“Oh, I think that’s been made abundantly clear.”
Philip stepped out and called for the security guard. “Please escort Miss Burke from the building and take her keys once she’s gathered her things. C’mon, son. I’ll buy you a drink.”
Norah was still staring at the door minutes after they walked out. Daryl, the security guard, stood awkwardly beside her desk as she piled her personal effects into a box. Riding on temper and righteous outrage as he escorted her to the elevator like some kind of criminal, Norah was grateful no one was left working late to bear witness to her humiliation.
Daryl didn’t quite meet her eyes as the elevator doors opened at the parking garage. “I’m sorry about this ma’am, but it’s company policy.”
“Not your fault.”
Fury carried her through traffic. Indignation had her deliberately taking the stairs up to her fourth floor apartment so she could burn off some of the excess energy. Not until she locked the door to her apartment and dumped the box on the kitchen table did anything else filter past that initial reaction shock and outrage.
Shaking, Norah sank into a chair and buried her head in her hands.
“What have I done?”
~*~
Cam really should’ve been working on year-end reports. It would save him time come tax season. Unfortunately, he much preferred mucking around in the dirt to the spreadsheets that tracked the income and expenses of his business. But since it was the dead of winter, that mostly meant mucking around in virtual dirt, except when he was in his greenhouses. Cam clicked his mouse and dragged to adjust the fence line on the park he wanted to build on Abe’s land out at Hope Springs. He’d been fiddling with this design for the better part of four years, mostly for fun, but with a thread of pipe dream in the back of his mind. It had begun as a distraction for his mom while she was in chemo, and he’d made idiotic deals with God that if she made it through, he’d find a way to make it a reality.
Sandra had not only survived, she’d gotten re-elected mayor—a post she’d left for only a six-month hiatus during the worst of her treatments. Cam had taken that as a sign from the Universe that it was time to move forward with the park. His first year as a Councilman had quickly put an end to that idea. But he couldn’t seem to let it go in the wake of Abe’s announcement.
A murmur of voices preceded the unceremonious opening of his office door by his
nursery manager, Violet. “See there, told you he wasn’t really workin’.”
Cam rose as his mother stepped inside.
“Hey baby. Sorry to interrupt.”
He managed, just barely, to stop himself from asking if everything was okay. She was tired of the worry, tired of the solicitude, and just wanted life to get back to normal. “You’re not interrupting a thing.” He slid his arms carefully around her, thinking she still felt too fragile in his embrace.
“I’ll just leave you two to it. Cam, I’m flipping the sign.”
He let his mother go. “See you tomorrow, Vi.”
Sandra peered, unabashed, at his monitor. “The park at the springs? What’s got you looking at this again?”
“Did you know Abe’s looking at selling his land out there?”
His mother eased into the chair on the other side of the desk. “No, I hadn’t heard that.”
Cam told her what he’d heard at the Mudcat the other night. “Any idea who the potential buyer might be?”
“Not a one. Do you think he’s serious?”
“Seems like. I told him to hold off on making any final decisions.”
Sandra looked at the screen then back at him. “You want the city to buy it.”
“That’s not news.” Before she could say it, he said it himself. “I know the city can’t afford it. But he can't sell that land, Mom. It can't change. It's too important to the history of the town. The springs are its heart."
Sandra gave him a look of affectionate forbearance. "The heart of this town is its people."
"And we're losing them left and right.” How many families had picked up and left in the last six months? “Everything's changing and I don't know how to stop it."
She rose and came around the desk to frame his face in her hands. "Oh my baby, you've never dealt well with change. That’s probably my fault. I did everything I could to keep things the same for you after your dad left.”
“You aren’t to blame for anything that happened after that.” God knew she’d done the best she could, and that was a damned sight better than plenty of people had with two parents.