Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
It’s not the first time Shirley’s complained to me about that park’s disarray. I’ve heard grumblings from other residents too.
“We’ve been hounding them to take some pride and fix it for everyone. Does Gump listen, though? Nah, he’s too busy approving big-city plans. If he had his way, Polson Falls would be all concrete and condominiums. You know, last summer they changed building height restrictions and the density bylaws from two stories to three? And Brillcourt’s owner was looking to convert that place to condominiums, but the council voted against that one. Not enough low-income housing in the area.” She waggles her pencil-drawn eyebrows. “Seems awful suspicious to me that the building burns to the ground not six months later.”
Brillcourt is the low-rent apartment complex Scarlet grew up in and her mother lived in until just a few months ago. The building has been condemned, fenced off, and the property sold. No one knows what’ll go in there, but we all suspect it won’t be affordable housing for single-income families.
While I doubt the cause of the fire (a space heater coupled with a smoke alarm system that was all for show) was intentional, it does sound like prime pickings for someone with money and ambition to jump on.
“But he’s talking about tearing down one of the oldest blocks on Main Street. I know it’s the run-down side, but there’s history there.” A painting of Polson Falls Main Street circa 1927 hangs on the walls of Dieter’s, showing Model-T Fords parked outside. “There’s a freaking picture of JFK buying a Reuben sandwich at the deli counter.” Dieter Junior and Dieter Senior smile proudly in the background.
Shirley collects a shortbread cookie before nudging the little pastry box toward me, but I decline, not wanting to feed any new horrors on my face. The last one is still healing and hidden by concealer. “I remember that day. Clear blue skies and cherry trees in bloom. JFK’s motorcade came through Polson Falls on their way to the big car manufacturing plant over in Springfield. That kind of history doesn’t matter to a lot of folks around here these days, though. Didn’t you know? Old is out, new is in.”
I can’t guess at her age, and I don’t dare ask, but I know she’s getting up there. Still sharp as a sliver of glass under your thumbnail.
“I’m sure Gump would sell this place if he could get his hooks into it. Us wrinkly old birds don’t fit with the town aesthetic. Probably why he won’t spend money on the park either. Who knows what he’s got planned for that land. Can you imagine what a developer could do with it?”
I survey the large common room of Bonny Acres—designed to look like an old-fashioned parlor of dark wood and floral wallpaper, and with plenty of nooks and crannies where wing chairs and ornate tables wait for residents to trickle in for game night. Volunteering at this place to keep me busy was one of the first decisions I made when I moved here, and I haven’t regretted it once.
My focus lands on the prominent portrait of the Bonnys above the stately fireplace—a wealthy couple who owned the original Victorian house that serves as the face of the center. They had no children but plenty of friends and this big old house. Once several of those friends began facing minor health issues, the Bonnys invited them to move in, hiring a nurse and a cook to provide care. I think they just didn’t want to spend their days alone.
Eventually, the Bonnys passed away, but the younger generation of relatives and friends was tasked with keeping the place alive. It’s expanded considerably over the years, with an enormous addition behind the original house that offers studio and one-bedroom suites for married couples. All in all, there are fifty-four residents living here today.
Shirley draws a card and tosses an unfavorable one. “All these new folks flocking here from the city are saying they want nicer and newer, and that’s who they’re catering to. Not us old farts who’ll be dying off soon enough.”
While she may be cynical, anyone who’s been watching the flood of change would see she’s not entirely wrong. “But can they get away with this?”
“They think they can.” She holds up her index finger, the lengthy nail filed to a trendy point. “Gump and his minions are waiting with scissors, ready to cut all kinds of red tape. That little weasel has been caught skipping steps more than once to push things through.”
“Garrett said he’d have his permits approved before people even found out about the sale.”
She drums the tabletop with her fingers. “What is this developer of yours planning?”
“I don’t know. And he’s not mine.”
“That’s because you’re no fool. I don’t waste my time with fools.”