Page 6 of Clear Path

Sam frowned. “Tomorrow. Day after tomorrow at the latest. We need to be able to close the bridge for a few hours to bring in the cement mixer after we get the foundation dug.”

“You’ll have the foundation ready to pour that soon?” That seemed awfully quick to her.

He scratched his neck and shifted his gaze away from her face to a point over her shoulder. “They don’t want to commit the mixer to the project unless we already have the permit. Seems back-assward to me, but …”

She got it. Sam wouldn’t say it aloud, but the equipment company scheduler and the clerk in the permit office had an arrangement. They both wanted her to grease their palms to keep the project moving. There was a time when she’d have railed against the corruption, gone to the county council to complain, dug in her heels and refused to pay a bribe. But Julie hadn’t clawed her way through the old-boys’ network to become the most successful developer along the GAP by playing by the rules.

“Make it happen. Use the slush fund.”

He nodded and they moved on to the next item on her list. Before she could ask about overtime hours, she felt a light tap on her left shoulder. Now what? She suppressed a sigh and turned.

Kim Rush blinked at her and twisted an obviously handmade yellow scarf around her neck in a nervous gesture. Julie tampeddown her irritation at the interruption. Kim owned Tangled Skeins. That made her a tenant.

Julie smoothed her expression into one of friendly concern. “Is something the matter, Kim? I hope the noise and mess won’t impact your foot traffic too much, but if it does, we can work something out about your rent during the construction. And I guarantee the short-term pain will pay off beautifully for you once the building is open. Think of all the new customers.” She was sympathetic to the disruption her projects caused but made sure to remind Kim of the long-term benefits.

“Oh. That’s very … thank you, Julie.” Kim squared her shoulders and seemed to force the next words out. “But, I’m actually here about Lydia.”

“Who?”

“Lydia. You know, Hudson?” She jerked her chin toward the demolished house. “That’s her—thatwasher house. I ran into her on my way to my car. And, well, is she going to be okay? Does she have somewhere to go?”

Ah. That’s what this was. Kim was just like everyone else. She wanted the benefit of revitalization without having to bear any of the guilt.

“Of course, Lydia Hudson. I offered Mrs. Hudson a generous price for her home.”

This was true, but because Mrs. Hudson chose not to negotiate she ended up having her home taken through the eminent domain process at pennies on the dollar. It was unfortunate and short-sighted on Lydia's part, because Julie would have gone above her initial offer if the woman had countered. But a businesswoman didn't negotiate against herself, and once Lydia made it clear she wouldn't come to the table Julie pursued other avenues to get what she wanted.

“But, she didn’t sell, did she?” Kim looked confused.

“I can’t get into the specifics. I’m sure you understand. But Mrs. Hudson was compensated.”

At this, Sam inserted himself into the conversation. “I hear she’s moving to Maryland to live with her daughter.”

“See?” Julie smiled. “She’ll be just fine.”

Kim frowned, apparently unconvinced, but Julie was losing patience with this conversation.

“Is there anything else?” She asked, looking pointedly at the Rado watch she’d bought herself after closing her first big deal.

“I ... I guess not,” the woman stammered, her cheeks red.

As Julie watched Kim hurry across the street to her car, she was reminded, as she often was, of Vera Coking. A homeowner in Atlantic City, New Jersey, Ms. Coking refused all offers for her tiny home, sandwiched between casino hotels, and successfully fought off an eminent domain proceeding through a years-long court battle. People loved pointing to the elderly widow as an example of strength and courage for the stand she took. Julie had a different takeaway from that story: Her victory was a failure of creativity on the developer’s part. Julie did everything she could to get the community emotionally invested in her projects. She was generous and helpful to a fault.

So when the rare holdout like Lydia Hudson dug in to oppose her, it was Julie, not the homeowner, who garnered public sympathy. Julie understood that perception was everything.

5

GAP Mile 128.1, Clayton Falls, Pennsylvania

Bodhi covered more than twenty miles before the sun began to sink behind the mountains to the west. As he walked, his mind settled into a meditative rhythm with each light footfall—the cadence of his breath synchronized with his steps and his pack served as a grounding weight across his shoulders.

After meeting Gracie and her cat, he walked the rest of the way in solitude, save for a cluster of bicyclists who passed him headed toward Pittsburgh. By the time Clayton Falls appeared around a bend in the trail, the late afternoon light gilded the tree canopy above. The town straddled the path, having grown up around the river and rail line long before hikers and bikers claimed the route as their own.

Bodhi paused where the trail intersected with Main Street. The town square had clearly been renovated into a postcard-perfect vision of small-town charm. A limestone courthouse with a gleaming copper dome anchored the north side, surrounded by brick storefronts with fresh paint and colorful awnings. Edisonbulb string lights crisscrossed the square, ready to illuminate the evening. Each corner featured planter boxes bursting with cheerful yellow daffodils and purple crocuses, announcing the arrival of spring.

One shop, Thrown, displayed expensive-looking hand-thrown pottery glazed in subtle earth tones. Next door, the chalkboard for a farm-to-table restaurant named Forage advertised a prix fixe dinner featuring locally sourced mushrooms and heirloom vegetables. The Clayton Falls Inn dominated the east side of the square. It was a large Victorian home converted into a boutique hotel with a wraparound porch lined with rocking chairs occupied by cocktail-sipping couples dressed as if they’d magically stepped out of an outdoor clothing catalog.

Bodhi noted the main square’s prosperity and the fact that it catered to visitors rather than local residents. What he was looking for would be further from the square. He adjusted his pack and continued walking. He passed through the square and followed Main Street as it descended toward the river.

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