Always You: A Lilac Bay Novel (Friends with Benefits) (10 page)

“Well, of course we are!” Cora called from the back of the room.

“Nonetheless, we’re going to take a vote,” the mayor said. “And once we’ve done that, we need to establish a welcome committee to work with the producers and organize things. So, let’s get started, shall we?”

The mayor opened the floor for comments, both for and opposed to the plan. Most of the town was very obviously in favor, a murmur of excitement making it difficult to hear the speakers at times.

There were a few people that seemed less than enthused, however. “My concern,” Bill, one of the island’s many fishermen, said in his quiet way, “is that this will be too much exposure. We don’t want to get overrun with a bunch of tourists that don’t appreciate what we have here.”

“Tourism is kind of an essential fact of life here, Bill,” Edward said. “How would we fill our hotels and restaurants without it?”

“And how will we respond when our streets are clogged and the ferry is delayed because so many mainlanders are here gawking around?” Bill shot back.

Edward rolled his eyes, turning to the older man, clearly ready for an argument.

“It’s okay, Eddie,” I said quickly. “Bill has a good point. Too much growth too fast can be damaging to a small place like this. But I don’t think you need to worry.” I started to rattle off some viewership stats of Heather Dale’s last primetime special, as well as the ratings of the most popular travel shows on cable. I’d done this research this very afternoon, knowing someone would raise this question. “I think what all these numbers mean,” I explained, “is that this could be a show with nice ratings, but we’re probably talking about more of a niche market here. A reality show about small town America isn’t going to garner the kind of attention of, say,
American Idol
. I don’t think we need to worry about hordes of people showing up on our shores. But I think it could lead to a bump in tourism. A manageable one.”

Bill nodded. “Well, you do sound like you know what you’re talking about, Riley. I suppose it’s worth a shot.”

I felt a little rush of pride at his words. I was convincing people.

And then Jenny’s grandmother, the owner of the Big Hotel, stood up, and a little grumble went around the room.

“I was just wondering what will be the determining factor in who—and what businesses—get to be featured on the show.”

“That will largely be up to the producers,” I told her.

“Yes, but this welcome committee? The one the mayor said we need to appoint? It sounds to me like they’ll have quite a bit of power in promoting certain businesses.”

All around the room, people were glaring at her.

“The point of the committee is to have representatives from a cross-section of interests—” the mayor began, but Mrs. Hillman cut him off.

“Good. Because as the largest business on this island, I think that the Ottawa Hotel should have a representative on the committee.”

Besides Jenny’s grandfather, who was nodding eagerly next to his wife, everyone else was staring at her in disgust and disbelief, a low muttering running through the room. Jenny sank lower in her chair, clearly mortified.

“Well, we’ll leave that up to the people of Lilac Bay,” the mayor said heartily, but I could see the struggle in his face. Piss off the vast majority of the voters in the room or annoy the largest business owners on the island? “But before we start naming people to the committee, I think we should have our vote on whether or not we want to participate in the show. Are there any more comments?”

When no one else moved to speak, the mayor continued.

“I think a simple voice vote will suffice here. All in favor?” A loud chorus of ayes echoed around the room, well over two thirds. “Those opposed?” Though there were a few scattered nays, it was obvious that the town was every bit as excited about this opportunity as I was. “The ayes clearly have it,” the mayor said. “Congratulations to us all!”

There was another eruption of applause and scattered chatter.

“Now. Let’s figure out who should be on this committee. Would anyone like to make a nomination?” He smoothed out his tie, his head held high, his expression clearly designed to look both competent and expectant at the same time.

“I nominate Mayor Jones!” Millie called eagerly.

“Oh, Millie, thank you. What a surprise!” he said, and I could practically feel Andrew rolling his eyes behind me. “You know, I do have some acting experience under my belt.” He puffed out his chest. “Did a fair few commercials back in my day.” He waited a second, probably for applause, before resuming his normal posture, looking slightly disappointed when no one seemed overly impressed. “Any other nominations?”

“Riley, of course,” Zane called out. I grinned at him.

“I plan to assign Riley as the director of this entire endeavor,” the mayor said, and my grin turned to a blush, and there were several calls of
hear, hear
from the crowd. “After all, none of this would have been possible without her.” He looked at me. “Riley, this is your primary responsibility now. I know you won’t let us down.”

What a difference a few weeks make,
I thought, as the crowd continued to call out nominations. Just when I had been sure I wouldn’t be doing anything worthwhile in my job for the foreseeable future, and now here I was, leading one of the most important efforts our town had ever faced.

The rest of the committee was nominated without much drama—though there was some argument between Crystal and Fran, of course, to determine which of them should be chosen. In the end, we decided on neither of them. Libby had been picked right after me, and she sold fudge from both kitchens in her store.

“That’s what they get for always fighting,” I heard Rose mutter from the front row as Fran and Crystal both took their seats, grumbling loudly.

I suggested Andrew, and he promptly disagreed, telling me he would help out, but that there was no reason for him to sit on the committee.
Typical
, I thought to myself, catching Rose’s eye as she frowned at me.

The only other source of contention was the nomination of Chase Carter by Jenny’s grandfather. None of us had ever heard of Chase—and the reason why was evident as soon as she started to explain. “Chase is our new manager,” Mrs. Hillman said. “He’s a wonderful representative of our hotel.”

“He’s not an islander!” David argued. The outrage rippled around the room.

“He might not live here,” Mr. Hillman said, chin high in the air, “but as our employee Chase represents the biggest—”

“Business on the island, yeah, we heard you the first ten times,” Sherry muttered.

“My wife and I are far too busy running the hotel, along with our other properties, to sit on this committee,” Mr. Hillman said, appealing directly to the mayor. “Chase is incredibly trustworthy and has the best interests of the hotel—and therefore the island—in mind. And as you said, Mayor Jones, it is reasonable to expect that we should be afforded representation on the committee—”

“Well, I think that sounds okay,” the mayor began, but he was interrupted by the roar of outrage from the room. He glanced over at me, and I recognized the panic in his face. He didn’t dare go against the Hillmans—more than anyone else in this room, they were essential for maintaining our tourism position. But the rest of his constituents were here, too, and without them, his political career was as good as over.

I stepped over to the podium.

“I think the Hillmans have a good point.” Before anyone could argue, I held up a hand and continued. “The Ottawa is a landmark here on Lilac Bay. Of course we’ll want to feature it on the show. But David also has a point. The committee should be made up of residents.” There was a murmur of agreement, and Mrs. Hillman stood up to join her husband, clearly ready to argue. “That’s why I’m nominating Jenny Hillman,” I hurried to continue. “That way the hotel will have representation, and the committee members will all be current residents.”

Jenny sat up straight, shaking her head at me in mute horror, but Andrew was already seconding the nomination, and the rest of the room loudly agreeing. Mr. Hillman looked down at his granddaughter, clearly dubious about her ability to sway things in his favor, but the town had already spoken—what argument could he give? He sat down, looking grumpy, and I smiled at Jenny, who simultaneously looked like she wanted to cry and strangle me.

“Well, that’s all settled,” the mayor said, looking immensely relieved at having avoided needing to publicly choose a side. “I know it’s getting late, so unless anyone has any other questions—”

No one objected, so Mayor Jones called the meeting to a close after asking the committee to meet briefly at the front of the room.

“Well, that went pretty well,” Andrew said, coming up beside me to watch our neighbors gather up their things, everyone talking excitedly. No one seemed in much hurry to get going, save for Cora, who probably assumed an influx of excited islanders would be hitting her bar soon, eager to keep gossiping about the news.

“Riley,” the mayor called, gesturing me over to where the other committee members stood.

“See you in a minute,” I told Andrew.

“I think we should all plan on meeting for lunch tomorrow,” the mayor said, once we’d all assembled. “We have a lot to go over.”

I nodded. “The producers sent a bunch of information for us, questions to answer, stuff like that. We should probably all get up to speed before I speak to them again on Monday.”

Everyone agreed, save for Jenny, who was standing at the back of the group and glaring at me. I said goodnight to the others and took her arm, pulling her away a bit.

“I can’t believe you did that!” she hissed.

“You can’t believe I think you’d be an asset to this project?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. I don’t think I’d ever seen her look quite so angry. Certainly not at me. “You sold me out to appease the town,” she said. “So that you and the mayor wouldn’t have to deal with my grandparents.”

“I did not sell you out. I nominated you because I think you’ll be good at this—”

“Oh, give me a break—” she began, but I spoke over her.

“You’re smart, Jenny, and you have good ideas, and when you get something in your head you don’t let up,” I argued. “And I think it would be good for your grandparents to take you a little more seriously. I’m not going to apologize for any of that.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know I’ll be no good at this.”

“At helping your neighbors come up with ideas?” I asked. “At keeping information organized? I’m not asking you to be on television or take a stand against your grandparents or anything scary, okay? Jenny, give yourself a little credit.”

She gaped at me for a minute, apparently unable to come up with an argument for that.

“Look,” I said, my voice more gentle now. “Nominating you did get us out of a sticky situation with your grandparents. But I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think it would be good for you, too. You should be more involved around here. You hide away too much.”

“And you saw why tonight,” she said, shaking her head. “Everyone in here hates my grandparents.”

“You are not your grandparents,” I said simply. “And the fact that everyone agreed to your nomination without argument—agreed
happily
, Jenny—should tell you that they feel the same way I do.”

She looked, for just a brief moment, like she might cry. But then she smiled, a little shyly, and ducked her head. “You think so?”

“I know it. So come to the diner for lunch tomorrow and help us out with this, okay?”

She nodded and then threw her arms around my neck, hugging me tight. “Thanks, Ri.”

“I’m the one who should thank you. This is going to be a lot of work.”

She laughed, releasing me. “I’m good at working hard.”

The truth was, Jenny had never really had to work hard at anything, as far as I could tell. Sure, she’d gone to college, but her art history major didn’t seem quite like the thing that prepared someone for life and work on this island. Since moving home she hadn’t held a job, relying on her trust fund to support her. She spent most of her time reading and working on her crafts. Not exactly a strenuous life. But I also knew that she was loyal and committed and that somewhere, deep down, she wanted to prove herself. And that was good enough for me.

After she left I was swamped for a few minutes by passing neighbors who wanted to pump me for details before heading home.

“Have you met Heather Dale yet?”

“Do you think we’ll all get to be on TV?”

“Who gets to decide what to do with the money?”

I was grateful when my phone rang, giving me an excuse to escape. By the time I extracted myself from the throng, the call had gone to voicemail. I hit the button for messages and winced as the familiar voice filled my ear.

“I should've expected this, huh?” my mother snarled, her voice unsteady and slurred. “Of course you forgot all about me, didn’t you? Selfish and ungrateful, Riley, from the day you were born. What kinda daughter tells her mother that she’ll come by and then doesn’t show? Huh? I can’t believe I raised such a little brat.”

On and on it went, her insults and recriminations. And I stood there in that room filled with excitement, that room where dozens of my friends and neighbors waited to talk to me, to congratulate me, to pump me for information that they assumed I held, and I listened to it all.

You would think, after all these years, that her words wouldn’t hurt me anymore. That I would be able to ignore them, to roll my eyes and blame the booze. That I would be able to get angry, instead of hurt. You would think that, but you would be wrong.

“You look pretty upset for someone who was the total star of the town meeting.”

I looked up into Andrew’s familiar blue eyes and felt the strongest urge to throw myself into his arms. To repeat to him every nasty word my mother had just hurled into my voicemail and beg him to tell me that none of it was true. Instead, I smiled as brightly as I could manage.

“Just thinking about all the work there is to do.”

His expression told me that he wasn’t buying my excuse. His eyes flicked down to the phone still clenched in my hand and he frowned. I followed his gaze to see that my knuckles were white with the force of my clenching fist.