A throb at her temple reminded her of the headache that had come and gone all day, accompanied by periodic bouts of spaciness. And although her hearing was fine, once in a while words seemed scrambled. On her way in from the parking lot, she could have sworn she heard someone say, “Jelly and egg man,” which simply couldn’t have been correct.
Brian Fredericksen slid into the front row next to her. “Sorry I’m late.”
With five minutes until the gavel dropped, Brian wasn’t actually late, but he was also the kind of dad who coached his AYSO soccer team with motivational-poster mantras like, “Early is on time and on time is late!” Neatly bearded and unconventionally handsome, he was an ex–real estate lawyer who’d stayed home with the kids to support his CEO wife’s career and now volunteered wherever his daughters’ interests were concerned. He himself was uncomfortable on horseback, but his wife had done competitive dressage in her teens and twenties, and now both daughters were horse crazy. After meeting at the riding center several years ago, where his daughters’ hearts had melted over Holly’s unloved animals, Brian had, over time, become Holly’s unpaid but essential legal adviser, communications officer, and development assistant for Horse Stability. She was as grateful for his easy companionship as his enthusiastic help.
“How are we looking?” asked Holly, not wanting to turn around to read the room.
Without hesitation, Brian did just that, scanning faces, nodding at several people, and doing a quick head count. “Not bad. I emailed, texted, Facebooked, and tweeted this morning, trying to get the numbers up. I’m sure we’ll get a few more, even if they’re a little late.”
Holly glanced over at Theresa, who was watching them intently. Brian grinned and gave her a thumbs-up, which caused Theresa and Larry to go into a huddle with their lawyer.
“Who does this?” complained Holly pointlessly. “It’s like moving to Taos and telling everyone there are too many art galleries.”
“Either way, they’re outnumbered,” Brian reassured her. “Dane said he’d speak, and so did Mary Rose. I think we can count on Danielle, Cooper, Angie, Nikita, and probably Shirin. Plus whoever shows up and wants to talk but didn’t get in touch. Even if they keep people to two minutes, we should be able to dominate the comment time. I honestly don’t know who wants to stand up against horses in this town.”
“Besides the obvious parties, of course.”
“Of course.”
As he scrolled on his phone to see whether anyone had retweeted his call to action, the chairperson rapped his gavel, calling the meeting to order. Brian reached over and gave her arm a squeeze. Her head throbbed again, and suddenly Holly felt distracted and unprepared, unable to concentrate as the chairperson asked the board to approve the minutes of the last meeting before laying out the agenda of the meeting before them.
“As I’m sure most of you are here to speak for or against the proposed riding trail extension, and as none of the other matters before us are urgent, I propose we table all other discussion until our next quarterly meeting and focus solely upon the arguments for and against the riding trail. I understand both sides have lawyers . . .”
Brian squeezed her arm again. “We’ve got this,” he whispered.
She had allowed Brian to talk her into a quick celebratory drink, even as she hoped they weren’t celebrating too soon. The board of appeals had ruled in their favor, but they still faced a vote by the trustees—next month at the soonest—allowing the Yadaos more time for threats and shenanigans. But she owed him at least a drink for his efforts. The testimony had been overwhelmingly in support of the bridle path extension.
“Cheers,” Brian said, raising his IPA as their waitress departed.
She lifted her glass of white—the safest option where headaches were concerned—and clinked it against his bottle.
They had ended up in a sports bar because, at 9:15 on a weeknight, the restaurants with a good wine selection were already closing. Only an hour from downtown Chicago and things got downright provincial. In general, she didn’t mind—except for the wine, which tasted like the box it was dispensed from had been stored in the sun.
“You’re doing a lot of good work for the community,” she said.
“As are you,” he said.
Brian really was a good guy. And while stay-at-home dads in Barrington Hills were still subject to occasional snide remarks from women as well as other men, Holly knew he’d been very successful in the business world. He brought an easy confidence and competence to parenting, something she wished she didn’t find so appealing.
“We should probably talk about the gala,” she said suddenly.
“Whoa, Nellie.”
He was right—it was the wrong moment, and yet the annual fundraiser for Horse Stability would be here before she knew it. What had once been a catered party in her home during which Holly made a plea for donations had now become a black-tie ball at the Chicago Cultural Center opposite Millennium Park. In the former public library, under the world’s largest Tiffany glass dome, attendees would pay $250 per plate for an elegant dinner accompanied by live jazz. Before, during, and after, she would work the room, targeting the donors and influencers—with a little help.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t bring it up after you just sat through a two-hour board hearing,” she said.
Brian sighed cheerfully. “Everything seems to be on track. A couple of the VIPs
