Page 13 of Sugar & Shadows

But Sabrina? I couldn’t do it.

She was rich and successful and did whatever she wanted whenever she wanted.

She didn’t deserve my compassion.

Was I a bit jealous? Sure.

I’d love a fresh start, complete with a prestigious job that came with all kinds of incentives, a fancy car, and the ability to move anonymously through a city.

Here in Maplewood, I couldn’t leave my house without plastering on a big smile. Couldn’t not pet a dog or help a citizen with their groceries.

I shook my head. What was happening to me? Where had all this negativity come from? I’d never experienced a sensation like this before.

My job and my position in this community were blessings. Wonderful opportunities I cherished.

It was the stress weighing on me since we’d been informed that we’d lost the Maple Festival. And knowing that I was facing the firing squad tonight.

It was only five thirty a.m., but I texted Logan anyway. He had animals to care for. He’d be up.

Gabe

Wanna train?

He responded within minutes.

Logan

Course. Bottle feeding a calf I delivered a couple of hours ago. Meet you in 30 min?

Though Logan Becker had been one of my closest friends since childhood, we were opposites in every way.

Where I wore pressed suits, he was usually dressed in work pants with some kind of bovine or ovine excrement on them. The man loved animals. Always had. As a veterinarian, he managed a small clinic in town while also taking on most of the large animal work throughout the county. He worked more hours than anyone I’d ever met, yet he was the epitome of laid-back. Happy-go-lucky. His farm was small and he was renting from an older citizen of Maplewood, but it allowed him the space to keep the animals he’d rescued and a lot of his equipment.

Once I’d changed and brushed my teeth, I headed to the small gym I’d set up in my garage. It was equipped with heavy bags, weights, mats, and several other essentials. A trip to the gym in town was out of the question. Shortly after I was elected, I’d tried, and I was stopped every few minutes by constituents who wanted to chat. Who asked questions and needed things from me.

My house was the one place where I could function without being hounded constantly.

So Logan would jog over and we’d work out together, usually early in the morning.

I’d been an anxious mess since the call had come in late on Friday afternoon. Vermont was filled with Maple Syrup, but there was only one official State Maple Festival every year.

It had been held in Maplewood for thirty years. It was the event. Most folks here spent all year preparing for it. The inn booked up a year in advance, and in the past, dozens of magazine articles and a few film crews had celebrated the magic of it.

I’d attended the festivities every year for nearly my entire life. My parents and my grandparents before them had farmed maple trees. I’d grown up trudging through the March snow to collect sap and boiling it in the sugar shack to make syrup.

We’d lived on the land, and every aspect of our lives revolved around it and its trees.

When my parents had retired so they could spend a good portion of the year in Florida, they sold the land to Josh, my cousin and the owner of the neighboring farm. These days, our entire family worked to support the operation.

And I was mayor.

Making decisions. Influencing policy. Keeping my hometown safe and prosperous.

That had been my goal, at least.

But I’d failed.

And in a matter of hours, the whole population would know.