the cut of her red cashmere sweater exposed more cleavage than anyone would be comfortable with.” I, too, had noticed the scantily clothed woman and recognized her as the wailing mourner on the dock this morning, but I kept my mouth shut and listened to Audrey.
“The fact is”—Audrey insisted on saying “fact” a lot—
“that Alex is embarrassed by his mother’s poor reputation, a scandalous renown that she seems to enjoy enhancing. Lucy had strongly suggested, to the point of coercion, that her son attend this meeting in support of his new dad.” I nearly s l i p k n o t
[ 4 7 ]
choked on my coffee, wondering how Audrey knew this. She must have fantasized a conversation with Alex. “Alex’s attendance was neither in support of Hamilton nor in opposition to the wind farm, contrary to what his chosen seat suggested, but rather, to appease his mother.” I resisted the urge to blurt out, “How do you know?”
This could go on all day, I thought, and never get to the substance. When Audrey left for a moment to tend to the cash register, I was able to bring the story up to the actual meeting before Audrey took over again. “The first selectman tested the microphone by tapping it with the tips of his fingers, thereby calling the meeting to order.” Oh my God, I thought. Too much detail. “He welcomed the audience and informed them that this was an opportunity for all townspeople to gather facts and ask questions regarding the construction of a wind farm in Western Penobscot Bay. There would be, he said, a series of meetings prior to the annual town meeting in March, when a nonbinding advisory question will be added to the ballot.
“ ‘What do you mean, non binding?’ yelled a red-nosed Nick Dow from the bench. ‘Are you wasting our time?’ Poor Alex must have wanted to crawl under the bleachers as all eyes focused on what appeared to be his teammate, who stood slightly off balance, wringing his hands inside the pouch pocket of his hooded purple sweatshirt. The crowd silently waited for the selectman to answer the accusation.”
The Old Maids were enthralled, and their intense focus egged Audrey on.
“The selectman said that this process will be different
[ 4 8 ]
L i n d a G r e e n l a w
than what we’re used to, because it falls under section two-nineteen,” Audrey said. “We don’t control the permit. Section two-nineteen is a state statute that grants permits for utility projects such as the proposed wind farm.
“So now Nick Dow stood and screamed, ‘Our input means nothing!’ Pointing across the court with an unsteady gesture of his right hand, he continued belligerently, ‘You in-cestuous bunch of mongrels can slink back to that rock you call paradise. You add nothing to this town. All you do is take, take, take . . .’ ” I didn’t actually remember the third
“take,” but I let it slide for argument’s sake. “Some folks were booing and motioning for Dow to sit down, but he kept hurl-ing insults at broader and broader targets until he included every faction and family on both sides of the court. Others joined in the shouting until the gymnasium was roaring. The selectman banged the microphone on the table in an attempt to restore order, to no avail. A few people were trying to leave. There was pushing and shoving. Old Mrs. Holmes struck a bearded granola with her purse.” I recalled the weapon being an umbrella, but that didn’t matter.
Audrey the clairvoyant really began waxing philosophical.
“Nick Dow succeeded in poisoning the sacred ground of the basketball court—historically the town’s great uniter.” Go, girl!
“That court has always leveled the town’s social hierarchy.
The kid of the worm digger is as revered as the doctor’s son.
Both wear the same shoes. This is the only place everyone cheers, hopes, and prays for the same outcome. The Green Haven Herring Gulls are the pride of the town! In this arena, s l i p k n o t
[ 4 9 ]
Green Haven has
“The fact is”—Audrey insisted on saying “fact” a lot—
“that Alex is embarrassed by his mother’s poor reputation, a scandalous renown that she seems to enjoy enhancing. Lucy had strongly suggested, to the point of coercion, that her son attend this meeting in support of his new dad.” I nearly s l i p k n o t
[ 4 7 ]
choked on my coffee, wondering how Audrey knew this. She must have fantasized a conversation with Alex. “Alex’s attendance was neither in support of Hamilton nor in opposition to the wind farm, contrary to what his chosen seat suggested, but rather, to appease his mother.” I resisted the urge to blurt out, “How do you know?”
This could go on all day, I thought, and never get to the substance. When Audrey left for a moment to tend to the cash register, I was able to bring the story up to the actual meeting before Audrey took over again. “The first selectman tested the microphone by tapping it with the tips of his fingers, thereby calling the meeting to order.” Oh my God, I thought. Too much detail. “He welcomed the audience and informed them that this was an opportunity for all townspeople to gather facts and ask questions regarding the construction of a wind farm in Western Penobscot Bay. There would be, he said, a series of meetings prior to the annual town meeting in March, when a nonbinding advisory question will be added to the ballot.
“ ‘What do you mean, non binding?’ yelled a red-nosed Nick Dow from the bench. ‘Are you wasting our time?’ Poor Alex must have wanted to crawl under the bleachers as all eyes focused on what appeared to be his teammate, who stood slightly off balance, wringing his hands inside the pouch pocket of his hooded purple sweatshirt. The crowd silently waited for the selectman to answer the accusation.”
The Old Maids were enthralled, and their intense focus egged Audrey on.
“The selectman said that this process will be different
[ 4 8 ]
L i n d a G r e e n l a w
than what we’re used to, because it falls under section two-nineteen,” Audrey said. “We don’t control the permit. Section two-nineteen is a state statute that grants permits for utility projects such as the proposed wind farm.
“So now Nick Dow stood and screamed, ‘Our input means nothing!’ Pointing across the court with an unsteady gesture of his right hand, he continued belligerently, ‘You in-cestuous bunch of mongrels can slink back to that rock you call paradise. You add nothing to this town. All you do is take, take, take . . .’ ” I didn’t actually remember the third
“take,” but I let it slide for argument’s sake. “Some folks were booing and motioning for Dow to sit down, but he kept hurl-ing insults at broader and broader targets until he included every faction and family on both sides of the court. Others joined in the shouting until the gymnasium was roaring. The selectman banged the microphone on the table in an attempt to restore order, to no avail. A few people were trying to leave. There was pushing and shoving. Old Mrs. Holmes struck a bearded granola with her purse.” I recalled the weapon being an umbrella, but that didn’t matter.
Audrey the clairvoyant really began waxing philosophical.
“Nick Dow succeeded in poisoning the sacred ground of the basketball court—historically the town’s great uniter.” Go, girl!
“That court has always leveled the town’s social hierarchy.
The kid of the worm digger is as revered as the doctor’s son.
Both wear the same shoes. This is the only place everyone cheers, hopes, and prays for the same outcome. The Green Haven Herring Gulls are the pride of the town! In this arena, s l i p k n o t
[ 4 9 ]
Green Haven has
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