Can't Let You Go (14 page)

The In Between
meeting hall was really just a big converted barn. The town used the red, rustic facility for dances, dinners, meetings, events, voting, and even the occasional wedding. Last summer Mr. And Mrs. Harris even rented it out for their Happy Divorce party. But tonight hundreds of In Betweenites sat shoulder to shoulder, occupying rows of gray metal folding chairs. These were the people I had grown up with. I knew their children, their stories. The Valiant was everything to me, but just as it held my heart, so many folks here had just as much, if not more, at stake.

I followed Maxine and the committee to the center section, front row. The group wanted to be eye to eye with the mayor and representatives from Thrifty Co. when they took the wooden stage and spoke to the town. I scanned the area, smiling at familiar faces, but searching for one face in particular—Charlie’s. Since his home was now in Chicago maybe In Between losing some landmarks wasn’t that important to him.

“This seat taken?”

My stomach sank as Ian slid into the chair beside me.

“Actually I’m saving it.”

“For your fiancé?”

“Yes.” Geez, the lies. They multiplied like weeds.

Ian crossed his arms over his chest, his body leaning a little too close to mine.

“Want to tell me how you could be engaged mere weeks after breaking up with me?”

My brain shifted and stuttered. “It’s. . .it’s like you said—we’d been over for a long time. Charlie and I reconnected, and it was just. . .magical.” Micky’s Diner didn’t serve syrup any sweeter than this. “Charlie was my first love.”

“I’m not really buying this.”

“Your feelings on this don’t matter to me either way.”

“You’re not impulsive.” Ian gave an infuriating chuckle. “You don’t jump into anything. It took you three weeks in London before you braved the Tube—armed with your spreadsheet you’d made of the stops. Six months of planning before you ventured to Paris. You waited—”

“Okay, I get it. But when it’s right, it’s right.” Now I was quoting Frances. “If you must know, when Charlie and I had our near-death experience, it just opened my eyes to what really mattered. When that plane went down, all I could think about was. . .him. The only face I saw was his.” I cleared my throat, a little uncomfortable with how right that felt to say. That kiss replayed in my mind, falling to the earth with Charlie’s lips on mine. It had felt . . . right.

“Nearly dying put things into perspective for me,” I said. “I realized life is short, and it’s certainly not guaranteed. I got a second chance, and I don’t want to waste it.”

“On me.”

“On people who don’t appreciate me. Respect me.”

“And this Charlie does that I assume?”

Ian’s tone was so condescending, I wanted to leap out of this cold folding chair and bang him over the head with it. “Charlie is honest, loving, and kind. He’s a man of integrity. And I can trust him to remain faithful for a long time. You know, like the fifteen minutes of an intermission.”

Ian’s smooth smile slowly disappeared. “People make mistakes.”

He was not sucking me in with this. Ian might’ve been a director, but he could act with the best of them. “I don’t want to talk about us anymore. We’re over. It’s in the past. I don’t know why you’re really here, but if you were hoping to find me languishing without you, you can see I’m far from it. I’ve never been happier.”

For long, painful seconds Ian said nothing, then finally he straightened and focused on the mayor taking the podium on stage. “There are four TV news reporters in the back,” Ian said grimly. “At least three newspaper outlets. I’ll do what I can to help you, but I need you to help me as well.”

“In Between doesn’t need you.”

“Do you really want to test that theory? Because if you’re wrong, and you throw away my assistance, my connections, then you will have made an error that cannot be rectified—all for your pride. Because once this store gets the property, it’s over.”

“We have an attorney.”

“Where is he?”

I had wondered the same thing.

“You can’t sue Thrifty Co.,” Ian said. “Their legal team is bigger than this town. They’ll drain you of everything you have before you even go to trial.” His voice dipped low and deep. “Good press could save both of us. You need Thrifty Co. to look like a pillaging bully, and I need to look—”

“Like the hero.”

The microphone gave a screech loud enough to annoy the dead. Mayor Crowley tapped on the device, a weasle’s smile lifting the lips beneath his handlebar mustache. He’d been mayor of In Between since I was in high school, and while he was a terrible leader, no one else had ever wanted the job.

“Ladies and gentlemen, good people of In Between, welcome to our town hall meeting.” The chatter diminished to a low buzz as the mayor looked upon the crowd, many of them ready to fight to the last breath. While some of them were just ready to get some discounted milk and toilet paper.

The mayor took a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his wrinkled brow. “Tonight we’re here to hear any concerns you might have on the Thrifty Co. purchase. It is a hard loss, to see familiar and beloved businesses go, but I believe what we gain will be so much more. We have two microphones set up in the middle of the left and right aisle, and you may begin lining up to present your comments. Let’s remember we all have In Between’s best interests at heart. We want to keep this real nice and civil, okay? No yelling and sucker punches like the first meeting.”

Beside me Maxine snorted. “So my arm just accidentally flew toward his face. Big deal.”

“Didn’t you date him once?” I asked.

“Sometimes you gotta kiss some frogs.” She leaned forward and shot a pointed look toward Ian.

Another man joined the mayor onstage. “This is Bill McKeever,” the mayor said, “vice-president of public relations at Thrifty Co. He’s flown in all the way from Detroit to talk to us, to reassure us, and to hear what you have to say. He is a guest in our community, and we’re going to make him welcome in the way only we can.”

Maxine sniffed. “Spit wads?”

“Behave tonight,” I said. “James only left enough bail money for one of us.”

Loretta tapped me on the shoulder and held out a notebook. “Here are our questions. I’ve got them in order of importance with possible rebuttals.”

“Me?” I stared down at her scrawl. “But I’m barely up to speed.”

“I still don’t get why I can’t be our spokeswoman,” Maxine said. “I won’t call the mayor a chicken-eating, pig-snorting nincompoop this time.”

Loretta patted my back with her worn hands. “You can do it. Get on up there and show them city folks what you got.”

“Be sure and give the press something to use.” Ian stood up, as if to go with me. “Be quotable.”

“I don’t need you to join me.”

“Humor me.”

With no time to argue, I walked back up the aisle to the microphone, that skinny intimidator daring me to screw up, to make the committee regret putting this important moment in my hands.

Mr. Denton, owner of the town’s only grocery store, stood on the opposite side of the hall and launched into his concerns of the chain store taking all his business. Mrs. June Smith spoke at my mic, telling the crowd that she was tired of paying exorbitant prices and looked forward to finally getting a break in her grocery bill.

“Uh, yeah.” Randy Millhouse, barely twenty-one, tapped the microphone, then all but put his lips right on the thing. “I have an important question I think a lot of us are wanting an answer to. How much do you discount cigarettes?”

Mr. McKeever of Thrifty Co. smoothly answered that in one non-committal sentence about how all products were discounted, then transitioned into a spiel about the chain’s record of service to their community.

“What about the loss of family-owned businesses?” Joe Phillips, a badge-wearing sheriff, asked. “That hardware store’s been in my family for three generations. Where is your responsibility to the businesses you’re taking? Why can’t you purchase land that isn’t occupied?”

The mayor squared his shoulders and glared at his law-enforcing employee. “The city has the right to take any property we want. The government gives us the ability to wield that power when its benefits the greater—”

Mr. McKeever nudged the good mayor out of the way. “We know this is upsetting. Thrifty Co. understands there are families, real people, behind each property. That’s why we’ve offered generous settlements above the appraisals. When we purchase a property, those owners are often able to retire. Many of them get the chance to take it easy for the first time in their lives, travel, spend quality time with their families.”

“If the offers are not accepted,” the mayor said. “The property owners will meet with a special commission at the county courthouse a week from Friday. I really don’t think you want to put yourselves through that legal hassle.”

“Thrifty pays way above property value,” Mr. McKeever said. “It’s important that it’s a win-win for all parties involved.”

“But it’s not,” I barely had the words out before Ian gave me a small push forward, closer to the mic. “If we don’t want to sell, we shouldn’t have to. Many of us don’t want your settlement deals. We want our businesses.”

Mr. McKeever smiled. “And you are?”

“Katie Parker Scott. My family owns the Valiant. That theater has stood there for nearly one hundred years. It’s weathered wars, a Depression, neglect, and even vandals. No amount of money can replace what it is to my family and to this community.” Applause exploded in the hall, and it served to bolster me on.

Mr. McKeever looked so sincere. “I understand your frustration—”

“Frustration? This goes way beyond that,” I said. “My family has poured everything we have into making the Valiant a success. It has a legacy, a history. It serves a purpose in this town. And so does Micky’s Diner. Loretta Parsons can’t simply open up in a new building and just pick up where she left off. Can you give her back the character of her restaurant? The booth where Mr. and Mrs. Dylan have sat every Friday morning for fifty years? And Foster’s Hardware. Randall Foster’s father built that place by hand with the help of the community. These aren’t just buildings. They’re like community members of In Between. And when the checks are written, everyone’s paid off, and your pretty new store opens its doors, all these promises of community involvement and helpful resources will be gone. Just like you will. But we’ll be here, Mr. McKeever. This is our town.” I pointed my finger right at the man as the emotion swelled. “And we want it back.”

All around me friends and fellow inhabitants of In Between stood to their feet, clapping wildly. They made me smile, these folks who loved this town as much as I did. I let the sound pour into my weary spirit. After all the plays I’d performed, this might’ve been the best standing ovation I’d ever received.

“Miss Parker Scott—” Mr. McKeever held up his hands in what I wished was absolute and total surrender. “To you and the fine people of In Between, I want to personally assure you that Thrifty Co. has a reputation for following through on our promises to invest in our store’s communities. We don’t just build a store and leave. We believe in the communities we become a part of. Thrifty Co. will do everything we can to help In Between thrive. Not only is that a long-term commitment, but it’s already begun.” He gestured toward the back of the building. “There’s someone I’d like to introduce you all to. Come on up here.”

All heads turned as Mr. McKeever invited his co-worker to join him on the stage.

“Thrifty Co. not only believes in this town. We’re one of you. Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like you to meet our newest Community Outreach associate.”

A collective gasp rent the air, and the breath seized in my throat as the person in question stepped into view.

“Please welcome a man who is a friend to In Between and Thrifty Co., Mr. Charlie Benson.”

The room spun around me, and I reached out a hand, gripping the chair beside me to steady myself.

“Isn’t that your fiancé?” Ian asked.

I mutely nodded my head.

He smiled. “Very trustworthy indeed.”

“K
atie, wait.”

Charlie’s voice was a mocking song in my ear as I raced to my car. I was leaving behind my dignity, my backbone, and my stranded grandmother. But I didn’t care. I had to get out of there.

“Please, stop. Let me explain.”

“Not listening!” My car was in sight, and I whipped my keys out of purse, mashing on the unlock button like it could beam me into another universe.

“Just wait.”

“Kiss it, Charlie Benson!” A hot breeze blew my bangs right in my face, and as I swiped the hair out of my eyes, the keys slipped from my grip. “Shoot!” I dropped into a squat, reached for the keys and—

Charlie’s tanned hand beat me to it.

“Give me the keys.”

He held them tight. “Hear me out, okay?”

“No. That’s exactly what Ian said a few weeks ago. There was no excuse for him, and there’s no excuse for you. Men! I can’t stand the lot of you.”

“Don’t lump me in with that guy.”

“Why? He lied to me, and so did you.”