HOW SHE ENDED up as bartender for the meeting at James’s house Courtney wasn’t quite sure, unless it was just because she’d showed up first. When he nodded over that he was ready to start, she placed her right arm across the doorway into the dining room. “Time to sit down,” she told the latecomers. “If you can find a seat. . .”
Man, it was hot in here. Eight windows, all closed; the only air movement came through the sliding glass door out to the back deck— now mostly blocked by the grocer. On his left, the mayor looked a little. . . lost. A whole town, trying to fit into one stuffy room. Even though James had rounded up every chair in the house, several folks had to perch on windowsills or lean against wood paneling. Better not be a long meeting.
She actually recognized most of folks, she realized. And they all sure knew who she—
Harbormaster Mack pushed past Courtney’s arm to dig into the cooler on the floor. Chester the dog followed, sniffing out the room’s corners. “James is gonna try to give a speech,” Mack said, popping open the can. “So I need another beer.” He’d already had at least two.
By the time Mack got back to his seat someone else had taken it, so instead he leaned against an empty wall between two windows and Chester settled in at his feet. If only Mack-of-all-trades could figure out how to open those windows and let in some fresh air.
This place felt more like a museum than a home. On every small table, shell-covered picture frames surrounded either embroidery or pressed flowers—definitely not James’s handiwork. The one hanging next to the fireplace to her right had shifted, uncovering a rectangle of brighter wood; its two embroidered panels had also faded. In the top one, colored thread picked out a pair of tethered donkeys, pulling against each other, trying to eat the hay bales just out of reach. In the bottom panel, the two stood side by side, chewing contentedly on the same bale. Across the bottom, the embroiderer had added: “Hungry? Then learn to cooperate.” The black signature had long-since bleached to yellow: “EDM, Cooperation Island, 1980.” James’s mother? Courtney reached out to straighten it—but dropped her arm when James moved toward her, frowning.
He stopped right in front of the fireplace, turned to face the room, cleared his throat. “Um, can I have. . .”
Mack whistled.
“Thanks.” James smiled into the sudden quiet. “I’ve asked—”
“Sorry we’re late.” Billy came in, hand in hand with Patty; out from behind the Bean’s counter, that huge belly looked even bigger. Hadn’t she said July fourth was her due date? A week ago already.
The writer dude motioned to his daughter that she should give Patty her seat on the sofa, so the girl joined the rest of the kids on the thin carpet that stretched from couch to fireplace. The doctor raised up his left arm to help Patty control her drop. “Oof!” So wide, she took up two spaces all by herself. Billy squeezed in against the wall, next to Mack.
A drip of sweat tickled down her spine, so Courtney rounded her shoulders to pull her shirt in against it. Just like childhood, before everything was air-conditioned.
To her right, James was pushing on his scar. “Sorry about the tight quarters,” he said. “But thanks to Prime’s Grocery, there’s something to drink.” There was a scattering of applause, and Mack raised his beer bottle to the sweaty-faced grocer.
“We’re meeting here because the classroom is too close to Parker Dane, and I don’t want him to—”
“Why not?” the grocer asked. “He lives here too.”
“Please hear me out, Sam.”
Sam frowned, before raising his soda can to his lips and tilting back his head for the last few drops. As the island’s most successful business owner, he would certainly be in favor of more visitors.
James started again. “Joe Borba—” his voice stumbled briefly “— Sachem Joe is no longer able to stand up for West Brenton. Certain folks have been taking advantage of that.”
A whole roomful of eyes focused on him.
“Most of you know the old dividing path.” Heads nodded; Courtney had no idea what he meant. “It’s pretty overgrown now, which I consider a good thing. A few weeks ago I rode my bike through there. Got a flat tire.”
Jesus, James, get to the point already. The grocer’s two hands began to clasp and unclasp each other, as if shaping burger patties. Mack downed the last of his beer.
“So, I was walking past the trees and heard two men talking. Parker Dane, and a golf course designer—”
“What’s a golf course designer doing on Brenton?” Hunter Moody asked.
“Planning a nine-hole course.”
Gasps, and then chatter. Lizzie the lawyer’s piercing voice asked, “Got proof, James?”
“Yes. Plans are available online, if you know where to look.” James looked right at Anna’s nephew, who nodded his agreement.
“Designer told Parker Dane the two big trees had to go to make way for a tee,” James continued. “Then Parker took the guy off to admire his new tractor.”
“Where’s he hiding a tractor?” someone asked.
“Inside that new barn, behind his illegal hedge,” Hunter said. “Haven’t you heard it? Louder than an eighteen—”
James held up both palms. “That’s not what’s most important right now. We could lose control of West Brenton. Because of things that happened a long time ago. . . so read Frank’s book if you haven’t already.”
The mayor perked up, gave James a big smile, and waved like the queen. Next to him, the grocer’s hands washed themselves.
“I’ve been meeting with a lawyer,” James continued. “She suggested—”
“Just tell us the plan, James,” Mack interrupted. “Nobody wants a damn golf course. But we don’t want to sweat to death either.”
Laughter erupted, punctuated by Hunter’s loud guffaw. The mayor pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his face.
James glanced around the room. “I propose a sit-in, to guard the trees. It’ll have to be—”
“Sit-ins don’t work!” someone scoffed. “Whaddya think this is, the goddamn sixties?” Several heads nodded.
“That’s a great idea, James!” Anna Crosby was smiling up at James, as if ready to follow him anywhere.
James held up his hands. “It has to be a community effort, and we’d have to be on-site 24/7 for it to work. That’s why I called this meeting—to find out what you all thought.”
A meaty hand shot up.
“Sam?”
“Parker Dane will arrest us for trespassing,” the grocer predicted. “You’re too young to remember the 1960s, James, but I do. We need to sue, let the courts do their—”
“Parker doesn’t own that land!” Hunter said. “We do.”
“And a lawsuit won’t bring those trees back once they’re gone,” the schoolteacher added.
Hunter nodded. “That guy will just tear up the land and worry about the legality later. That’s how he—”
“But why would they build a golf course in the forest, when there’s all that open space already?” asked the girl who’d given up her seat on the couch.
“Great question, Amy.” James smiled down at her. “Lloyd Wainwright’s plans don’t always make much—”
“I heard Lloyd owns West Brenton now,” Doctor Emerald said. “If that’s true, how can we stop him?”
“He’s elected himself president of the land trust,” James explained. “We’re asking a judge to rule his takeover illegal, but until then we need to make sure that tractor doesn’t dig up everything in sight while the lawyers fight back and forth and rack up their enormous bill.” Coloring, he nodded to Lizzie. “No offense to our local legal expert, of course.”
Anna’s nephew raised his hand.
“Nathaniel?”
That sharp Adam’s apple bobbed twice before any words came out. “I’ve been studying the history of this island ever since I moved here. Whether it’s indigenous people and whites, or rich and poor, or sailors and fishermen, there’s always been, like, a get along approach. Cooperation Island, right Ms. McKay?”
The schoolteacher nodded.
“We all take West Brenton’s open space for granted now,” Nathaniel continued. “If we let this golf course happen, there’s gonna be, like, McMansions popping up all over.”
Around the room, heads nodded.
“I love houses—I want to be an architect,” he went on. “But I don’t think there should be any west of the Inn. We should do this sit-in— it’s the only way to keep a few people from ruining the island for everyone else.”
“Yeah Nathaniel!” Mack’s voice was too loud for the small room. There was a scattering of applause, and several conversations started up.
From the couch, Patty pressed herself forward, as if she was going to stand up and say something—but instead she placed her hands either side of that huge belly. Doctor Emerald turned his own belly toward her, speaking low. Billy, talking to Mack, didn’t notice.
“Who else?” James asked. A hand went up. “Mayor Frank.”
Knuckles pressing white into his cane, Mayor Frank stood up, with a little help from a neighbor’s hand on his left elbow.
“James, I remember that West Brenton land deal signing like it was—”
“Quiet, everyone!” James held up his hands, but even once the other conversations died out Courtney could barely hear the mayor’s reedy voice.
“Your father and Joe’s father brought together two groups that had never really talked to each other—to do what was best for the entire island. I’m glad our young people understand that.” He nodded at Nathaniel, which made the kid blush.
“I was around in the sixties, too,” the mayor continued. “And while it stayed pretty quiet out here, it was hell ashore—”
“Isn’t it always?” said Mack. The group’s laughter was a little too loud; Mack wasn’t the only one who’d dipped into the free beer.
“Sit-ins scare the hell out of me,” the mayor admitted. “Makes me think of free love, and drugs, and all sorts of things I’m happy we don’t have much of out here.” He paused to frown at Patty, but she was still staring at the floor and rubbing away at the side of her stomach.
The mayor returned his gaze to James.
“Sit-ins scare me, but a private golf course scares me more,” he said, his voice a little stronger. “So if you think camping out on that property can save those trees, sign me up for the first overnight.” He collapsed into his chair, as if he couldn’t stand up for another second.
Applause, a few cheers, and Mack’s wolf-whistle.
James looked around the roomful of sweaty faces.
“Anyone else?”
Silence fell. A ship’s clock chimed seven and a half bells in Courtney’s left ear. The plaque it was mounted on read, “Awarded to Declan D. Malloy by the U.S. Coast Guard, for twenty-four years of faithful service.”
“. . .should set up there tomorrow, first thing,” Anna was saying. “I can be there from sunrise to—”
“I’ll join you,” Hunter said. “We should—”
James held up his hands. “We need a schedule, so we don’t all show up at dawn tomorrow and then there’s no one after sunset. We could post something at the Bean—”
“Where everyone can see it—good idea,” said the doctor, nodding.
“Terrible idea!” Lizzie the lawyer said. “We don’t want Parker and Lloyd knowing exactly who’s gonna be up there at any given time.”
“How about doing it twenty-first century style, by email?” Hunter suggested. “Nathaniel could set up a list—”
Nathaniel shook his head. “Half the people here don’t have—”
Courtney raised her hand, then realized James wouldn’t see her. “I was already talking with the mayor about creating an islander email list. I can set something up and organize the shifts. A sit-in could take a while, so we can’t all burn out in a week. . .”
A moat of silence surrounded her words, until at last a wobbly voice spoke up from the back of the room.
“Courtney, I don’t have email,” the mayor said. “But if you’ll help me, I’ll get it for this.” His wrinkled smile was shiny with sweat, or the leaking eyes of old age—hard to tell from across the room.
“Quite a commitment, Mayor Frank!” Anna Crosby said, nodding approvingly—but her eyes remained on James.
The room buzzed with independent conversations until James raised his hands again.
“Courtney’s right—it could be a long hard pull. Do we need a vote?”
“I’m in.” Gavin, the gallery owner, had a hint of red tinging his cheeks; his wife Lizzie shook her head, obviously disagreeing.
“I’m in too,” Anna Crosby said.
“Me too!” “Sign me up.” “Okay, I’m in.”
“Let’s get started!” said Mack, with an unexpected belch that made the whole room break into laughter.
Sam Prime stood up. “I can’t be part of the sit-in.”
Courtney gasped, and a rumble of disapproval circled the room.
“I have a store to run!” he said, looking around him. “But I—I. . .”
The murmurs continued.
“Oh what the hell!” He threw up his hands. “I’ll provide free lasagna, for the lunch shift.”
Another cheer went up, and everyone stood to applaud. The mayor looked left, needing help again—but the neighbor who’d supported him before was staring at Patty, who had somehow pressed herself up and off the couch.
A shriek rang out. Fluid gushed out between Patty’s legs, darkening the faded Oriental back to its original colors. The kids all scurried backward like crabs, away from the spreading stain—the dark-haired girl stepped right onto Nathaniel’s bare foot. Everyone else backed away too—except Doctor Emerald, who leaned into Patty to say something private.
Billy’s mouth was hanging open.
Shrugging off the doctor’s meaty hand, Patty said calmly, “James, could you call Mavis? I think the baby’s coming.”