Page 18 of The Library of Second Chances
The mayor went on to describe the key players in the organization, and Logan scribbled notes on his pad. The mayor suggested he start with Helen Bowman, the organization’s president, but he warned that Helen was a bit eccentric. She rehabbed injured reptiles, from gopher tortoises to garden snakes, and the mayor also told him not to be surprised if he ran into an alligator should he go to Helen’s house to meet her. Hisname was Sidney and he’d lived at Helen’s since he was injured by a boat motor as a baby and abandoned by his mother. He couldn’t be released back into the wild. Helen had spent nearly three decades as a zoologist dedicated to reptile research and rehabilitation, and she often kept younger alligators to use for educational experiences in classrooms. When they got too big, she sent them to live at the reptile research center an hour south where she’d spent her career, and then she’d take in another young one for a while.
An alligator as a pet? Only in Florida. “It’s not an attack alligator, is it?” Logan laughed, but the look on the mayor’s face stopped him.
The mayor looked as if he was about to tell Logan that he should indeed beware of Sidney, but then he burst into a hearty laugh of his own.
“Nah, Sidney is harmless. He’s basically the town mascot. He visits every first-grade classroom and has been known to be Santa’s assistant when the kids come downtown for photos in December.”
“Okay, friendly pet alligator. Noted.” Logan shook his head as he made the note on this pad, although he couldn’t imagine this was a detail he’d forget. “Who’s next?”
“Well, then you’ve got the local fishermen, both the commercial guys and the charters. Both groups want low-cost dock space and for our fueling pumps to be repaired, but the charter guys are concerned about parking too. They need to keep convenient parking nearby for their guests, so they’d rather see a parking lot than more green space.”
“Lucy mentioned there was some support for an open-air seafood market on the waterfront. I assume both those groups would be in favor?”
The mayor removed his glasses and set them on his desk, deep wrinkles forming between his eyes. “Yes, we’ve been downthat road. It’s one of the ideas that got pretty universal support. The fishermen are all in support, and the restaurants like the idea of sending their chefs down to grab the latest catch right off the docks. But here are the drawbacks as I see them. Have you ever been in an open-air seafood market?”
“Sure, the one in San Francisco is pretty popular.”
“They stink.” The mayor scrunched up his nose. “And they attract birds and other critters looking for handouts. Would our tourists value grabbing fresh seafood over the stench it would bring downtown? And the rats? I hear the rats are terrible in those markets.”
“It’s one of the few things that benefits both tourists and locals though. I’m sure there are ways to deter pests.” Plus, it was a small win he could try to get for Lucy. He could picture her smile when he told her the good news, feel her arms wrap around his neck as she hugged him in gratitude. “Did you run the financials? Could you charge enough for the stalls to make it worth giving up that kind of space on the waterfront?”
“Nah, we never got that far. Feel free to look into it if you want. At least it’s something that actually got support from more than one group.”
Logan made a note to reach out to a friend from grad school who worked in the San Francisco mayor’s office.
“There were also some people who supported the previous proposals, right? I’m assuming local developers, general contractors, those sorts of people?”
“Yeah, the ones who thought they stood to profit. There are also some people here and there who understand the financial predicament the town’s found itself in and figured the new development was a better fix than raising their taxes.”
“Okay.” Logan twisted his pen closed and slipped it back into his bag. “I think I’ve got what I need. I’m off to the Masonic lodge.”
“Good old boys’ club,” the mayor said, slipping his glasses on as he scooted back up to his desk. “They can be convinced to go pro-development if they think they’ll get something out of it. That group is full of all the bigwigs in town—lawyers, bankers, surveyors, you name it.”
“Noted.” Logan stood and started to make his way to the door before turning back to the mayor. “Hey, how big is that alligator? Sidney?”
“Haha, let’s just say you can’t miss him.”
Logan shook his head as he left the mayor’s office. He’d gone from black-tie dinners on yachts in San Diego where they discussed business over cigars and fifty-year-old scotch to dodging alligators to get meetings. Surely one day he’d look back and think it was a funny story to tell, but today was not that day.
As it turned out, the meeting at the Masonic lodge on the north end of the island wasn’t as far from his dealmaking in San Diego as he would have thought. The attire was more casual, and the scotch was replaced by bourbon, but the rest was pretty much the same. Power brokers acted like power brokers no matter where they were. Logan was pretty sure one developer from the north end had even offered him a bribe, although something could have been lost in translation. He couldn’t follow all the southern sayings, and there had been a lot of bourbon.
His brain was too fuzzy to concentrate on spreadsheets after lunch with the Masons, so he headed back home to take a cold shower and sober up. Luckily, one of the men who hadn’t partaken in the bourbon offered him a ride home. He’d get his car downtown later.
He thought of the book he’d taken from the Little Free Library and fallen asleep reading the night before. Island Girlhad been right. He’d never seen anyone tackle Zelda’s side ofthe story. He’d once heard something described as “hauntingly beautiful,” and it was a description that perfectly fit this book.
Settling in one of the tan leather armchairs by the back windows that overlooked the beach, he picked up where he’d left off. It only took a few pages before he came across a passage Island Girlhad marked.
“In life’s tapestry, catastrophe and triumph alike appear as threads predestined. Neither love’s devotion nor wealth’s embrace can divert the course already woven. We journey through, subject to the patterns predetermined, vulnerable to the hands of fate that can uplift or unravel us.”
He read it again, fighting the bourbon fog in his brain to concentrate on each word. It was true, although depressing. The words made it sound like everything was predestined and no one could actively do anything to change the outcome. He simply didn’t believe that.
Glancing up from the book to look at the ocean just beyond the dunes, he thought about why she’d chosen to mark this passage. There was no note in the margin, and he was curious what the words meant to her. Based on the marks and notes she’d left in the other books, she was going through some sort of struggle. Although he didn’t know anything about her—aside from her taste in books—his gut told him it wasn’t a situation of her making. He was curious, of course, but he also had a strong desire to figure out her problem and solve it. After all, he was a “fixer,” as he’d overheard someone call him at the town council meeting.
He couldn’t concentrate on reading anymore as his thoughts were too consumed with questions about Island Girl, so he decided to take a shower. Often it was where he got some of his best ideas, and immediately after toweling off and dressing, hewent to his box of books. Island Girl sounded as if she needed a little confidence boost, and he had just the book. It was one he’d read on his plane ride out of San Diego to psych himself up for the new job. He located the book on mental resilience and dropped it into his leather messenger bag. He’d walk back to town on the beach, leave the book, and grab dinner. By then he would have sobered up enough to drive his car back to the house.
The sun was hitting the beach at a descending angle from the west side of the island, but it was still unbearably hot. Logan took off his shoes and carried them as he walked toward the shoreline. The water was warm enough for a bath, offering little reprieve from the early June heat.
The sound of the waves crashing less than twenty yards from where he walked on the edge of the waterline was soothing, nearly drowning out the shrieks of the children around him. They ran into the water until waves splashed them in the face, nearly knocking over the smaller ones.
