Southern Hope

Chapter One

No! No! No! No! The eldest councilman, Alton Green, pounded his liver-spotted fist on the conference table. Unequivocally NO!

You’re joking, right? Councilman John Severs turned toward town attorney Sam Monroe expecting him to say gotcha.

Just ten minutes ago, Larry—I mean, Mayor Tyson, told you Briley Bucket and Container is closing and that we needed to pull an economic development opportunity out of our asses. I think we should hear Sam out, said Councilman Hal Price.

Out of our asses is right. Severs snickered.

What I asked was for y’all to toss some ideas around, but this… The mayor shook his head. He had called the emergency, closed-door session to discuss the shuttering of the plastic container plant—the primary industrial employer in Rainbow Falls.

But what Sam Monroe proposed was… just… crazy.

Sam looked around expecting Councilwoman Janice Lamb to bluntly add her opposing opinion—she was never one to hold back—but her immaculately made-up face was pinched in distaste as if she had just sucked a lemon. Or was it a look of fear? The thought gave Sam a moment’s pause. What had he proposed that could scare the indomitable woman?

Chuck Haskins, holding the seat for the south side of town, was leaning back in his chair, obviously preoccupied. Sam figured he was looking for an angle that would benefit his construction business. If he could find a way to make a profit, he would be on board with Sam’s proposal. Sam started to line up ideas in his own mind just in case he needed to help the man make the right decision.

When no one else spoke up, Sam jumped in with both feet. Look, the board has been half-heartedly pushing tourism and eco-tourism as a fallback ever since I was hired as legal counsel, but it’s not happening. Any more stores get boarded up on the square, and it’ll look like the zombie apocalypse.

The joke didn’t get the laugh Sam expected—probably because it was too close to the truth—so he barreled on. Sure, we have great biking and hiking trails across the Sycamore in the state park, and our falls are a veritable wonder of immense proportions. Sam’s tone on the last bit did not support his words. Growing up next to the pervasive damp and constant roar of the falls took some of the wonder out of them. We have good bones, but we need to find a demographic to target. I think this is a good fit.

He’s right. We might get a few tourists, but this state is big, and there are plenty of scenic destinations. Rainbow Falls is just one of many, Councilman Price agreed.

But we built the rail-to-trails park and greenways and an arboretum… John Severs sneered. Wasn’t that what the young hipster tourist generation was looking for? Aren’t they coming here in droves?

Sam felt like growling. He had worked long and hard to convince the council that successful towns and cities cared about their green spaces as much as their commercial spaces. Rainbow Falls neglected both for far too long. The last council had moved in the right direction, but most of their projects, like the depot restoration, were stalled by the current council.

"What do you think it will take to make this work?" asked the second of three councilwomen, Marianne Moore, as she leaned toward Sam.

"A good start would be to go ahead with the old train depot restoration. It would be a perfect venue for banquets and other gatherings. Habersham and Whitley are ready to get started when you say go. You know the construction business was hit hard by the recession. Now’s the time to get this done and at a low-ball estimate, too.

We’ll need a lot more hotel space. The motels on the highway, the Sycamore River Cabins and Sutton House, aren’t enough—not if we get three hundred people a week, Sam added.

Three hundred? That many? The mayor and Councilman Haskins asked the same questions almost simultaneously. The mayor was skeptical, but Haskins seemed excited.

"During peak season, yes, I think it’s possible if it’s marketed well. All you would need is a couple large groups and a handful of smaller ones. We’ll need a non-denominational chapel. I think the old Baptist church that the city bought when First Baptist built that new place on the highway would be ideal. Wouldn’t take much to spiff it up," Sam continued, his finger trailing over his notes.

NOOO! I was baptized there. Alton pounded his fist again, causing the council members to jump at the loud and sudden noise.

What’s that gonna cost us? I don’t think the city can afford all that. Can they, Alton? John Severs asked, his smirk letting everyone know he found a weak spot in Sam Monroe’s plan.

Sam frowned. Alton always said what he thought, like it or not. You knew where the old man stood on an issue, but Severs was sneaky, working both sides until he figured out the winning angle or more like how to get his way. He was a bully in high school when he was captain of the football team, and he was still one. Only now, as CEO of his family’s logging mill, he rarely used his fists.

No, Alton replied without hitting the table this time, we can’t.

Yes, we can. We have federal and state historical preservation grants for the depot. The bank will loan us the money needed for the church to be restored anyway. You knew that when the council bought the property, Sam contradicted the old man. We either fix it up, let it rot, or tear it down.

A muscle in the old man’s cheek twitched, but he said nothing. He also voted for the purchase to preserve the small historic building.

"What can we do to provide accommodations for all these visitors, Sam?" asked Marianne Moore, giving Sam a little smile that told him she was on his side. Haskins rolled his eyes at the question.

Sam gave her a brief smile of thanks then turned to the Mayor as he continued. The Bishops have been talking about turning their farmhouse into a destination house because of the new vineyards south of town.

That’s room for maybe six people if they double up. Councilwoman Adams looked dubious.

Doubling up? Oh, Severs smirked again, nodding in amusement, I think that’s a given.

Rumor says Briley House might go up for sale within the year. The city could buy it or give the buyer a tax incentive. Councilman Haskins offered.

Briley House belongs to my son, not my step-mother, Janice Lamb spoke sharply, finally breaking her silence.

Too bad. It would make a beautiful Bed and Breakfast, Marianne said, sighing wistfully.

No. Alton pounded the table once more. This time, no one flinched.

I believe if the city supports this, I mean fully supports my proposal, the local businesses will jump on board. Sam focused on each council member one by one. And the increased revenue would be nothing to sneeze at.

I believe in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny, Severs muttered. But that’s not gonna get me any damn thing.

"Sam, what made you think…this idea of yours would be a viable solution for Rainbow Falls?" Mayor Tyson asked skeptically.

There’s the name of the town, obviously, and the federal district court nullified the voter referendum. I know the Supreme Court agreed to a stay…but when the newly elected legislature is seated in January, they promised to bring a bill to the floor. My sources say they have the votes to pass it this time. The governor-elect promised to sign it if he won. He needed the urban vote and his stance on this issue got those votes for him. I guess, to me, it all seemed to make sense.

Damn Yankees moving down here and meddling in our business, Alton grumbled, to no one in particular. Should’ve fought them harder.

Our town is near the border of two states that have constitutional amendments against it. Sam sat back and folded his arms across his chest. Even if they are overturned, they are not going to make it easy. That’s where we come in.

No offense, Sam, but before we decide if Rainbow Falls is going to become the tri-state gay marriage destination, we need gay input, Hal Price warned. A few of the other council members nodded in agreement.

Let’s ask Sugar what he thinks, Marianne Moore suggested brightly. Sugar and Spice is still open.

The man’s name is Alan Bunch. I don’t care if that’s what his mama called him—I ain’t calling a grown man Sugar. I don’t even call Agnes sugar, and I’ve been married to her since Roosevelt’s second term, Alton groused as he grabbed his cane and stood. Someone muttered ‘Theodore?’ But Alton either didn’t hear it or ignored it as he continued. But let’s do go talk to him ‘cause I can guarantee that little faggot is gonna laugh in your face, Sam Monroe.

***

What the… Fredy Silverio looked out the window of Sugar and Spice Salon as he was flipping the open sign to closed.

What? Sugar asked from over Cassie Sutton’s head.

Looks like town folk with pitchforks headed this way, Fredy said in a sing-song voice. He tossed his long, flowing Mohawk over one shoulder as he glanced at his business partner.

What have you done now, Sugar? Cassie asked—her voice bright with humor.

Depends on who all’s coming, teased Sugar, giving her a boyish grin.

Your cutie, Sam Monroe, with old man Green, Mayor Tyson, Ms. Lamb, Miss Marianne…and the asshole. Looks like the whole city council. Yep, Haskins andPrice are behind them, Fredy answered.

Alton and John? Coming here? Are locusts swarming? Has the Sycamore turned to blood? Sugar asked, his eyes wide with false drama when he looked up from the curling iron he was deftly wielding. He purposely ignored Fredy’s comment about Sam.

His business partner was right. Sam was a cutie, just not his cutie. Unfortunately, Sugar thought as he sighed to himself.

I wonder what they want, Esmerelda, the part-time manicurist mused as she returned from the back room. Sugar, I put my things in the sterilizer. I’ll get them out tomorrow, okay, hon? I’ve gotta run.

Distracted, he nodded vaguely in response to Esmerelda’s request as he looked over his shoulder toward the door.

They’re coming down Maple from the courthouse. Nothing else is open. Two plus two equals you. Fredy shrugged.

The council met tonight, Cassie informed them. "Behind closed doors. To hear Zeke Griffin tell it, they did it to drive him nuts. The Gazette is the town watchdog, or so he says."

Wouldn’t take more than a Chihuahua, Fredy told her.

Zeke reminds me of one of those little yappy dogs. Annoying as all heck, she agreed.

What does any of that have to do with the salon? asked Sugar.

Hell if I know, the older woman answered. But did you hear about the Bucket? According to Zeke, it’s closing in less than a month.

Serious? That puts a lot of people out of work. Well, damn, and right before the holidays. Sugar shook his head in true sorrow as he put a final curl in Cassie Sutton’s hair.

That’s too bad, Esmerelda commented as she finished straightening up her area.

You’re all done, sweetie. Sugar unfastened the drape from around Cassie’s neck with a flourish.

Cassie smiled into the mirror, patting her salt and pepper hair gently. It was in the short wash-and-wear style she favored. Sugar worked his magic wand making it simple yet elegant. Looks great, Sugar. Put it on my tab. I don’t want to hang around for whatever the council wants. Can’t stand Alton Green or that ass, John Severs. Essie, sweetie, I’ll see you tomorrow for my mani-pedi. She stood up, looking around for her purse.

Too late, Cassie. They’re on the porch, Fredy said moving away from the window. The bell jangled as he yanked the door open with a flourish. Folks, I’m so sorry, but we’re closed for the evening. It would be my pleasure to fit you in tomorrow. Let me just check my book.

Ignoring Fred, Alton pushed through and entered the cozy waiting area. The other council members followed with Mayor Tyson in the lead with Sam nudging his way to the front.

Gentlemen, ladies, what can I do for you? asked Sugar.

Sam wants Rainbow Falls to be the tri-state gay marriage mecca. Tell him he’s a fool, Alan, Alton demanded banging his cane on a spot of bare floor.

He wants to…do what? Sugar looked at Sam with raised eyebrows.

"A marriage destination. We’re on the border of two states that have amendments against marriage equality. Our legislature is set to pass an equality bill by spring. The governor-elect has pledged to sign it. We need to take full advantage of this economic opportunity," Sam spoke quickly giving Sugar the run down on what he proposed to the council.

"You want Rainbow Falls…our Rainbow Falls, to be a gay marriage destination?" Sugar started laughing, a real full-out belly laugh that caused him to bend over double bringing tears to his eyes. He was the only one, although Fredy eventually started chuckling at Sugar’s obvious amusement.

Finally, with one last gasp, he calmed.

Severs took the opportunity to interject his opinion. He has this idea that the faggots will—

Okay, Sugar lifted both hands, all remnants of laughter suddenly gone as he waved them off. Then, with a wagging finger, he continued, That’s why this is not going to work.

Esmerelda, who remained quietly in the background, shoved her few personal items into a tote bag. Keeping her head down, she murmured to no one that Darby was waiting to give her a ride home to Pikesville. She was out the door before Sugar or Fredy could say good night.

Come on, Alan, Sam pleaded. Ignore John like you always have. You know this can work. For Pete’s sake, the town is called Rainbow Falls. You can’t get any gayer than that.

Sugar looked at Sam’s pretty, blue eyes and the hang-dog expression reflected in them. It tugged at him in ways he was hard put to ignore, but he was still not convinced.

"How can we prove it to you, Sugar?" asked Marianne Moore using her councilwoman voice, coming down hard on the keywords, apparently on board with Sam’s plan.

Of course, Marianne was on board—she was on board with anything Sam proposed. She would be on board with Sam proposing to her, Sugar thought sourly as he folded his arms across his chest and tapped his expensive red loafer in a staccato beat while considering his answer.

I know! The town could hold a pride week, Fredy suggested breathlessly. Sugar glared at him. What?

A pride week? Mayor Tyson asked, frowning slightly.

What’s a pride week? Alton asked.

"That’s when the faggots parade half neked down Founders Street and make a spectacle of the town." John Severs, the former high school football player, sneered as he spoke.

You been to one, John? Sugar asked with one eyebrow raised in feigned interest. Do tell.

Fuck you, Alan. I saw it on the news, Severs snapped, squaring his massive shoulders and giving Sugar his most intimidating glare. Even in a suit, he was still the same bully he was when he, Sam, and Sugar were in the same class at Rainbow Falls High.

Oh, I’m sure it was a fair and balanced opinion. Fredy moved to stand by Sugar. He was as slender as his business partner but several inches taller—and responded with an eye roll and a flip of the wrist guaranteed to annoy.

Sam smirked at John’s discomfort. Fredy was pretty with his tawny skin, long black Mohawk flowing over his shoulders and biker-inspired wardrobe. Sugar was adorable in the sequin-embellished acorn festooned sweater, his arms akimbo and his pale boyish face flushed in irritation. The two really did embody their salon’s name—Sugar and Spice.

Sugar, maybe it’s not such a bad idea. I could use some more guests at Sutton House, Cassie commented softly, interrupting the stand-off.

Sugar turned his attention to the older woman, who was giving him a look as beseeching as Sam’s, and with a huffed breath, he quit fighting it.

Okay, Sammy. Sugar dropped his arms, relinquishing his belligerent posture. Explain to me what you have in mind.

Sam opened his mouth, ready to give the man his spiel, but the mayor stopped him with an abrupt gesture. "Y’all are jumping the gun here. Nothing’s legal yet, and you know we’ll have to have a public hearing before anything can be decided. This is a fact-finding exercise, and I think I have all the facts I need. I’ll call a council meeting for next Tuesday. You’ll have the opportunity to convince the rest of the town to go along with your fool notion, Sam.

Sugar, Miz Sutton, I’d prefer this doesn’t get out until then, the mayor warned before he stalked out the front door without waiting for either to agree.

Sam watched as Cassie patted Fredy’s shoulder and kissed Sugar on the cheek before trailing after the retreating group.

It’s a great idea, Sam grumbled as he headed out the door.

In another space-time continuum, maybe, Sugar grumbled back.

G’night, Alan, Sam called over his shoulder.

Night, Sammy.

Well, that could have gone better, Sam thought as he crossed Maple to walk along the edge of the large square. He was mentally weighing pros and cons, assessing his position as he would in a criminal case, which was rare in Rainbow Falls.

His job advising and representing the town took a good chunk of his time and paid next to nothing. Sam’s bread and butter came from divorces, wills, property transfers, or disputes, and all other rote but steady legal work. He now felt fortunate to have won a liability suit a few years back when he was killing himself to make partner at a prestigious firm in the capital. His share of the settlement paid for his office building-slash-apartment on Elm and his slightly used Mercedes. The small remaining portion was invested for his future, and he was living on the meager wages he earned in Rainbow Falls.

Before he knew it, Sam stood outside Sonny’s Tavern. The bar became an almost nightly habit since his fiancée, Melissa, left. Sam could not get used to going home to a dark, empty apartment. Shrugging off the frustration with the council and the disappointment of Sugar’s initial derision, he pushed open the door. Mike Murphy, Trent Severs, and some friends of Trent’s were at the bar watching a football game on the many flat screens. Trent was doing most of the talking, loudly and obnoxiously. Mike, as usual, said nothing, vaguely embarrassed by Trent’s antics. The senior paramedic with the fire department, Bill Bradshaw, sat at the bar between Sam’s stool and Trent’s group. Sam enjoyed Mike’s quiet company when Trent wasn’t around. Bradshaw was an okay bar companion, but Sam wished Alan had followed him across the square to watch the game.

Except pro-football was not the hairdresser’s game. If college basketball were showing on the large flat screens, then Sugar would have been there and cheering loudly.

Two hours later, after nursing a couple beers and watching the team he was rooting for win their game, Sam felt better. The feeling lasted up to the moment he stepped out into the shadowy and vacant square.

Sam wasn’t kidding about the zombie apocalypse. More stores were boarded up with soap-smeared or papered windows than were in operation. Some of the torn edges of the paper moved with the air current and Sam suppressed a shudder. Brains! Brains!

His annoyance increased as he counted the dilapidated buildings surrounding him, blaming the current and past councils for not recognizing the dire position the town was sliding into until catastrophe hit. It wasn’t as if people were leaving. On the contrary. People loved the pretty little bungalows, the traditional four bedroom ranches, and the breezy farmhouse-style homes lining the residential streets. Many families bought homes in Rainbow Falls and then commuted to jobs in larger cities like nearby Pikesville or over the state lines to Anderson, Bishop, and Hartley. People shopped in their big malls, or ate in their restaurants, or caught the current blockbuster in their cinemas. Almost all of the same businesses—businesses that once flourished when Sam was a boy—were now black and shuttered in Rainbow Falls.

Slowly, Sam strolled across the square. He walked around the dry fountain clogged with leaves and trash from the few tourists who would perch on its edges to consume bags of fast food burgers and fries bought on the highway. He felt even more depressed as he neared River Road on the Founders Street side of the square. A chilly wind lifted, rustling the dry leaves and adding to his creeped-out feeling. He shivered and started to turn back toward his apartment—a block west beyond Maple—and to the warm bed that beckoned to him—when a shadow on Falls Bridge caught his attention.

A lone figure in the middle stood against the rail by the pedestrian walk.

When the WPA built Falls Bridge in 1933, the architect had the foresight to include a pedestrian walk facing the falls and a bike path on the opposite side, straddling the lanes that brought traffic in and out of town.

Changing course, Sam moved closer to the person on the bridge. It was Alan, or as he was now called—Sugar.

Don’t do it, don’t jump! Sam yelled.

Sugar didn’t respond, but his lips curled slightly as Sam approached.

What are you doing out here? It’s too cold and damp. Sam had to shout over the din of the falls.

I come here when I need to think, Sugar answered.

What do you need to think about, Alan? Sam asked, finally close enough he could speak in near normal tones.

Sugar sighed, considered whether to answer, and then shook his head before turning to resume looking at the falls. The truth wouldn’t do him any good since he was thinking about Sam. And the truth was—he thought about Sam a lot.

Sam leaned against the rail, looking in the same direction as Sugar and waited for him to speak. At night, only swirls of mist could be seen in the dim lights of the bridge. The roaring falls were somewhere in the black beyond falling from Junco Lake off Bunting Summit into the Sycamore.

Sugar finally looked back at his childhood friend. I know you mean well, Sammy. You’re going to probably end up getting your way, but you’re about to unleash a hornets nest. This town is just not ready for your gay marriage proposal.

"You mean, stir up a hornets nest." Sam smiled at the mixed metaphor.

Whatever—Sammy, you just don’t know… Sugar hesitated.

Know what?

What it’s like to be gay, to always be on the outside. I’ve lived here my whole life. I know almost everyone and I still don’t fit in. The thing is I can’t be anything other than what I am. He let go of the rail and met Sam’s questioning gaze for a moment. He then held his hands out to his sides and looked down at his slender body. This is me. Silly laugh, red loafers, and all.

You do like your red shoes. Sam smiled warmly. Alan, you have more friends than anyone else in town. Cassie has done all but adopt you. Fredy’s your number one minion. Your clients adore you.

Oh, I’m likable, but…I have owned a business on the square since my mother died, and I have never been invited to the manse for the Chamber Christmas party. I pay my membership. I hold a Business-After-Hours mixer every September that the mayor attends, as did the three mayors before Larry. It’s not just that—it’s everything… Sugar sighed. I know I sound like a whiny bitch, and if you took each slight one at a time, yeah, I might be. But after years of the same old thing, it just wears on you. Sugar paused then continued in a flat voice. I feel threatened when I go to the tavern.

Sam let out a half snort of amusement and then reconsidered. His brows furrowing, he asked, Why’s that, Alan?

Sonny watches me with this stone-cold look in his eyes that makes my skin crawl. Sugar shuddered. And if Trent is there—well, like his brother, Trent always has some insulting wisecrack to toss out.

Trent Severs was Councilman John Severs younger brother. Only he was more irritating and irresponsible. The younger Severs was permanently attached to his brother’s coattails.

But I go in because sometimes I want to watch a game with you, or I’d like something cold and strong after a very long day on my feet. And sometimes, I go just to piss Sonny off. It’s not like I’m gonna grope the clientele…well, not unless they want me to.

I think things—

I know you want people to be better, but Sammy, just…you just need to be prepared for the worst. Sugar pulled his jacket collar close about his ears and started moving away at a brisk pace. Then he turned back. Thanks for the ice cream.

Thanks for the six-pack. It was a good selection. Sam referred to the artisanal beers he’d found on the doorstep of his office-slash-apartment after Melissa moved out a little over a month ago. In turn, he dropped off the ice cream not too long after when Sugar’s boyfriend, Stevie, dumped him not even a week later. Hey, how’d you know the ice cream was from me?

My mama’s dead, and I don’t believe in ghosts. You’re the only other person in the world besides Fredy, who knows how much I love rocky road. Sugar turned back toward Maple and continued to his apartment over the salon.

Sam followed at a more leisurely pace, making sure Sugar returned home safely. When the windows on the second floor above the salon lit up and glowed warmly, Sam picked up his pace and hurried to his lonely apartment the next block over.

Chapter Two

Ada Murphy wandered through the dining room of the Barbecue Barn. She was just coming from Sugar and Spice. Ada dropped in for a trim knowing with Mike soon out of work it would be an extravagance they couldn’t afford, but she needed to confirm the news zipping around Rainbow Falls. The rumor was Sam Monroe had suggested to the city council how they should promote the town as a gay marriage destination.

A rumor Fredy readily confirmed while trimming her tangle of bright orange curls.

The news was a welcome, yet worrying revelation. Ada worked at the Barbecue Barn from the time she was sixteen until it closed three months earlier. She spent years breaking through Mike Murphy’s reserve and, all the while, mending the rifts between the man she loved and the owner, his father, Jerry Murphy.

Jerry had been a force to be reckoned with. A gifted cook with a tender touch when grilling the savory pork and tangy sauce, but the tenderness did not extend to his fathering. His idea of nurture was to scorn his son, ridiculing him for his shyness, his childlike joy in life, and his caring nature. For Jerry, it all translated to Mike not being man enough. Ada put herself between the two, stroking Jerry’s vanity, and at the same time, offering Mike a haven.

They married when she was twenty and Mike twenty-one.

Nearly two years ago, Jerry Murphy announced he had met the love of his life on the internet and would be moving to the mountains to take over the widow’s pit. The widow apparently owned her own barbecue stand and needed a new pit master, as well as a husband. Ada assumed her father-in-law would give Mike his recipes, teach him the art of roasting a pig to perfection, and share the secrets of his sauce. But Jerry only handed Mike an envelope of legal papers, moved the balance of the restaurant’s savings to his own account, and told his son to run it or close it. He didn’t care which.

Mike knew how to run the restaurant—his father relied on him as the manager for years—but he was never entrusted with Jerry Murphy’s culinary secrets.

The last eighteen months had been the most stressful of their five-year marriage. The restaurant lasted barely a year. Now, if the other rumors were true, Mike would be losing his job at the Bucket and losing his pride again. On top of that, the restaurant had been for sale since it closed and with very few bites. Jerry paid off the original mortgage and startup loan many years ago. The couple still lived in Jerry’s old house, and Mike worked hard to pay off the debts they incurred after his father left. In an unlikely show of fatherly affection, Jerry had forgone the rent, both on the Barn and on the house, promising to split the proceeds (less his due) on the sale of the property.

Attracting buyers to a dying town was like attracting flies to vinegar, and Rainbow Falls had been on a long, slow, downhill slide that began with the invention of the automobile.

Before motorized transportation, the falls were a favorite destination for newlyweds who could not travel the thousand miles to Niagara with only a horse and buggy. After the railroad took hold, and then the automobile, Rainbow Falls became just one of a dozen tourist towns within a day’s reach. Still, it held on—barely—as a preferred scenic destination. The rainbows casting off the falls from every direction were pretty, and the adjacent state park made it attractive to campers.

The end came in the late nineteen eighties when no one wanted to rent musty cabins and watch gallons of water plummet hundreds of feet off a cliff. The yuppies wanted turquoise waters and the white sand beaches of Cancun and St. John.

Ada knew the franchise in the capital, whose business model was based on expanding into small towns, was bound to drop out when they heard the Bucket was closing. People out of work did not eat out—unless you counted selecting from the dollar menu at the drive-thru.

Ada put her hand on her belly and thought of the miracle she and Mike had created. When she told him, he would be thrilled until worry set in and start to eat at him. How would he care for his family? How could he be a father when he couldn’t earn a living? She knew he would hear Jerry’s voice in his head, putting him down, making him feel less than.

Sam’s plan was the first idea Ada Murphy had heard that offered any real hope.

***

Seeing his wife’s car parked out back, Mike entered through the rear of the restaurant. He paused at the kitchen door and watched as Ada meandered through the dimly lit dining room, apparently deep in thought. He hated to tell her they were still stuck with this white elephant. Maybe it was time to call in a used kitchen equipment supplier and gut the place. He would only get a nickel on the dollar for the equipment, but a nickel was better than zilch. He had only received one serious inquiry for the place, and the potential buyers just backed out. News of the Bucket closing spread fast—even all the way to the capital.

Maybe it was time for them to leave Rainbow Falls. It would be the smart thing to do. He just didn’t want to do it. Rainbow Falls was home no matter what.

Hey, you. Ada spotted her husband and smiled.

Hey, you, back. He grinned.

I got my hair cut…Fredy confirmed the rumor you heard from Trent.

About the gay marriage thing? Mike asked, studying his wife’s corkscrew curls. It was hard to tell her hair had been trimmed. They were both pale, freckled gingers, who looked more like brother and sister than husband and wife. Good Irish stock in both families.

Yep. Ada turned and looked around the room. It was ugly—fake log walls and wagon-wheel light fixtures—but clean. A bit dusty from being closed up for so long, but still essentially clean. Mike and his dad were sticklers about that. What do you think about them?

About gays?

Umm-hmm. She nodded.

Tell the truth, I don’t give them much thought. Mike rubbed the back of his neck. I’ve watched a game or two with Sugar and some of the guys at the tavern. Sugar’s a lightweight. Get a few beers in him and he starts giggling and making comments about the players having cute butts and stuff. Nothing gross, just sort of funny. Trent gets bent out of shape over it, but I don’t see any reason to bust a blood vessel. I mean, I might make a comment or two about the cheerleaders, and it don’t bother Sugar none. And, really, Sugar just says the most outrageous stuff when Trent or Sonny can hear. I think he likes to piss them off.

How about them getting married?

Cheerleaders? Yeah, I think the guys would like that idea, Mike pretended to misunderstand.

She snorted. You shouldn’t be looking at the cheerleaders.

Just reminds me of what I got goin’ good at home, babe. He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Right, Ada responded dryly, pursing her lips to hide her pleasure at the compliment. Do you think they ought to be able to get married?

You mean the gays? I voted against the defense of marriage amendment when the referendum came up. Figured it was none of mine or anybody else’s business if they do or they don’t.

She smiled in relief. I don’t care either. What about the town? Do you think anyone will take Sam’s proposal seriously?

His marriage proposal? Maryanne Moore might. Mike chuckled at his joke. Councilwoman Moore’s intentions toward the newly single attorney were not a secret. Seriously, I don’t think they’ll go for it.

Oh. Ada deflated.

Mike’s teasing smile faded, his expression shadowed in concern. He was about to jokingly ask her if she were thinking about leaving him to marry another woman, but instead, asked, What’s wrong, baby? Why’d you come here?

Did you hear back from that chain?

"They dropped out. I guess they heard about the Bucket closing. The phone call I got was filled with lots of goings on about minimized disposable income and that making an investment at this time is too risky," Mike answered quietly.

Ada crossed the room and wrapped her arms around her husband. Not too many people knew the teasing, loving, and kind man she’d married. He was painfully shy and reticent around people he didn’t know or in large groups, but his heart of gold and a keen intelligence was grossly underestimated by Jerry, Trent, and everyone else.

I’m thinking about calling Porter’s and having them gut the place. Maybe it would sell better if it weren’t set up as a restaurant. Mike pulled his wife close. We’re okay for now. Daddy don’t want the back rent until we sell, and I can get work at the sawmill after the Bucket closes. I already spoke with Trent about a job. I’m in.

Good thing Trent’s your friend, Ada mumbled against her husband’s chest. She didn’t care much for Trent Severs. He was a loud mouth braggart in high school, floating on the accomplishments of his older brother, John. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t changed a bit since graduation. She assumed Trent liked having Mike around because Mike was easy going, kept his mouth shut, and put up with his crap, but the last thing Ada wanted was her husband indebted to Trent Severs. I bet he’s getting all kinds of calls about work now.

***

Tuesday night found Sam watching as Sugar—signature red loafers clicking loudly on the floor—made his way to the podium. Earlier, Sam gave his full presentation to the council and to the smattering of citizens in attendance as Zeke from the Rainbow Falls Gazette sat front and center, madly taking notes on his laptop. Each council member took their allotted three minutes to respond with only Severs and Green adamantly objecting.

Sugar was the third citizen to comment. The small, slender man was dressed flamboyantly in tight black jeans and a well-fitted, brilliant red shirt—untucked—the tails hanging out from under a gray sweater embellished with equally bright fall leaves. He wore his dark hair short on the sides and longer on top with an artfully styled tuft just above his forehead.

Sam face-palmed. He should have warned Alan not to show up. This meeting was going to get ugly, and his prancing around was not going to help matters any. Suddenly, with a cold chill, Sam realized what he just thought—how Alan didn’t fit in, didn’t belong, and remembering their conversation on the bridge, he felt sick for it. If anyone should have a say in these plans, it should be Alan.

The town folk murmured restlessly as Sugar carefully unfolded the sheet of paper he held in his hand and smoothed it on the lectern, working out each crease before leaning in to speak into the microphone. I’m Alan Bunch, co-owner of Sugar and Spice Salon. Mr. Mayor, esteemed members of the council, thank you for allowing me to speak tonight.

He took a deep breath and the room quieted.

I agree with Councilman Green. It’s a stupid idea. Sugar snatched up the paper and marched back