Page 25 of Nailed

Inside, the place smelled of old floor wax and gym rubber. The assembly hall specifically was lined with rows of uncomfortable folding chairs and not a single one of them was empty today.

My heart was in my throat.

I knew I had bags under my eyes from not sleeping the night before and I had to wipe my palms on my jeans every few minutes to get rid of the sheen of sweat that beaded my skin.

Staler than the smell of the room was the atmosphere. It was so thick with disapproval and anger that it felt like I could choke on it. Every now and again, a particularly stank eye would catch mine and I tried hard not to shrink in my seat.

But Tim hadn't been lying. I knew very well that everyone here despised me and would make no secret of that.

“Hey.”

Callum's deep, calm voice next to me pulled me from the flurry of thoughts that had begun to cloud my mind. I was suddenly aware of his body weight next to me like an anchor, his arm a grounding force pressed against mine. And when I looked at him, his steady gaze didn't falter at all.

“I'm right here, okay? You're going to be fine,” he said.

I'd learned over the course of the past few months that a single promise from him was worth more than an iron-clad contract meant to many people, and he held to his word with far more integrity.

It meant something, held ground.

I took a deep, shaky breath. “Thanks for coming here with me.”

“Don't mention it,” he replied.

We waited for the meeting to get underway, and eventually it started with a strict rhythm. The local Chairperson's aide hobbled up to the mini stage and introduced the agenda. His words washed over me like water and I barely caught any of it.

Every time I started to feel myself grow overwhelmed, Callum would reach out and use his thumb to rub a circle onto the back of my hand.

It was such a small gesture of reassurance but it tethered me to the present and eased my nerves.

Part of me despised the weakness I felt surrounded by what felt like a mob. I wanted to be a strong, resilient, tenacious Lauren. But I just couldn't, not today. Not when it felt like it was just me against all these dozens of people who wanted nothing more than to drive me out of town.

That thumb was a reminder that I wasn't actually alone. I had someone with me.

“Now we call on Tim Chalmers and Eliza Atkins,” the aide said, ushering Tim and another woman I didn't recognize onto the stage for their presentation.

A stark projector flickered to life and bathed the two townies in pale light as Tim cleared his throat and Eliza slid her glasses further up her nose. Once things were finally set up, photos of old buildings popped onto an awkwardly-spaced sideshow. Libraries and coffee houses and house shops. Last but not least, the firehouse. In between were pics of firemen dating back to what looked like the 50s; generations caught on camera displayed proudly as some copyright free emotional music blared too loud in the background.

I cringed, trying hard not to visibly react lest I incite even more anger from the rest of my neighbors. When the slides were done, Tim gave it a few moments to really set in before launching into an impassioned speech.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we're gathered here today to discuss one of the most egregious insults to have ever been leveled at our city. Now, I know that most of you seated have lived here for your entire lives. You were raised here or raised families here, and so are all aware of our beautiful history,” he said.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Callum's thumb pressed gently into my hand again.

I wasn't sure what to make of the opening. Things had gone from stifled and stuffy to camp and melodramatic in an instant.

If I didn't know that it was serious business, I might've assumed this was a parody out of context. But looking around, there was no amusement on anyone else's face. Even if the delivery was slightly off-kilter, it was increasingly obvious that the sentiment behind all of this was real.

I continued listening.

“We have been under siege for a long time now, subject to venture capitalists and spoiled rich yuppies looking to “slum it” for a few months while destroying our cultural landmarks and heritage sites in the process,” Tim added.

This time, his eyes landed right on me as he finished the sentence and I wanted to shout out that I wasn't a yuppie. Or a venture capitalist, for that matter. But there was that stupid word again, the same one Rafe had ironically used to describe me when we first met. Somehow this felt worse.

“Yes, some of them are here today and hopefully we get to hear their response to our grievances. But before we call one of them up to answer, we want to give you, the people of Chicago, an opportunity to offer your questions and protests. Peacefully, of course.”

I wondered just how “peaceful” things would stay for the course of this meeting. Tim's speech and presentation seemed to add fuel to the fire that was just starting to bloom in the crowd.

Soon enough, some pretty heinous accusations were being flung indirectly at me, but each one stung.