Wishing on Willows: A Novel (22 page)

“Sheesh, Ev, you’re such a bigot. Not all developers are evil, you know.”

“They are if they’re trying to tear down Robin’s café.”

She rolled her eyes. Sometimes having older brothers could be such a pain. Especially when said older brother wanted to reprimand her for something she was already regretting. Inviting Ian to the picnic hadn’t been her brightest move. “So what? You came over to lecture me?”

“No, I came over to give you your birdhouse. I wasn’t planning on lecturing you until Ian McKay showed up on my front porch, asking Bethany if she’d like to do business with him.”

“Seriously?”

“The only reason he knows to ask is because you invited him to our picnic and started yapping about all the buildings Bethany renovated downtown.”

She cast the line toward the squirrel. The weight dropped in the bush and the critter scurried away. “She can thank me for the referral later.”

“This isn’t a joke, Amanda.”

“I’m not laughing,
Evan
.” Thunder rumbled in the distance. The forecast called for spotty showers throughout the day. She reeled in the line quickly, picked up the birdhouse and went inside. She didn’t want to get wet. And maybe Evan wouldn’t follow. She wiped her bare feet on the rug and set the birdhouse on the couch beside her laptop. The one she wasn’t going to open.

“It was a tactless move,” he said, stepping in behind her.

“Tactless?”

“Yes, tactless. So was inviting Kyle.”

Her muscles tightened. “He likes Robin. Sue me for wanting to give the man a second chance.”

“She doesn’t want you throwing men at her feet.”

“I didn’t throw anyone. And even if I did have the strength to pick up a full-grown man and throw him at Robin’s feet, she would step right over the guy. In case you haven’t noticed, big brother, she avoids men like the plague. I think they scare her.”

“Robin’s not afraid of men.”

Now she did laugh. “I swear, you are blind. Did you not see her at the picnic? Her avoidance of Kyle bordered on artistic. I almost started clapping.”

“Would you be serious?”

Amanda propped the fishing pole against the sofa table. “Okay, fine. You want to get serious? Let’s get serious. I’ve been living in this house for two years and I’m officially creeped out by that picture of my brother.” She pointed to the framed photograph from Robin and Micah’s wedding perched on the mantle. “There’s one in Caleb’s room too.”

“Your point?”

“My point, Evan, is that Micah died when Caleb was a baby bean.”

“So you think she should forget about our brother? Pretend he never existed?”

“I didn’t say that. Please don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Caleb deserves to know his father.”

“Caleb deserves to
have
a father.”

“He has me.”

Her heart softened. “You’re just an uncle, Ev. A really great uncle. But you have a farm to run and a wife and a kid and, judging by the way you and Bethany look at each other all the time, more on the way. You can’t be Caleb’s father. No matter how hard you try.”

“So according to you, Robin’s obligated to get married so Caleb can have a dad?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“This whole conversation is stupid.”

She crossed her arms, probably to keep herself from picking up the birdhouse and chucking it at Evan’s head. “You started it.”

Evan glared.

Amanda eyed her computer. Maybe it would be better if she chucked that at her brother’s head. Two birds, one stone.

“Robin’s going to need your support on Thursday,” he said.

“She’ll have it.”

“I hope so.” Evan pushed open the door and walked to his car.

She stomped over and stuck her head outside. “Thanks for the birdhouse, jerk!”

He threw a dismissive wave over his shoulder. She gritted her teeth as he reversed out of the drive. She wanted to take his birdhouse and throw it out the window. She wanted Evan and Robin to let go of the past. She wanted Jason and her dying dreams to combust into flames and float away like ash.

That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

She plopped onto the couch and did the one thing she promised she wouldn’t do. She opened her laptop, let out a long, defeated breath, and reread Jason’s words.

Most sixteen-year-olds spend their time behind a wheel, driving just because they can. In a small town like Peaks, that meant teenagers circled a well-traveled loop, stopping at places like the old movie theater on Seventh and Val’s Diner on Main, drinking milkshakes and shooting spit wads across checkered flooring. Or taking the occasional back road to see if cows really could be tipped.

That was my plan.

Bethany, however, had no interest in the well-worn loop. And she knew cows didn’t sleep standing up. She wanted to ditch Peaks and drive to far-off cities like Los Angeles and New York. So we spent our freshman year of high school planning and plotting everything we’d do the minute I stepped out of the DMV with my driver’s license.

We had no idea that instead of driving with my dad to the DMV, we’d be riding in a limousine to a funeral. We had no idea cancer lurked in my mother’s brain, eating it from the inside out. We had no idea that instead of fun and friendship meeting behind the wheel of a new car, solace and grief would meet beneath the branches of our willow tree. The very branches Bethany and I had spent entire summers swinging from, splashing into the water. Clueless that one day, the same willow that brought so much laughter would cradle my tears.

I leaned my head against the rough bark, lifted my wrist to my nose, and inhaled the scent of my mother’s perfume. It seemed impossible that only yesterday I’d sat in a fold-up chair at the funeral, wondering what to do with my hands, my heart, and the now empty space at our kitchen table.

A car door slammed in the distance.

“That’s the fifth one today,” Bethany said, twirling a long blade of grass between her fingers.

“Six if you count repeat visits.” Ever since Mom’s death, a constant stream of visitors showed up on our doorstep, bearing warm meals and sad faces. I was tired of seeing them. Tired of the constant reminder that Mom was gone, and I was still here. Bethany must have known, because this morning, when the doorbell rang twice in the span of a single hour, she rolled her eyes and brought me here—to our tree.

“Do you want to go to a movie tomorrow night?” she asked.

“Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

“So?”

“So we order pizza and play Scrabble on Sundays.” Bethany and I had been eating pizza and playing Scrabble with my parents every Sunday since we first met at Peaks Laundromat four years ago. My mother was a Scrabble queen. All four of us liked to make up words.

“I thought you’d want to do something different.”

I sat with her suggestion, letting it soak while a bullfrog croaked to the waning daylight, until I decided I couldn’t do that to my father. I couldn’t leave him alone at our house. I couldn’t throw a last-minute change into our well-established routine. “I think we should keep it the same,” I said. “For my dad.”

Bethany shrugged.

And that’s what we did. For the next three years.

We ate Mom’s favorite pizza and played Scrabble every Sunday night. Until Bethany went away to college. The very next Sunday, Dad ordered Chinese. He poked at noodles with his chopsticks and sat in his recliner while the television flickered with football. He looked happy. Or maybe relieved.

I spent the evening in my room, moving Scrabble squares across the board.

The parking lot was so full, cars lined both sides of the street, making Robin’s nerves wind tighter. When was the last time so many people had shown up for a town meeting? She squeezed Caleb’s hand and hurried across New Town Avenue. Her son had to run to keep up.

“Mommy, do the bad guys want to steal our café?”

“They’re not bad guys, honey.” Not really.

“Are they good guys?”

Caleb lived in a world where people were either good or bad. In between did not exist. At times, she coveted his simplistic outlook. “They’re just guys doing what they think is best.”

Caleb’s brow furrowed. He obviously didn’t think that answered his question. She glanced at her watch and lengthened her stride.

“Can you tell me the café story again, Mommy? The one about me and you and Daddy?”

Her son loved that story. She told it so often that he adopted the memory as his own. “I’ll tell you tonight, okay, buddy?”

Nodding, Caleb made an imaginary gun with his pointer finger and thumb. “Well, I’m gonna get those bad guys with my shooter.”

Robin set her hand on Caleb’s shoulder and pushed him along. She could not miss any part of this meeting. “You’re not going to get anyone with your shooter.”

“My shooter’s only for dinosaurs?”

“And really mean dragons.” She entered the hall and turned toward the council chambers. Propped oak doors led into a room bursting with people. She took a deep breath and guided her son inside.

Mayor Ford and five council members sat up front, atop an elongated dais, and off to the side, Ian stood, looking completely at ease in a power suit while he conversed with a group of local business owners. Robin’s knees trembled. Last time she saw him, he’d swooped into her café like some would-be knight in shining armor, soaked from the rain, throwing out solutions to problems he’d caused. As if her pain meant something to him. As hard as she tried, Robin couldn’t get the things he said and the way he looked when he said them out of her mind. The memory turned her fingers cold.

“Mommy, I’m hungry,” Caleb said.

“Do you see Aunt Bethy or Uncle Evan anywhere?” Robin stood on her tiptoes, frantically searching until she spotted Amanda’s ponytail up front, where she stood beside Kyle. She weaved through the crowd and squeezed in between them, her teeth chattering. It had nothing to do with the temperature in the chamber and everything to do with her jittery nerves.

“Cutting it a little close, don’t you think?” Amanda asked.

“Baby-sitter canceled.” Robin pulled some homemade granola bars from her purse and handed one to her son. “Where are Evan and Bethany?”

“Beats me. I was beginning to think I’d have to go to bat for your café all by myself.”

Robin glanced at Kyle. His face stretched thin with anxiety. It wasn’t exactly reassuring.

A
tap, tap, tap
sounded from the microphone on the dais. The chamber eased into silence.

“As you all know, we only have one issue on the agenda this evening, and that is the development plan for our downtown area.” Mayor Ford smiled at the crowd. “We’ve been ironing out the details and there’s a particular component we’re interested in adding, which would be condominiums on the south end of the business district. Before we make this official, we wanted to engage in an open dialogue with the public. See where everybody stands.”

Robin eyed the entrance, then glanced at her watch. Where were Bethany and Evan, her biggest supporters? She opened her purse, rummaged
through flyers and crumpled coupons, a sticky tube of raspberry lip balm, a bottle of hand sanitizer, and her keys before finding the smooth solidness of her phone. She pulled it out and checked to see if Bethany or Evan had sent her a text—something that might explain their absence. No messages. She placed her hands on Caleb’s shoulder.

Ian nodded at the council members, then the crowd. When his attention wandered toward her, she looked away. “Before we open this up to discussion, the mayor has graciously allowed me to say a few words.”

Caleb squirmed. “Ouch, Mommy, you’re hurting my shoulders.”

She unclenched her fingers and straightened Caleb’s collar.

“I want to thank you all for welcoming me into your town. It’s been a pleasure getting to know so many of you.” Robin felt his eyes on her, but she kept her attention glued on Caleb’s cowlick. “I’ve worked as a project manager for McKay Corporation for six years and I can confidently say that we work our hardest to ensure every town benefits from our developments. So far, we’ve been successful in our intentions.”

Robin frowned. Why did he have to sound so sincere?

“We’ll start by voicing our opinions and concerns,” Mayor Ford said. “Ian or I can address them one at a time.”

Robin stepped around her son. “Our biggest concern is One Life.”

“She’s right,” Joe’s father called from the back. “It helped so many of us get back on our feet after Alcoa issued cutbacks last year. Seems a shame, after all it’s done, to shove it aside for condominiums.”

Robin looked at Kyle and the two of them exchanged hopeful smiles.

Gene Bradley, a local attorney, spoke up from the front. “There are plenty of spaces for rent on the north side of town, aren’t there?”

“You’re right,” Kyle said. “There are some spaces. However, one of the reasons One Life has been so effective over the years is because Sybil has allowed us to rent the space for an incredibly low price. Moving would greatly diminish our capabilities. We’d have to cut back on many of the programs we currently have in place.”

“Not to mention the location. The elementary school is two blocks away, which means One Life doesn’t have to pay for bussing for their after-school
program.” Robin thought about Piper Greeley. Without the after-school program, that little girl would be all alone in her house while her father bartended at Shorney’s.

“Better than losing the ministry altogether, isn’t it?”

Several people frowned at Gene’s comment.

“That’s an easy thing to say when your welfare doesn’t depend on those programs.” Robin’s words came out hot and indignant. Gene’s ears turned red, but Robin didn’t care. How could he speak so flippantly about something that impacted people’s lives? She pulled a sheet of paper from her purse and brought it up to the dais. “I have a petition. Signatures from people who all agree that One Life matters more than these condominiums.”

“Oh, but wouldn’t they look so much lovelier than what’s there now? The area’s so run down.” The woman’s voice was familiar, but Robin couldn’t place it. Nor did she want to. Otherwise the next time Robin saw her, she might give the lady a piece of her mind. She laid the paper before Mayor Ford and returned to her spot. Kyle’s face didn’t look so drawn anymore.