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  “There is time for one more question,” the moderator noted.

  At least it will be over soon, Emily thought with relief. The clock on the back wall read three minutes to nine.

  Art Hecht, who owned a large insurance agency, stepped up to the microphone. Knowing he was one of Charlie’s supporters, Emily steeled herself for a tough question.

  “Mayor Warwick, I’ve heard on good authority that the new owner of the Cranberry Cottages, Luke McAllister, plans to donate the property to an organization that will set up a center for troubled teenagers there. Would you support that type of institution in our village? And if you oppose it, what will you do to keep it out?”

  Emily was so shocked by the question and its ramifications that, for a moment, she couldn’t react. Set up, like a bowling pin, she thought, catching Charlie’s smug expression. A clean strike, no spare.

  She was aware of the audience suddenly looking alert, and the buzz of murmuring voices filling the room.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Hecht? I’m not sure I understood the question.”

  “Of course she understood the question,” Charlie huffed. “She’s just buying time. She doesn’t know what’s going on under her nose, that’s the problem.”

  “You’ll have your turn to respond, Mr. Bates,” the moderator told him.

  As Art Hecht repeated his question, Emily took a deep breath.

  “I don’t know who your sources are, but this is the first I’ve heard of the project,” she confessed, her voice aiming at an even, reasonable tone. “But assuming it is true—”

  “Of course it’s true,” Charlie interrupted her. “I’ll bet this pot has been simmering for weeks. I’ll bet Elliot knew all about it when he made the sale.”

  “How dare you? That is not true!” Dr. Elliot rose to his feet to contradict Charlie.

  “Dr. Elliot and Mr. Bates, no more interruptions, please,” the moderator warned.

  “Assuming it is true,” Emily continued, “what are the facts? Who would be running the facility? Who would be serviced by it? How many youngsters and counselors would be in residence?”

  She paused, gauging the audience’s reaction. She could see her reply was making sense to them. “Without knowing what this project entails, and what the potential impact would be on our community, I think it would be hasty and irresponsible to take any position.”

  “Mr. Bates, you have three minutes,” the moderator said.

  Charlie paused and smoothed his tie. His dirty trick worked, and now he’s basking in his moment, Emily thought.

  “We have a nice town here. More than nice, a really perfect place to live. Clean, quiet, no crime. No problems. Why invite trouble?” Charlie asked his audience.

  “As it happens, I do have the full story on this situation. Even though the present mayor does not,” he said smugly. “Like Hecht said, McAllister plans to donate the land to an outfit that helps troubled kids. I have nothing against troubled kids,” he added. “But do they need to bring their troubles up here? No, sir. Do I need to study and discuss and wring my hands, wondering what to do about it? No, sir,” he repeated.

  “Of course, why let the facts get in the way?” Emily cut in sharply.

  Charlie didn’t miss a rhetorical beat. “I don’t call that irresponsible, Mayor. It’s just knowing what’s what. Living in the real world,” he said, glancing back at the audience. “My granddad Clifford Bates always said, ‘Actions speak louder than words.’ If elected mayor, I won’t chitchat you to death. I’ll take action and protect our town. You can count on it.”

  All right. Chalk one up for Charlie. And his granddad, she thought as she watched the audience’s nods of approval.

  “That’s all the time we have,” the moderator said. “Thank you, Mayor Warwick. Thank you, Mr. Bates.”

  Applause sounded briefly as Emily and Charlie shook hands. Charlie carefully avoided meeting her eye, she noticed, then quickly turned to greet his family.

  Dressed in their Sunday best, Lucy and Charlie’s two boys came up to congratulate him, followed by a crowd of his supporters. Charlie beamed, pumping hands, as if he had already won. Emily had underestimated him. He had more talent for politics—of a certain kind—than she had imagined.

  Emily turned to find Betty, Warren, Harriet, and the rest of her camp circling her. Protectively, she thought, and fearfully, too.

  “He got some attention at the end with that cheap trick, but he won’t win on it,” Betty said, her confident manner and smile giving Emily a boost.

  “We didn’t hear a word about that center,” Warren whispered.

  “Must have been Ray Farley down in permits,” Harriet offered. “He has the information, and he’s one of Charlie’s buddies.”

  “We need to find out what this is all about, first thing tomorrow,” Emily said. “It could be nothing—or it could be a real problem for us.”

  They agreed that the campaign committee would have another strategy meeting Saturday afternoon in Emily’s office. Meanwhile, Betty had invited Emily’s group over to her house for coffee and the recap. Emily wasn’t looking forward to it now, but, of course, she had to attend.

  “I’ll be along in a few minutes,” she promised as her group dispersed and headed out to meet at Betty’s. “I just need to get my things.”

  Relieved to have a few moments alone, Emily gathered up her notes and briefcase. She felt deflated and even embarrassed. She had been made to look a fool in front of the entire town—or enough people for it to matter.

  The hall was nearly empty. Her mother and Dr. Elliot had disappeared, but Jessica lingered, waiting for her.

  “Emily, you were great,” Jessica said a bit too forcefully as she walked up and gave Emily a hug.

  “Thanks, but how bad was it, really? Be honest now.”

  Jessica’s gaze was sympathetic. “Anyone could see that was a setup. Charlie was just trying to trip you up.”

  “And succeeded admirably, I’d say.”

  “Okay, you looked a little off balance for a minute or two. But you reacted quickly and your answer sounded fine. Very reasonable,” Jessica added. “Charlie sounded hysterical. You’d think barbarians were invading, and you refused to close the gates.”

  “Spoken like a true sister,” Emily replied with a small smile.

  “Want to go somewhere and talk?”

  Emily was touched by her offer. “I have to go to Betty’s. They’re all waiting for me—for the debriefing. It will be a lot of campaign talk, but I’m sure you’d be welcome.”

  “No, thanks. I’ll just go home, I guess.”

  “What about Sam? Are you working things out?”

  “We’re trying,” Jessica replied slowly. “I thought he might be here tonight. I guess he’s working at the house.”

  Emily thought it was a bad sign that Jessica didn’t know.

  They really love each other, God. Please help them find their way, she prayed quickly. She suddenly realized if it didn’t work out for her sister and Sam, her own heart would be broken as well. Far more in fact, than if she lost this election.

  EMILY SET OUT A BIT LATER THAN USUAL FOR HER OFFICE THE NEXT MORNING. After the debate and the get-together at Betty’s house, she had had a hard time waking up.

  Now, rushing to work, she craved coffee badly. The line at the Beanery looked too long, and she didn’t dare go into the Clam Box. She was sure that the last inning of the debate, with its surprise upset, would be the only conversation there.

  As soon as she reached her office, she called the diner for a takeout order, then paged through the Messenger while she waited. Her eyes jumped to the headline, “Surprise Ending at Candidates’ Debate,” and she forced herself to skim the article.

  The coverage was even-handed, as she’d come to expect of Dan’s reporting, but apparently, even Dan didn’t k
now anything about Luke McAllister’s plans. If Luke even has such plans, Emily reminded herself.

  No one at the gathering last night had any solid facts to offer, either—just hearsay, affirming that they had indeed heard a rumor or two. Well, why hadn’t anyone mentioned it to her? she wondered. But finger-pointing was never the answer. She just had to find out the facts and go on from there.

  Emily looked up from the newspaper and saw Sara Franklin in the doorway. “Coffee, at last. I said two cups, right?”

  “You got it,” Sara promised, handing her the bag.

  Sara watched as Emily opened the first cup and took a long sip. “I’m sorry about last night—what happened at the debate, I mean.”

  “Well, thanks, but maybe I deserved it. I have been a little complacent about Charlie. Last night was my wake-up call, I suppose, though I’m still not sure what I could have done to counter it. I would have needed a mind reader on my staff to keep up with his information about Luke McAllister.”

  “Well, I knew,” Sara admitted quietly. “Luke told me about his plans the other day. I should have warned you. But I didn’t think it would be such a big deal. I never thought Charlie would find out. I’m really sorry,” she said again.

  “Sara, please, it wasn’t your fault at all. How could you ever guess that Charlie would do that?” When Sara didn’t look convinced, she added, “Even if you’d told me, Charlie still would have used it to get everyone stirred up and scared. That’s his whole agenda.”

  “He didn’t have to try very hard, either, did he?”

  Emily leaned back and took another long sip of coffee. “The audience may have reacted to his tactics last night, but in the long run the people of Cape Light will do the right thing. It’s just that they’re not used to change. But you’ll see—the people here are good at heart. If Luke’s project is a worthy one, they’ll give it a chance.”

  Sara’s expression relaxed a little. “So how will you show your support for Luke’s program?” she asked. “Write a letter to the Messenger or something?”

  Emily took out her second cup of coffee and carefully removed the lid. She’d run smack up against Sara’s idealism and naïveté again, like a cool, hard wall.

  “If only it were that easy,” she said finally.

  Sara looked confused. “But you do support the project, don’t you?”

  “From what I’ve heard so far, it sounds very worthy.” Emily put on her reading glasses and grabbed a handful of mail from the in-box. “The problem is, I really don’t know much about it. Nobody seems to. Do you?”

  Emily hadn’t meant to challenge her. She was really only curious. But she could see from Sara’s expression that her question had pushed Sara back a step.

  “Um . . . no, not really,” Sara admitted. “So what are you going to do?”

  “Get the facts, for starters.”

  “What facts do you need?” Sara asked impatiently. “There are a lot of kids out there who need a break. Isn’t that obvious?”

  “Yes, of course,” Emily said. “But I have to weigh the information carefully, and then find the right way to present it to the town. We have to give people time to get used to the idea.”

  “Does that mean you’ll support it?” Sara asked bluntly.

  Emily looked into Sara’s measuring blue gaze, a gaze so very much like her own that for a moment, the resemblance gave her chills. “I’m not sure,” she answered honestly. “Because of the election, I’ve got to be careful of what I say and how I say it.”

  Sara frowned. “Maybe you don’t. I think plenty of people would support the center.”

  “I certainly hope and believe that’s true,” Emily said. “All I’m saying is that the timing is delicate. I’ve got to find out what the facts are and then proceed carefully.”

  Sara was silent for a moment. Then she replied, “That’s not really an answer.”

  “Well, maybe not, but—” Emily started, but she cut her protest short. She could see that Sara was no longer listening. And I’ve already discovered that the whistling sound is just the air rushing by as I fall off my pedestal. Second time this week, in fact.

  “You’ve made some good points, Sara, and I’m going to think about what you’ve said,” Emily promised. “Honestly, I will.”

  She doesn’t believe me, Emily realized, reading Sara’s closed expression.

  Emily picked up her wallet and held out some bills. “Here’s the money for the coffee. Don’t bother about the change.”

  “Thanks.” Sara took the bills and stuck them in her jacket pocket. “Oh, I nearly forgot. I have that letter you asked me to look at.” She reached back into her pocket and pulled out a sheaf of papers, folded in half.

  Emily took it and laid it on her desk. “How did it go?”

  “All right.” Sara shrugged. “I made a few changes. To make the language stronger, more direct,” she said curtly.

  “Sounds good. Would you like to work on something else? I have to give a speech to the Rotary Club next week. I could use some help with that. I’ve only got a rough draft so far—”

  “Uh, no, I don’t think I can,” Sara cut in. “I’m pretty busy right now with my own writing and helping Lucy with a paper for her English lit class.”

  “Oh, I see.” Emily nodded and blinked. Of course, she doesn’t want to do more. I’ve disappointed her. “Well, thanks for looking at the letter. I’ll let you know if it’s accepted.”

  Sara turned to leave, jamming her hands in her jacket pockets. “See you around, I guess.”

  “Yes, I’ll see you, Sara,” Emily echoed, a hopeful note in her voice.

  She watched the young woman go, wanting to call her back, to say something that would redeem her image in Sara’s eyes. But for the life of her, she couldn’t think of what those words might be.

  Lord, why did you pick me to educate this girl in the harsher realities? Or maybe I have it all mixed up? Maybe you sent her here to teach me something? she wondered as she tried to erase Sara’s crushed expression from her mind’s eye.

  Emily sighed out loud as she once again attacked her mail.

  DESPITE THE DINER BEING BUSY ALL DAY, SARA’S THOUGHTS KEPT RETURNING to Emily—possibly because Charlie gloated nonstop about pulling the rug out from under his opponent. “Did you see her face when Art Hecht asked the question? Did you see?” Charlie asked anyone who would listen. Only the sight of Lucy rolling her eyes at her husband’s pomposity helped a bit, but then Sara’s spirits would spiral down again.

  Until today Emily had always seemed so straightforward, so sincere, and Sara had been baffled by the question of how and why Emily had given her up. Now, as Sara angrily dumped a load of dirty dishes in a rubber tub, she began to think it wasn’t so mysterious, after all.

  When pushed into a corner, Emily Warwick takes the easy way out. And if she runs scared from this situation, imagine what she will do when I tell her who I really am.

  “Sara, honey? Are you feeling all right?” Lucy touched her shoulder. “You don’t look very well,” she said, looking her over with a mother’s practiced eye.

  “I’m all right,” Sara replied, forcing a smile.

  “You look pale, sort of green around the gills. No offense,” Lucy added hastily.

  “I’m just tired,” Sara said, searching for an excuse.

  “Why don’t you leave early? Go home and have a nice nap. It’s okay. I’ll tell Charlie it must have been something you ate.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  Lucy laughed. “Of course I wouldn’t say that—even though it’s probably true,” she added, raising one eyebrow.

  Charlie’s food, for once, was not the cause of her indisposition, Sara knew. But she couldn’t tell Lucy the real reason, much as she wanted to.

  “Okay, I guess I’ll go, then. Thanks.” Sara grab
bed her jacket and knapsack, then slipped out of the diner.

  It felt good to leave work early, she realized as she drove home. Sometimes the Clam Box got to her—the noise, the smells, the constant rushing, and Charlie being his obnoxious self.

  Inside her cottage she thought about the nap Lucy had advised. She was tired but felt too stirred up to sleep, and she had a terrible headache.

  She took two aspirin, then sat on her bed with her journal in her lap. She flipped open the book to a clean page, marked the date on top, and began to write.

  Why did I ever try to get to know Emily? I should have told her who I was before the election. Why did I wait? That was my first mistake. Now everything feels worse.

  I don’t know what to think about her anymore. She’s not the person I thought she was. I thought she would stand up for Luke’s project, but she’s waffling, scared to come out and say that Charlie’s wrong. It’s pathetic. I thought she had more courage than that. Is that how she acted when she had to decide whether to keep me? She just handed me over without a fight?

  I’ve got to leave Cape Light. Why stick around? This isn’t going to work out. I can’t tell her. She won’t know how to handle it, and she’ll hate me. There’s no point. . . .

  Sara felt so sad all of a sudden, she couldn’t write anymore. She put the journal aside, wiping away tears with her fingertips. She went into the living room, pulled her canvas duffel bag out of the closet, and started tossing in books, papers, and the folded laundry that sat on her living room chair.

  She packed haphazardly, grabbing anything in sight. The phone rang, startling her. She felt disoriented as she stumbled toward the kitchen to answer it.

  “Sara? Hi, honey. It’s Mom.”

  The sound of her mother’s voice made Sara feel like crying again, but she forced back the tears. “Hi, Mom. What’s up?”