when Cam walked into the City Council meeting Monday evening. His teeth flashed white in his too-tan-for-winter face, making Cam think of politicians and used car salesmen. Anything that made Vick smile was likely to be bad. He was speaking to another man dressed in a too-expensive suit that screamed city slicker. What was an outsider doing in their City Council meeting?
Across the room, Sandra caught Cam’s eye. She fixed him with a Be nice Look that just solidified the dread curling through his gut. But Cam held his tongue and took his place at the conference table next to Edgar Falk.
Vick clasped his hands. “Since everybody’s here, perhaps we can get started? Avery, are you ready?”
Avery Cahill, Sandra’s personal assistant and the official City Recorder, took her position at his mother’s right hand, fingers poised over a tidy little laptop. “I am.”
“Okay then, let’s get this show on the road.” Sandra rapped her gavel. “As Mayor, I now call this closed meeting of the City Council to order.”
Ed lifted a hand, spotted with age, and waited for acknowledgment. “Motion to approve the minutes from the December 12th meeting.”
Cam seconded.
“All in favor of approving the minutes from our previous meeting?” Everyone present lifted a hand. “Minutes approved.”
Grace Handeford spoke next. “Motion to approve the docket of claims for tonight’s meeting.”
“What’s on it?” asked Hank van Buren. “I didn’t get a copy of the memo.”
“It’s probably in your spam folder. I keep telling you to check it,” Grace chided. “Just the charge for replacing the street lights with more cost efficient halogen bulbs.”
“Is that a sweeping change or something to be implemented as the bulbs go out?” Connie Lockwood’s French manicured nails tapped against her pen as she scribbled notes.
Grace slipped her reading glasses on and peered at the memo. “This is for the supply of bulbs. It doesn’t address when the change would be made.”
They debated the merits of both options before finally approving the claim.
“Are there any amendments to the agenda?” Sandra asked.
Cam thought about Mrs. Crockett and the stoplight, but he was too worried about the newcomer to bring it up. When no changes were raised, she turned her attention to Vick. “Very well. I shall turn the floor over to City Planner Victor Burgess.”
Vick beamed. Cam thought about how much he wanted to plant a fist in the other man’s face.
“Thank you, madam Mayor. I’d like to take this opportunity to introduce Bill Sutto.” The suit lifted a hand and offered an ingratiating smile. “Bill is a representative from GrandGoods.”
Connie sat up straighter. “The bulk buyer’s club?”
Vick’s car salesman grinned widened. “The very same.”
“I love that place. I go every time I head down to Jackson to visit my sister.”
“Well, you may not have to drive that far in the future. They’re looking to expand their market share in Mississippi, and Wishful is a potential site.”
Hello red flag number one. Cam crossed his arms. “What sense does that make? We don’t have the population base to support a store of that size. They only build in cities or big interstate hubs. We’re neither.”
Sutto answered that charge. “You raise a good point. And it’s true that up to this point, we have focused on sites that meet those criteria. But Wishful is centralized. So much of Mississippi’s population is considered rural by population standards. Right now, we have a GrandGoods down on the coast in Biloxi, one in Jackson, and one in Southaven. That leaves the north central portion of the state unserved. Wishful occupies a central location that could draw c
itizens from Oxford, the Golden Triangle area, and all the rural counties between. That’s a few hundred thousand people right there, within an hour and a half radius, with no shopping alternative that would provide the same benefits.”
“Why would you choose to build here rather than in, say, Tupelo?” Grace asked. “That would hit almost all the same areas.”
“That’s a great question, Grace.” Sutto beamed as if she were a prize pupil. “Tupelo already has a Sam’s Club. GrandGoods is more interested in expanding into an area with no existing competition. We want to pilot test a store on a slightly smaller scale in a rural location. And we want Wishful.”
“Just imagine what that kind of business would draw to town,” Grace said.
A sense of deep unease unfurled inside Cam at the thought. GrandGoods would bring customers, sure, but it would also bring urban bloat. More chains, more franchises, more depersonalization.
Vick picked up the thread again. “Not only work for the labor hired to build the store and the jobs created for the people to work in it. But it would pull in people from all over to shop here. That would provide a really nice chunk of additional revenue that we could use.”
At what cost? Cam exchanged a Look with his mother. Very little was as cut and dry as they were making it out to be. “I have serious reservations about how a business like that would impact the community. Yeah, it’d mean short term jobs for those involved with construction, provided GrandGoods did actually hire local labor. And probably longer term jobs for those needed to run the store. But what impact will it have on competing local businesses? What percentage of the people who come in from surrounding areas will actually stop in at other businesses here? And what about the increased burden on the infrastructure? All that extra traffic that isn’t part of our tax base and isn’t going to be paying for upkeep of roads.”
All solicitousness, Sutto nodded. “Those are completely valid concerns. First off, let me assure you that GrandGoods fully intends to recruit local labor for construction of the store, should our proposal be accepted. As to the impact on competing local businesses, we don’t foresee that being an issue. GrandGoods is a particular type of store and shouldn’t infringe on the smaller, niche businesses already established. We have no intention of damaging the character of your town but, rather, believe that we can enhance it.”
Cam doubted that.
“I’ve got a presentation of our full proposal prepared that will, I hope, answer more of your questions. If you’d direct your attention up here, please.”
Somebody dimmed the lights for Sutto’s PowerPoint presentation. Cam sat through it, listening to the spin and the promises and the buzzwords with half an ear as he observed the reactions of the other Councilmen. By the end, they were all nodding, smiling, some of them actually excited. Not a damned one of them seemed concerned that a formal proposal presented to the city was only subject to the rules already contained in the zoning code. As far as Cam knew, that meant just a weak site plan review stood between Wishful and this store should the proposal be accepted.
Sandra steepled her fingers. “You make compelling arguments.”
Beneath the table, Cam’s hands fisted. Sutto had neatly skirted the issue of strain on infrastructure and overplayed the limited benefit Wishful would receive from sales tax. Had anyone noticed but him?
“Certainly, I think he’s made enough valid points that we should enter into more formal discussion of the proposal,” Ed agreed.
“Of course, we want to allow you ample time to make an informed, educated decision, as well as an opportunity to discuss any issues you may have with our proposal.”
Vick began gathering up his papers. “I’ll get all of you a copy of the full proposal tomorrow morning.”
Cam swallowed down his rage. “I can promise you, we’ll have plenty of questions.”
A date was set for the next City Council meeting, which Bill Sutto would return for. That gave Cam fourteen days to figure out how the hell he was going to derail this.
“There’s one thing you haven’t mentioned yet. Where exactly do you propose building this store?”
“Oh we’re already in negotiations for a parcel of land on the outskirts of town.”
Cam tensed, already knowing the answer before Vick clarified, “Abe Costello’s land out near Hope Springs. It’s fitting, don’t you think, that the business that can bring hope back to this town be situated right there.”
It was a minor miracle Cam managed to stay in his seat. “I’d hope that you would consider other sites with less historical significance.”
Vick waved that away as if it meant nothing. “The site isn’t the most important. We’ll find a place for it. The point is that even you can’t stop all progress, Crawford. We have ambitions for our town.”
Ambition was exactly what Cam was afraid of. In his experience, ambition destroyed everything it touched, and he wasn’t about to stand by and allow it to change the heart of his town.
~*~
“Over my dead body.” The all but shouted pronouncement was punctuated by Cam slamming the front door.
The entire Campbell clan went silent, waiting to find out what was going on. He stalked into the room, hands balled to fists, face set. Norah could see the worry beneath the simmering temper and struggled not to cross over to try and soothe.
“Campbell Alexander Crawford, you go right back out that door and prove you know how to enter it in a civilized manner,” Grammy snapped.
A muscle ticked in his jaw, but Cam did an about face and followed his grandmother’s order.
Aunt Liz rose. “What on earth?”
“I take it the City Council meeting didn’t go well?” Miranda asked dryly.
“That depends on who you ask.” Sandra sank into a chair.
The front door opened and shut again, softer this time. Cam prowled back into the living room. “I apologize, Grammy.”
His grandmother sniffed. “Do you want cobbler before or after you tell us what you’re tantruming about?”
“Respectfully, I don’t want any cobbler.”
“Oh, man,” Mitch said, “it must be bad.”
“I’m evidently the only one to think so,” Cam growled.
“Maybe you should start at the beginning,” Reed suggested.
“At tonight’s City Council meeting, we received a formal proposal from GrandGoods.”
Norah’s hand fisted on the arm of the sofa. “The megastore?”
He nodded. “They want to use Wishful as a pilot site for a new, smaller store designed to expand their market share into more rural locales. I have a number of problems with it, not the least of which is that they’ve already made an offer on the property where they want to build—the acreage owned by Abe Costello that wraps around two sides of Hope Springs. They want to put a goddamned parking lot almost to the edge of the springs.”
Norah expected Grammy to call him out on his language, but she said nothing.
“We can block that,” his mother said. “If not the direct purchase of the property, then the zoning restrictions on what and how they could build on it.”
“We need to do a hell of a lot more than that to update the zoning code. Have you even looked at the minimal site review process out there? I have. And we don’t have time to change that before the Council meets again in two weeks to talk about this. You saw everybody in that room. I was the only one thinking in terms other than ‘Ooo, shopping.’”
“Campbell.” Sandra’s tone was a warning.
“I don’t want our history paved over by some soulless corporate giant.”
“We don’t know that it would be that bad. Their presentation—”
Cam interrupted. “The guy gave an impressive presentation. Slick. Too slick.”
“What exactly was their pitch?” Uncle Pete asked.
“They don’t want to damage the identity of the town,” Sandra began.
“Of course, they’ll lead with that.” Norah’s chest went tig
ht. Unable to keep still, she shoved to her feet, tucking her hands beneath her arms. “They want to get your guard down. I bet they said that they’re on the side of the people. That their philosophy is to embrace the identity of the community and that the store and the town will be equal partners. They’ll offer choice and convenience to the masses. Jobs and an influx of capital to the local economy. They probably rounded things out with a nice speech about how there’s value in the future and that progress lives on. How’m I doing?”
Cam stared at her with disbelief. “What? Were you hiding under the table in the Council chambers? How do you know all that?”
Norah closed her eyes and felt the blood drain out of her cheeks. “Because it’s what I said. On behalf of one of their biggest competitors, in another small town, just like this one.” She began to pace the room, her steps short and jerky. There wasn’t enough space for what she was feeling amid all these people. “I told them all of that and more. I convinced them everything would be great. That Hugo’s would be an asset and partner to the community. And within three years, seventy percent of the businesses downtown had been wiped out and the town was so swollen from urban sprawl, it was barely recognizable.” She looked at Miranda. “Have Your Cake was gone.”
“Morton.”
“I didn’t know.” Not that saying so made it any better. “Not until my drive back from New York. I tried to stop in and downtown was a ghost town. So I asked one of the locals what happened. Hugo’s came in and violated pretty much every selling point I’d used to get them into the community. As soon as I saw what happened, I went straight to the office and dug into the old files. And it was all there. Helios was working as an extension of Hugo’s marketing and sales team, as a third party. My partner did the due diligence—that was his job as Market Research Director—and he didn’t bother to share the facts and the bad publicity the company had gotten elsewhere because he didn’t want my inconvenient moral compass to get in the way of closing the deal. I wasn’t on the development team. They just brought me in at the end to do the pitch to Morton for Hugo’s because closing the deal is my specialty, and I have a gift for bringing creative campaigns to life. I was just the face, the voice, the charm. What did I need with the truth? Apparently that’s been standard operating procedure the last few years—or so he said when I confronted him about it. And our boss knew and encouraged it, because I was just an asset to be used, and they figured that was the best way to handle me. I have absolutely no idea how many other lives I’ve managed to ruin in the name of profit. I didn’t get a chance to find out before they fired me.”
