Angels Don't Cry. Amanda Stevens

anything against progress, mind you, but I just think— Who!”

      “You remember Drew Maitland, don’t you?” Wilma asked smugly, noting the silence on the other end with immense satisfaction.

      Bernice finally found her breath again. “Well! I never thought that boy would have the nerve to show his face in this town again.”

      “Nerve was one thing Drew Maitland was never short on,” Wilma remarked dryly. “Remember all those pranks he used to pull, instigating all those wild parties down by the river? Not to mention what he did to Ann Lowell and her sister. Although I can’t say Aiden’s part in that whole sordid mess surprised me any. I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but she always was a wild one. Ann was so sweet and courteous. It was such a shame, her having to leave town like that.”

      “Well, it seems mighty peculiar to me, that company sending him down here to do their business. Ann’s property is one of the pieces they’ve been trying to buy for months. I can’t imagine she’d want to do business with Drew Maitland. I know ten years is a long time, but people around here don’t forget things. There’s still talk about what he did—”

      “People love to talk, you know that.” Wilma pushed her face closer to the window as she strained to catch a last glimpse of the green car as it swooshed through the intersection. “Nothing Drew Maitland does should surprise anyone here in Crossfield anymore. I declare, when he walked into that church at Aiden’s memorial service, I half expected the roof to collapse.”

      “Oh, I know,” Bernice agreed piously. “But to give the devil his due, he did sit in the back and he left before the service was over. At least he spared poor Ann that much. I don’t think she even knew he was there until I—well, I happened to mention to her at the cemetery that I thought it was him. Poor little thing turned pale as anything. I thought she was going to pass out cold—”

      “And who could blame her, a shock like that—”

      “Wilma! He’s turning left down River Road. You don’t suppose he’s actually going out to the farm? Surely even he wouldn’t have that kind of gall—”

      “Call Gail! If he’s going to the farm, he’ll have to pass by her house...”

      * * *

      Ann stood under the dappled shade of one of the giant black locust trees lining the sidewalk of the Crossfield, Texas, city hall. She was late, but she couldn’t seem to muster the courage needed to close the distance between herself and the crowd milling about outside the arched loggia as they waited for the town meeting to begin.

      The breeze shifted, stirring the branches overhead and loosening a shower of tiny, white blossoms from the fragrant clusters. The heady scent filled her with nostalgia for long, lazy summer days, for moon-drenched nights by the river, for a time when she had been young and innocent and head over heels in love.

      She shook her head slightly, trying to dispel the feeling, but ever since her cousin had called her at the university that morning with the news, Ann’s mind had refused to register anything but all those elusive memories and those two, fateful words. “Drew’s back.”

      All day, in anticipation of seeing him at this meeting tonight, Ann had tried to prepare herself. “It doesn’t matter,” she reminded herself over and over again. “It’s been ten years. Nothing lasts that long. Except maybe hate.” Or love. Luckily she felt neither of those emotions for Drew Maitland anymore. What she felt for him now, and for what he was trying to do to her town, was contempt.

      How like him to imagine he could waltz back into Crossfield after all these years and change everything to suit his needs, his own self-serving ambition. She’d once been almost destroyed by his selfishness, but not this time. This time, she wouldn’t run away. He didn’t know it yet, but Drew Maitland was in for the fight of his life.

      Bracing her shoulders with renewed determination, Ann crossed the lawn to the sidewalk leading up to the white stucco building. The excited chatter of the crowd filled the air like a swarm of angry bumblebees. Ann had never before seen such an enthusiastic turnout for a town meeting. But then, Crossfield had never before been threatened by a big city developer, she reminded herself grimly.

      “Ann! Over here!”

      Ann looked up to see Viola Pickles, president of the local Historical Society, waving a picket sign as she bore down upon Ann with resolve. Every time Ann saw Viola, she wondered if the little woman’s sour disposition was the result of her forty years as a junior high school teacher or a self-fulfilling prophesy of her name. Ann was only too aware of the impact and expectations a name could elicit. For that very reason, she’d changed hers a long time ago.

      “Ann, I need to talk to you before the meeting,” Viola said urgently, clamping down on Ann’s arm with surprising vigor. “Have you heard about the representative Riverside Development has sent down here?”

      “Yes, I heard,” Ann replied curtly, extricating herself from the clawlike grasp as she continued toward the steps, ever mindful of the curious stares, the whispered comments behind hands.

      Viola blinked once behind the large, black-rimmed glasses she wore as she struggled to keep pace with Ann. “You already know about Drew Maitland?” There was a faint note of disappointment in her tone.

      “Jack called me this morning between classes. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Viola, I really do have to run—” Ann started up the steps with the older woman trailing her like a lost puppy.

      “This isn’t going to change your position, I hope.” Viola’s voice rose in corresponding increments as Ann’s longer legs widened the distance between them. “There’re a lot of people counting on you to represent us. We don’t want Crossfield razed to make room for shopping malls and condos! You tell them that, Ann!” Viola called after her as Ann opened the glass door and stepped inside the air-conditioned corridor.

      Her high heels clicked against the black and white mosaic tile floor as she hurried across the lobby to the council chambers, pausing outside the door for a moment to take a deep breath.

      Go on, open the door. she commanded herself. Get it over with. You’ll probably find he’s nothing like you remembered. You won’t feel a thing.

      “Famous last words,” she muttered as she reached for the knob and turned it. She opened the door, stepped inside, and stopped, her eyes sweeping the room with one frantic glance.

      The blood pounded in her ears. Her stomach gave a violent quiver. Her knees began to tremble as a powerful relief flooded through her. He isn’t there. It had all been a mistake. Drew hadn’t come back.

      “Ann! Over here! We’re saving you a seat!” At the sound of her name being called, Ann stepped into the large room where dozens of folding chairs had been set up for the town meeting. The Historical Society had grouped themselves toward the front of the room, and several of the matrons were emphatically motioning her to join them as they zealously brandished placards with messages ranging from NO BULLDOZING IN CROSSFIELD to simply RIVERSIDE DEVELOPMENT GO HOME.

      With a reluctant sigh Ann started toward them, noting that the only vacant chair left in the whole room was smack in the middle of their group between Bernice Ballard and Wilma Gates, who were staring at her with avid curiosity. Like a horde of locusts, they descended on her as soon as she sat down, stinging her with questions from every side.

      “Have you seen him yet?”

      “What’s he like now?”

      “What did he have to say for himself?”

      “What’s he look like?”

      Before Ann could open her mouth to answer, the side door opened into the council chambers. Mayor Sikes walked into the room, followed by Drew Maitland, and the entire Historical Society took a collective breath.

      “Drew...” His name slipped through Ann’s lips on her own suspended breath as a thousand memories—images from a lifetime ago—cascaded