“Yeah, but a handful. I don’t even want to think what moving is going to do to her.”
She cranked the handle on a beach umbrella and propped up two chairs. I slid into the seat next to her, grateful for the slivers of shade.
“I’m Shawna Douglas.” She reached a hand toward me.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Sydney Paige with the News & Record. How long have you and Lindy been here?”
“Since she was born. My parents left me this place. It was our summer vacation spot when I was a kid, but I live here year-round now with Lindy. It’s not much, but it works for us.”
I noticed her left hand was bare. “Is it only you two?”
She nodded. “Yeah, her father has never been in the picture. He left as soon as he found out I was pregnant. I had to drop out of college to support us. If it wasn’t for this place I don’t know how we’d have a roof over our heads.”
I scribbled the quote on my notepad while she continued to talk. There were portions of her story that were familiar to me. It was an eerie familiar. I forced myself to focus on Shawna. This wasn’t about Hailey. Not this time.
“All I have to pay is the rent for the land and a few utilities. It’s a good deal for me. I work at the Pancake House. It’s all I can afford. I should have known something this good could never last.”
“What is your plan when the development starts?”
She pulled on the side of the chair, tugging at a piece of vinyl that had come loose. “Is it a done deal? Do you know for sure it’s going to be sold?”
I shook my head. “I only know that the land is for sale for the first time in eighty years. There are multiple bidders who have been invited to participate in a closed auction. It hasn’t sold yet, but it looks like there are plenty of interested parties.”
“Bastards,” she muttered.
“Do you know where you and Lindy will move?” The question wasn’t for the story. I wanted to know where she would go with her curly-headed daughter.
“I’ll figure something out. I always do. But she’s supposed to start school in Port Isabel in the fall, and I don’t want that to change. Her life shouldn’t be uprooted because of greed. That’s what this is you know? Greed.”
It wasn’t my place to comment on the story. I was here to find the facts, or in this case present the human interest side of facts. I doubted Shawn’s story would make a bit of difference to the family selling the land. I rose, feeling the beads of sweat sticking behind my knees.
“Thank you for answering my questions. I might be back before this is all over.” I smiled weakly. “Would it be ok if I stopped by again?”
“Sure. No problem.”
The camper door opened and Lindy poked her head outside. “Mama, I’m still hungry.”
Shawna turned toward her daughter. “Well, let’s get something else for you to eat.”
I watched as she shuttled her inside and wondered what would happen to them when the construction crew rolled in here to level this place.
I bet the developer never thought about people like Shawna. People who worked hard just to put a roof over their child’s head. People who had made memories in this campground. First steps. First loves. It was all going to be plowed under.
Arnie Cratchett was waiting for me on his front stoop. He was wearing a pair of leather boots, dark denim jeans and a plaid shirt that looked like if it went through the washing machine one more time it would lose the last traces of color.
“I’ve been waiting for a reporter to get down here for two weeks. Two weeks.” He spit into a cup from the side of his mouth. His lower lip protruded with a heaping wad of tobacco.
“Hi, Mr. Cratchett. Nice to meet you. We spoke on the phone a few days ago. I’m Sydney.”
“Come on in. It’s too hot to sit outside.” He held the screen door for me.
I was relieved this interview would be inside. I was all for roughing the elements to get a story, but I was willing to try that on a cooler day.
Inside I could hear the air conditioner humming, and I stepped closer to feel the cold air blow from the ceiling vents. Arnie’s camper was neat and sparse. A pot of coffee was the only thing on the kitchen counter.
He scratched the patch of silver hair above his ears. “Why don’t you sit?”
“Thank you.” I sat in the chair closest to the vent. “I appreciate that you want to discuss the land development of Beach Combers Cove—”