To Get Me to You (Wishful 1)

Across the green, nearly a dozen men broke away from a cluster of pick-up trucks and headed their way.

Catching Cam’s wary look, Roy said, “We came to work, same as everybody else. Be obliged if you’d let us help.”

Too stunned to reply, Cam could only stare for a moment.

“I may not agree with you on all your politics, but it’s a good thing y’all are doin’ here. Been a long time since Wishful had something good.”

“Hopefully this is the start of a new trend.” Cam offered a hand. “I’d appreciate the help.”

When Roy’s friends joined them, Cam divided them into teams of three and assigned them spots to dig, giving instructions on width and depth of the holes they’d need for the root balls of the Bradford pears they were putting in. He wiped out Tyler’s supply of shovels to cover the extra labor, but it was well worth it seeing the teamwork and camaraderie among men who hadn’t had reason to smile in a good long while.

More than an hour passed before he made it back to Hank and Grace, who were discussing the congestion of vehicles from all the out of town volunteers.

“I’m pretty sure I saw Aggie Crockett circle the block four times without finding a space,” Hank said.

It was exactly the opening he needed. “That’s just a fraction of the kind of impact GrandGoods would have,” Cam said. “The typical warehouse club of the size they propose has average of five thousand vehicle trips per weekday, depending on the size of the store. And weekends are bigger.”

“That’s…a lot,” Grace admitted.

“That’s more than double our entire population of drivers. We’ve got to think about expenses for the city, like road maintenance and police force that would be required to compensate for an increase of that magnitude.”

“It would be a significant burden on our existing tax base.” Hank looked reflective. “Certainly supplemental funding from the state hasn’t been forthcoming. I don’t see that getting any better in the future. Not under the current administration anyway.”

“So if they built, we’d get the excess traffic from people who don’t live here, don’t contribute to the roads they’re wearing out. And on top of that, all the land in the general vicinity of the store would decrease in property value because of traffic and noise and the kind of chain-oriented urban bloat that tends to go along with these big box stores. And that’s not even touching on the impacts on the environment.”

“You raise some good points, Cam. But what’s the alternative?” Grace asked.

“If we focus on revitalizing downtown, really supporting local retail and creating a climate that will appeal to entrepreneurs looking for good locations to invest in small business, it’s a benefit to the entire community. People don’t have to drive as far to conduct their day to day business. That means fewer vehicle miles logged, lower accident rates, lower vehicle emissions. And it encourages more of a walking culture, which improves the health of the local populace and strengthens community ties because people are out and about and interacting instead of trapped behind the wheel.”

“I certainly like the idea of that.”

“The fact is, we don’t need what GrandGoods is offering. We don’t need someone from outside to come in and save us. Not at that kind of expense. We can take care of our own if we’re just willing to work together to find a solution that will truly benefit the community.”

“That’s not going to be a popular position,” Hank said.

“It’s not our job to be popular.” Cam had resigned himself to that a long time ago. “It’s our job to work in the best interests of Wishful. And that means looking at long-term impact. Look, I don’t want to belabor the point. Just promise me you’ll consider that when you cast your vote about GrandGoods and their proposal.”

“Fair enough.” Grace packed the soil around the roots of some ivy. Dusting her hands off, she straightened, looking at something back toward the green. “Is that Abe Costello?”

“That’s sure as heck his championship smoker.”

Cam turned to look. “What on earth?” As he watched, Abe backed the enormous trailer onto the green. “I’d best go see what this is about. Can you two finish up these planters and get them in place?”

“Go ahead, son. We can handle a bunch of pansies,” Hank said.

The truck was parked and the driver out of the cab by the time Cam made it over.

“Uh, Abe. Whatcha doing with Black Beauty here?”

The old man merely grunted and lowered the trailer foot. “Got a bunch of volunteers. They gotta eat. Least we can do to feed ’em for their trouble. McSweeney’s is donating fixins, the Rotary Club is donating burgers and hot dogs for lunch, the Kiwanis Club is demolishing the butcher section for supper, and the Methodist, Baptist, and Presbyterian women’s groups are in some kind of competition to donate sides.”

Cam blinked at him, his brain not quite catching up to what he’d heard. “You’re planning to feed the volunteers?”

“That’s what I said. Don’t just stand there, boy. Help me get this wood out of the truck.”

Cam leapt into action.

Smoke was curling toward the sky by the time he got back to the landscaping. As the afternoon progressed and the scents of grilling meat filled downtown, more tables and tents popped up on the green. Clay Turner hauled out the PA system from the community center and added a party feel to the proceedings, playing DJ while the work progressed at a furious pace.