What the Heart Wants

by Cynthia Reese

  “Those are all good points. And yeah, a representative from the committee should present all those to the council—” Kyle began.

  Herbert didn’t wait for him to finish. “A representative? That would be you, Kyle. You’re our chairman. And you’ve got great public speaking skills—plus, you can keep your cool with that woman. Me? The idea of what she’s trying to do? It just puts a bee in my bonnet, let me tell you.”

  Kyle suddenly envisioned Herbert in a frilly bonnet, and had to struggle to keep a laugh choked back. He gradually registered the fact that Herbert’s idea was being met with great enthusiasm.

  “Oh, no—” Kyle tried to contain the wave of excited responses that were being volleyed around the table.

  Herbert spoke up again, his stentorian voice ringing out. “I make a motion that Kyle serve as our representative to the council about this whole mess.”

  Kyle barely heard it being seconded, and the chorus of “ayes” over the pounding in his head. Go up against Allison? At a public meeting?

  To her, it would be the ultimate betrayal. She’d never forgive him for that.

  So why couldn’t he focus on how she had betrayed him?

  * * *

  ALLISON SPOTTED GWEN CHAPMAN practically skipping down the steps of City Hall, her hair now sporting kryptonite green streaks in the place of its formerly hot-pink ones. She danced to a stop on the sidewalk.

  “Just got a copy of the agenda of the meeting.” Gwen waved the sheet of paper in the air. “And guess who’s on it?”

  Allison’s stomach churned. “They really called the meeting?”

  “Yep. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  “Well, the city manager asked me to stop by. I was honestly hoping they’d worked out some sort of deal.”

  Gwen shook her head decisively. “Can’t do that. It has to go before the council for an open vote. They actually did try to pull a fast one and get Lorenzo Adams—he’s the chair of the subcommittee over downtown development, and the historic preservation committee falls in his wheelhouse—to just run it through his group. But I put a stop to that.”

  “Why?” Allison’s skin prickled. She reached out to take the agenda from Gwen. But a look at its fairly vanilla wording didn’t reveal the source of Gwen’s hyperhappiness.

  “Sunshine laws, baby! They can’t push me out of that boardroom unless they call an executive session, and they can’t do that except for personnel and real estate. So they’ve got to wash their dirty laundry in public.”

  “I—public?” Allison could barely croak out the word past a dry-as-dust throat. “You mean...it will be open to the public? People will be there?”

  “As many as I can squeeze into that hearing room—shoot, I’m hoping that the fire marshal will have to order it moved to the auditorium.”

  The prospect of speaking her piece before a packed auditorium made Allison feel faint. “You think that having people there will help my case?”

  “Sure, sure,” Gwen said. Her phone vibrated, and she started tapping away on it. “Oh, wow! Lots of social media buzz! This thing does have legs! And the story’s above the fold! This is great!”

  “Buzz?”

  “Yeah! Yesterday I got some irate calls from downtown businesses, saying I didn’t have the full story. So today’s front page story featured their side, and my boss finally pulled his head out of his... Well, anyway, he put the story above the fold. You know. Of the front page. Only really punchy stories go there. I may get a Georgia Press Association award out of it. Plus...” Her eyes danced. “I got a full-time beat—city hall! And a raise!”

  Gwen pointed one zebra-striped fingernail sporting an image of a cupcake to a fat green rhinestone in her nose. “Like my new nose ring? That’s how I celebrated! Hey, gotta go! See you at the meeting!”

  And with that, she left Allison standing alone on the sidewalk, feeling as though she had unleashed a tornado on an unsuspecting town.

  Allison dug out her own phone, but no. There were no messages or missed phone calls from Kyle. He was back to radio silence again. How could she ever have considered a relationship with someone who wouldn’t stick around and talk through the hard stuff? He couldn’t just vanish every time they had a disagreement.

  He can if he values being right more than being with me.

  Shaking off her misgivings about Gwen, and her tumultuous thoughts about Kyle, Allison climbed the steps to City Hall.

  She was shown into the city manager’s office. He looked harassed and busy, tapping out a message on a cell phone while he had his office phone jammed to his ear. “Yeah, yeah, I got that—no, I assure you, we will hold an open meeting, and you are definitely welcome to come, but the agenda’s already set,” he said. He stabbed the touchpad on his cell with ferocious effort, set it aside and rang off with the person on the other phone.

  Staring at Allison, he shook his head. “Ma’am, you have opened one giant economy-sized can of worms, did you know that?”

  She folded her hands and willed them to stay still. But of course, two seconds later she was unclasping and refolding them. She redoubled her efforts to betray no nervousness. “If you mean that other people share my concerns about these ordinances—”

  “Oh, sure,” he said. “They do. Approximately half the people who have called me today share your point of view.”

  “Really?” A surge of relief went through her. This wouldn’t be so bad, then—people would be supportive of her, and Kyle would see she wasn’t asking for the moon. Maybe he’d cave before the meeting could even take place.

  “Oh, yeah. The other half? The local businesses? They want me to run you out of town on a rail. But I told them it’s your constitutionally protected right to make trouble.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “That shows me how wonderfully objective you are about this case.”

  “Ma’am...” The manager ran a hand through his hair, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “First off, I apologize for being a little hasty with my words today. Your newspaper stunt has really...I mean, Gwen Chapman? Of all people to sic on me! That woman is just out for a story...I know her kind. She’ll be here for a few headlines and then she’ll leave for greener pastures. But when she does, Lombard will be left with chasms of division that weren’t there before.”

  Allison had a sick feeling that he was right. Gwen was only out for the story—hadn’t their exchange on the sidewalk just now proved that? Still...

  “Would the city council have even entertained the prospect of a hearing on these ordinances if I hadn’t pulled my—what did you call it? My newspaper stunt?”

  He pursed his lips. “Probably not. The council has been content to leave the historic preservation committee to work out the details. After all, there is an appeals process in place. You are entitled to a public hearing about your variance request—which I have since discovered you haven’t even formally filed with the committee.”

  “Because if I do, they’ll turn me down, and I’ll have to wait a year—a whole year—to file another proposal. You’ve seen my grandmother’s house. It can’t wait another year for paint and repairs.”

  The city manager leaned back and closed his eyes. His chair squeaked as he rocked in it. “You know, I agree with you? No, really. I know you think I’m just saying that to patronize you, but it’s the truth. Paint is the absolute least permanent thing in the world you could do to that house, and it would look a sight better painted—painted purple, even—than the peeling mess it is now. Your grandmother came to me a year, year and a half ago, trying to get the historic preservation committee to see some sense. But no...they wouldn’t.”

  “So...what’s the deal, then? If you think I’m within my rights and the committee is being unreasonable—”

  “Frankly?” He pushed forward and leaned on his elbows. “The com
mittee has the downtown businesses convinced that changing one iota of those ordinances is the beginning of the end.”

  “But you don’t really think that, do you?” She watched the man carefully.

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what I believe—or even what should theoretically be the case. What matters is if those businesses start to lose faith in Lombard. If they think this is a lost cause, that it’s simply a matter of time before the historic district fades into oblivion because of less-than-historically-accurate renovations, what happens then? They stop expanding their trade and services, stop encouraging tourists to stay longer and spend more dollars. We have fewer tax dollars to plow back into downtown development. The city core suffers. The whole thing becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

  “All because I want the freedom to paint my grandmother’s house the way I can afford to?” Allison stood up. “Don’t. Don’t try to guilt me into dropping this. Because that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Well, I won’t. I won’t go away, not until Kyle Mitchell himself tells me that Gran’s house is exempt from those ridiculous rules.”

  The manager’s face sagged even more, and she realized that she had hit the nail on the head. “So I guess...” he said.

  “I will see you at that meeting.”

  “Your constitutional right, that’s for sure.” With that, he picked up his cell phone and start punching on it with his thumb, while he stretched out his other arm for the office phone. “We’ll see you there. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a crisis or two to manage.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ALLISON SMOOTHED THE fabric of her summer-weight wool skirt with a damp palm as she wished desperately for a drink of water to ease her parched throat. She craned her neck and twisted in her hard folding chair. People of all sorts packed the city council’s meeting room, their conversations a hum that vibrated through the confines of the large room, their competing aftershaves and perfumes and colognes assaulting her nostrils.

  She didn’t, however, see Kyle.

  With a whoosh that made Allison jump, Gwen Chapman collapsed in the chair beside her. “Well, shoot. It didn’t get moved. I’ll have to rewrite my lead,” she told Allison.

  “You’ve already written the story?”

  “Started on it. We’ve got an early deadline tomorrow, so I wanted to get a head start. This is another front-pager.” She rooted around in an oversize canvas bag and produced a reporter’s notebook and a pen with a silk flower on the end. She looked up at Allison.

  “The flower’s to keep people from stealing my pen. Oh, and also to help me find it faster. So? Are you ready?”

  Allison’s stomach lurched again. “No. You know, I was picturing something a lot less...publicized.”

  “You’ll thank me when you get the city council to change the ordinances. They wouldn’t even dream of doing it without all this public outcry.”

  Allison didn’t see incensed people around her, though. The men and women who were milling around, searching for a seat, seemed more curious than angry. And the members of the city council, now making their way to their places at the front of the room, didn’t wear panicked or nervous expressions. Instead, they seemed implacable and resolute.

  She suddenly had a very bad feeling about her prospects.

  Gwen jabbed her in the ribs with an elbow. “Hey, didn’t you hear me? I asked if the historical guys had been in touch. Heard a peep out of that Kyle Mitchell?”

  “No,” Allison replied.

  She hoped that single word didn’t reveal the private agonies she’d gone through as she’d waited for her phone to ring or her doorbell to peal. But Kyle had kept up the silence. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t come by.

  And she could be sure that no news, in this case, was not good news.

  Then she spotted him, elbowing his way through the crowd, with the city manager tagging close behind. Herbert and other familiar faces from the historical society followed in their wake.

  Her palms were sweaty again, and Gwen was being obnoxiously annoying as she cracked jokes about what people were wearing. If the reporter would just shut up for two minutes, Allison might get her thoughts together. Should she speak to Kyle?

  He had spotted her now. His brows drew together, not in an angry frown, but more in bewilderment, as though he wasn’t really sure how he and Allison had ended up in this situation. She’d pushed up out of her chair as he neared the front when the bang of the gavel sounded and the mayor, a woman wearing a navy suit, her blond hair in an upswept do, brought the meeting to order.

  She came to the point quickly, recapping the reason for the meeting. “In the interest of time, I’m allowing Ms. Bell to present her request to the council, and a representative from the historical society to add his input. Other interested parties have been invited to submit written responses, which have been reviewed by the council members already and will be—”

  An unhappy rumble of protest rippled through the crowd. The mayor banged her gavel again to restore order. “Those responses will be entered into the record. Now. Ms. Bell? Would you care to address the council?”

  Allison’s knees nearly buckled as she stood up. But it wasn’t Gwen’s squeeze on her arm that gave her strength and steadiness to approach the podium. No, she thought of her grandmother. She thought of her bank account. And she reminded herself, You’ve been part of a team that saved lives and responded to natural disasters. You’ve got this.

  At the podium, she pulled the mic down, cleared her throat, then couldn’t resist glancing over at Kyle.

  Who, though he had a tense expression on his face, gave her a thumbs-up.

  It nearly undid her. How could he be rooting for her and so unyielding at the same time?

  “Ms. Bell?” the mayor prompted.

  “Thank you, ma’am, for allowing me to speak.” The words came out croaky at first, but then Allison gathered confidence and started her story. “I am here not just on behalf of my grandmother, but on behalf of everyone who might find themselves in my grandmother’s situation. All she wants to do is restore her home to a livable condition, nothing fancy, just safe and sound and solid—and to do so without having to go into debt at her age of eighty-nine years.”

  Allison took the next few minutes to relate Gran’s plight. She told the council how she’d moved home to help her grandmother and how her own funds had been sucked into necessary repairs.

  “Just today,” she said, “I received a letter from Gran’s insurance carrier. They stated that they would be canceling her policy unless she could have the exterior painted and brought up to their minimum standards for coverage. She’s never missed a payment, never even been late—and this insurance is very expensive because it’s designed for historic homes. Regular coverage isn’t available for Gran’s house, since it’s more than a century old. I have—” she smoothed out the letter “—sixty days to get Gran’s place painted or she will be without the security of home owner’s insurance. I am hoping that you ladies and gentlemen will either repeal the ordinances that demand we paint the home in historically accurate colors, or at least provide my grandmother with a hardship waiver. Thank you for your consideration.”

  She turned from the podium and was about to sit down when the mayor stopped her. “Hold on, Ms. Bell. Council...do you have questions now for her? Or would you rather hear from the historical society’s representative first?”

  The councilors talked among themselves, then Lorenzo Adams spoke into his mic. “Madam Mayor, I move that the council be allowed to ask any questions now.”

  When his motion had been seconded and passed unanimously, the mayor leaned forward. “Ms. Bell?”

  Allison returned to the podium and gripped the sides with hands she wished weren’t so sweaty. She stared at the faces of the council members and prayed they wouldn’t ask her any questions.

&nb
sp; But of course they did.

  Lorenzo Adams started off, smiling at her with a kindness that eased her nerves. “Now, Ms. Bell, you’ve told us a good deal about your grandmother’s situation. Do you feel that you’ve explored every option to help fund the exterior renovations?”

  “Yes, sir, I do. My grandmother doesn’t want to go into debt at her age, and from what I understand from local bankers, it might not be an easy loan to get, given her age and income. And I am still paying off student loans.”

  Adams chuckled. “My daughter is, too—grad school’s a killer, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, breathing easier. Maybe she had really convinced them.

  But the softball question was quickly followed by harder ones, in rapid succession.

  “But the house has been in need of a paint job for several years, right?” This question came from another council member. “I mean, it didn’t just get like this overnight.”

  “Uh, yes.” Allison cleared her throat again. “But as I said, my grandmother spent a lot of her savings raising me after my parents died, and putting me through college.”

  Another question came at her, this one from a council member at the end of the table. “Do you think that your grandmother is more important than the family members of those who own small businesses dependent on the historic district tourists?”

  “Why—why, no.” Allison bit back a furious answer and tried for a calm reply. “I’m just saying that anybody in my grandmother’s situation should be allowed a little flexibility.”

  Now a more sympathetic council member leaned forward. “You called this a tax, didn’t you, in the newspaper article? A tax on people based on where they live in our city? Do you still agree with that?”