Emily struggled through her day at the shop, dimly aware of what she was doing. She put on the smiling face her customers expected, but mostly she played Edith Piaf and sat staring off into space for minutes at a time. She stared at the shiny new keys Janet had given her for the new locks, thinking they looked odd and unfamiliar on her keychain. Things were different now.
A few people mentioned how well she’d done at Character Day. She accepted their compliments, but it was bittersweet. She knew she’d done a good thing—an important thing—but it was hard to feel good about it. There had been such an aftermath. It felt almost like the months after Ash’s death, when her only goal had been to endure the day, not enjoy it.
Sandy came in around closing time, and Emily came unhinged on the spot. They’d talked it through on Friday, but as tired as she was, it all came out all over again. Sandy just held her hand and listened, again. Sandy was always good at that. And when Emily finally calmed down and caught her breath, Sandy walked to the back of the store to put the kettle on for tea.
“I know everybody thinks it’s the break-in, and it is, in a way, but it’s mostly Gil,” Emily said, trying not to sound downright devastated.
“I’m sorry you’re so miserable. I was sort of hopin’ you’d get an easy romance for your second time around. Then again, you always did like doing things the hard way. A man who’s convinced himself he’s unlovable is a mighty hard man to love.” She stirred sugar into her tea and sat down at the little window table. “Do you love him?”
Sandy hadn’t asked her that before. “I don’t know. I thought maybe I was starting to. But now I don’t know.”
“Do you think he is the same kind of man as the one who wouldn’t help Ash?”
“He was.”
“I didn’t ask you who you thought he was. I asked you who you think he is.”
Emily leaned her head back against the wall. “I don’t know who he is anymore. It’s been days, Sandy, and I still don’t know what to do, or how to fix this, or even if it can be fixed at all. I can’t think of anything to solve this.” She turned her head to catch Sandy’s eyes. “Maybe that’s what God had in mind all along.”
“Well, I figured God was gonna have to go a long way to get your attention on that, but I didn’t think He’d have to take it quite this far. So you’re finally askin’ God what to do instead of tellin’ him what you’re gonna do?”
Emily let out a thin, sorry laugh. “I figured that out, finally. But I thought my brilliant realization would help a bit more than it has. It’s already Monday, and I’m still miserable.”
“Emily Montague, queen of the solutions, doesn’t have one anymore. And you expect to feel comfortable?”
“I want to be okay with all of it, but I can’t push a button and make it happen. I’m not even sure it will happen.”
Sandy placed a hand over Emily’s. “This is big stuff. Important stuff. Things you and Gil have been carryin’ around for years. It’s not gonna sort itself out in a day or two. Or five. If you love him, I think you’ll know it soon enough. In the meantime, I think the two of you have a whopping load of praying to do.” She collected the empty tea mugs and stood up. “Tell you what—you stay home tomorrow and do whatever you feel will help. I’ll watch the store for you—that new computer system of George’s is drivin’ me bananas anyway, and I wouldn’t mind a day away from all that bionic nonsense. You go home and get quiet. You might just figure out how to listen if you do.”
“Sandy, have I ever told you you’re a Godsend?”
Sandy waved her hand as she headed back toward the little kitchen. “Not yet today, honey, but it’s only five-thirty.”
Emily pulled in a deep breath. “Just pray I figure out how to listen, okay? I’m just gonna keep asking ‘What should I do?’ until I get an answer.”
Mac showed up.
Gil hadn’t counted on that, and no one was more surprised when the front-gate intercom broadcast the familiar voice. Gil closed his eyes and gave a silent prayer of thanks as he hit the button opening Homestretch’s front gate.
“You don’t have to come,” he said when he opened the door to Mac, who extended a friendly hand. “You’re not on the town council and I ain’t been particularly nice to you lately.”
Mac managed a half grin. “You’re never particularly nice to me. And how could I miss an emergency meeting of the Middleburg town council?” He put a hand on Gil’s shoulder. “I’m comin’. So play nice, say thank you and get in the car.”
“You’re driving?”
“Yeah. That way I can stomp off anytime I want to and you’ll have to find a ride home this time.”
Gil started in on a comeback, then decided maybe this would be a good time to hush up and just accept a good friend’s show of support. As a matter of act, they hardly talked at all the whole ride into town—Gil’s head was a jumble of nerves, a tangle of all the things he’d planned to say. He’d spent the afternoon preparing his defenses, but all the reasons he’d gathered to keep Homestretch open seemed weak and useless now. He’d defended Homestretch in hundreds of ways over the years. Now, when it really mattered, with Steven’s prayers ringing in his ears, he came up short.
The meeting room at the town hall was thick with tension. The undercurrent of mumbling, however, silenced the moment he entered. Emily did not look up. He was glad for that—he wasn’t sure what it would do to him to look into her eyes right now, with so many people watching. The spectator chairs—usually half-empty—were all occupied and Mac had to stand in the back.
“I call this emergency meeting of the Middleburg Town Council to order,” Howard said with all the gravity he could muster. “The single agenda item being recent events involving the West of Paris bath shop and Homestretch Farm.”
“Honestly, Howard,” Sandy cut in, “I don’t see why this couldn’t keep until next week. Don’t you all think we need a little time to put this in perspective?”
“I don’t need another minute,” came a voice from the spectator seats. Gil turned to find Matt Lockwood staring him down. It didn’t faze Gil. He’d expected Lockwood to jump on that position.
“Order, please!” Howard banged his gavel.
Sandy made a sour face and raised her hand as if she were in the third grade. She could have simply asked to be recognized—and really, things hardly ever got this formal at their other meetings. But Gil suspected Sandy was making a statement.
“The chair recognizes Mrs. Burnside.”
Gil tried not to roll his eyes. In the full year he’d been on town council, even Howard had never had cause to use such formal language.
“I would like the record to show—” Sandy matched Howard’s formality but filled her voice with sharp Southern bite “—that I object to the calling of this meeting.”
Howard scowled over the top of his reading glasses. “On what grounds?”
Sandy huffed. “On account of we ain’t had a lick of time to make any sense of this. What put the fire under you all? Normally we make decisions about as slow as molasses on this council, and now y’all want to turn around and slam something into gear without thinkin’ it through just cuz you’re uncomfortable? I thought I was servin’ with better folks than that.”
“You’d rather we put this on an ordinary agenda, beside road-widening and ATM machines?” another council member asked, her opinion obvious in her sharp tone of voice.
Mac’s proposals. Gil hadn’t thought of those until now. All that preparation would go up in smoke. Mac’s bid to work on those projects would be killed most likely, just because Gil had sponsored his ideas. Gil ventured a woeful glance at his friend, who simply nodded with an expression that made it clear he wouldn’t go down without a fight.
“I have the right, as mayor, to call this meeting,” Howard declared.
“You do,” said Sandy. “You certainly do. But like any agenda item, this council has the right to table a vote if it so chooses. Am I right, Audrey?”
Audrey Lupine stopped taking minutes to flip open her big blue book of council rules and regulations, running her finger down a page until she looked up and said, “She does. I mean, we do. Have the right to vote to table any issue until a subsequent meeting, that is.”
“I move we table the issue of Homestretch Farm until our next regular meeting,” Sandy declared, staring right at Howard.
“Now hold your horses, people.” Howard planted his hands on the table. “Let’s make sure we do this right. And I’m afraid, Mr. Sorrent,” Howard said, turning toward Gil, “we’ll have to exclude you from this vote.”
“I expected no less,” Gil answered flatly. He was amazed they’d even let him in the room, given the way people seemed to be acting. Unfortunately, that left six votes, which could bring a stalemate and drag this out forever. He really didn’t want this to last long; a lingering, drawn-out death would be more than he could take right now.
“Then you’ll have to exclude me, too.” It was Emily who spoke. Her voice was soft and slightly unsteady. She still didn’t look at him. “I’m just as involved.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Howard agreed.
It was obvious Sandy didn’t like this idea. “Now wait a minute. Y’all can cross out their votes, but don’t you think we ought to at least get their opinions on it all? Doesn’t it matter to anyone if Gil and Emily want to decide things now or later?”
“It matters to me,” Audrey said. “This ain’t just a road or a building we’re talking about. These are people. Neighbors.”
“Crimes,” another council member added.
Howard banged his gavel. “If y’all can’t keep any order here…” he warned.
“Emily,” Sandy asked, “what do you want to do?”
There was a short, quiet pause as Emily thought through her answer. Gil guessed she had no more solidified her stance than he had—the two of them were far too torn up to make any kind of sense on something so large. But he could see how she could call the whole thing to an end tonight. She knew he was thinking of shutting down Homestretch. She didn’t know about Steven and his heart-wrenching prayer. She could call for the decision tonight, and she’d have every right to do so. Maybe some part of him even hoped she would—this was so awful, maybe it’d be better to just get it over with no matter what the outcome.
“I want it tabled.” Emily spoke softly at first, but continued with more strength. “I think the issue should be tabled until we know more, until next week.”
“Mr. Sorrent?”
Gil looked up. He hadn’t even realized they’d ask his opinion, as well. It didn’t take him long to formulate his answer. “I think Ms. Montague gets to call the shots here, Howard. If she wants it tabled, then I think it should be tabled.” He’d endure another week on her behalf. It wouldn’t kill him—it felt as if he was half-dead already anyway.
With only five remaining votes on the council, the matter was tabled by a 3–2 vote.
Like it or not, Mac and Gil would go down together at next week’s meeting.
There was a moment—an aching, awful moment—when Gil caught Emily’s eye. Like they had across her street the other morning. A storm of emotions passed between them in a single glance. Still, neither of them spoke.