whisper-shouted the question as her sister slid into a seat next to her at a table in Seth’s restaurant.
Somehow her cousin’s place had become the gathering spot for tonight’s impromptu town meeting—during which the residents of Maple Valley would decide whether or not to move forward with the end-of-summer festival they always held on Labor Day. Two days from now.
Hilarious, really, that there was even a choice to be made here, considering the torn-apart state of the town. But that was Maple Valley. Resilient, even after a tornado took a bite out of it.
Resilient or maybe just crazy. Then again, this was the town that’d once moved forward with its live Nativity at Christmas, even after one of the teenage wise men had accidentally burned down the makeshift stable. The town that nabbed any and every excuse to hold a fair or fundraiser or put on a fireworks display.
“Not tell you what?” Her sister tucked a strand of hot pink hair behind her ear. Raegan had always had a style all her own—pierced eyebrow, at least a dozen thin bracelets crammed onto one wrist, bright hues streaked into her hair. She was the only one of the siblings to inherit Mom’s lighter coloring—blond hair and blue eyes—instead of Dad’s darker features.
“About Dad getting crushed by a beam at the depot.” Chatter buzzed through the room—snippets of conversation about wrecked garages and missing lawn furniture—and the bell of the restaurant’s entrance jingled in a steady rhythm of arrivals.
“He wasn’t crushed.” Raegan shook her bangs out of her eyes. “And he didn’t want me to say anything. You know how Dad is.”
No, she knew how Dad was. Former military man turned international diplomat. Ambassador who’d served at the foreign office in London and later—after marrying Mom—in New York City at the UN building. Sometimes still seemed like a different life—those early years on the East Coast.
They’d moved to Iowa when Kate was only seven—the first time Mom got sick. But even then and through all the years that followed, Dad had retained his solid nature and soldier-like stature. And yes, of course that Dad would’ve refused to tell her about his injuries.
This morning, though, he’d looked like a different man. Exhausted. Weakened. The sight had sliced through her, even as she grinned and barreled in for a hug, careful to avoid the sling.
“You should’ve told me.”
“You were already planning to come later in the weekend. He didn’t want you changing your plans.”
Up front, Milton Briggs, longtime mayor, pounded a gavel on the brass cash register that sat on a counter.
“Hey, careful, that thing’s an antique,” Seth called from across the room.
Amazing to think her cousin—the one who’d job-hopped his way through his twenties, restless and discontent—had created this space. It had the class and ambiance of a downtown Chicago restaurant with the comfortable feel of a small-town diner.
“All right, folks, let’s get this meeting started.” The mayor stood on a chair—probably a good call since he barely reached over five feet. What he lacked in height, though, the man made up for in personality. Ruddy cheeks, bushy eyebrows, always a story or joke for the prompting. In addition to serving as mayor, he also ran the town bakery, nearly as much a fixture in Maple Valley as the bustling Blaine River that ran through it.
“I think everybody knows why I called this meet—”
“Can’t hear you from the back,” a voice called.
Milt tried again, barely a notch louder. “I think everybody knows why—”
“He needs a microphone,” a woman from two tables over said.
“Folks—”
Milt was interrupted again, this time by someone claiming she had a megaphone in her car.
“Who keeps a megaphone in their car?”
Oh, Kate recognized that voice. Lenny from the woodshop, right?
“If you had seven kids, you’d keep a megaphone within reach at all times, too.”
“All right,
Somehow her cousin’s place had become the gathering spot for tonight’s impromptu town meeting—during which the residents of Maple Valley would decide whether or not to move forward with the end-of-summer festival they always held on Labor Day. Two days from now.
Hilarious, really, that there was even a choice to be made here, considering the torn-apart state of the town. But that was Maple Valley. Resilient, even after a tornado took a bite out of it.
Resilient or maybe just crazy. Then again, this was the town that’d once moved forward with its live Nativity at Christmas, even after one of the teenage wise men had accidentally burned down the makeshift stable. The town that nabbed any and every excuse to hold a fair or fundraiser or put on a fireworks display.
“Not tell you what?” Her sister tucked a strand of hot pink hair behind her ear. Raegan had always had a style all her own—pierced eyebrow, at least a dozen thin bracelets crammed onto one wrist, bright hues streaked into her hair. She was the only one of the siblings to inherit Mom’s lighter coloring—blond hair and blue eyes—instead of Dad’s darker features.
“About Dad getting crushed by a beam at the depot.” Chatter buzzed through the room—snippets of conversation about wrecked garages and missing lawn furniture—and the bell of the restaurant’s entrance jingled in a steady rhythm of arrivals.
“He wasn’t crushed.” Raegan shook her bangs out of her eyes. “And he didn’t want me to say anything. You know how Dad is.”
No, she knew how Dad was. Former military man turned international diplomat. Ambassador who’d served at the foreign office in London and later—after marrying Mom—in New York City at the UN building. Sometimes still seemed like a different life—those early years on the East Coast.
They’d moved to Iowa when Kate was only seven—the first time Mom got sick. But even then and through all the years that followed, Dad had retained his solid nature and soldier-like stature. And yes, of course that Dad would’ve refused to tell her about his injuries.
This morning, though, he’d looked like a different man. Exhausted. Weakened. The sight had sliced through her, even as she grinned and barreled in for a hug, careful to avoid the sling.
“You should’ve told me.”
“You were already planning to come later in the weekend. He didn’t want you changing your plans.”
Up front, Milton Briggs, longtime mayor, pounded a gavel on the brass cash register that sat on a counter.
“Hey, careful, that thing’s an antique,” Seth called from across the room.
Amazing to think her cousin—the one who’d job-hopped his way through his twenties, restless and discontent—had created this space. It had the class and ambiance of a downtown Chicago restaurant with the comfortable feel of a small-town diner.
“All right, folks, let’s get this meeting started.” The mayor stood on a chair—probably a good call since he barely reached over five feet. What he lacked in height, though, the man made up for in personality. Ruddy cheeks, bushy eyebrows, always a story or joke for the prompting. In addition to serving as mayor, he also ran the town bakery, nearly as much a fixture in Maple Valley as the bustling Blaine River that ran through it.
“I think everybody knows why I called this meet—”
“Can’t hear you from the back,” a voice called.
Milt tried again, barely a notch louder. “I think everybody knows why—”
“He needs a microphone,” a woman from two tables over said.
“Folks—”
Milt was interrupted again, this time by someone claiming she had a megaphone in her car.
“Who keeps a megaphone in their car?”
Oh, Kate recognized that voice. Lenny from the woodshop, right?
“If you had seven kids, you’d keep a megaphone within reach at all times, too.”
“All right,
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