The urgency of these upgrades weighed heavily. Resources were already stretched thin.
Reva let out a long sigh, pushing her hair back from her face as she stood and moved to the window. Outside, the trees lining Main Street were beginning to turn a deeper shade of green as summer settled in. The peaceful scene outside her office window did nothing to calm her mind. The weight of it all sat heavy on her chest.
How was she supposed to explain this to the town? The people who could barely afford their own homes, let alone pay extra assessments for retrofitting old buildings that had withstood decades without incident.
The office door swung open suddenly, and Reva startled, her hand flying to her chest.
Capri stood in the doorway, one hand gripping the handle, her face flushed as if she’d rushed over. She wore her usual outdoor gear—jeans, a fitted fleece jacket, and hiking boots, dirt smeared on her knees, looking like she had just come back from the river. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she said, closing the door behind her. “You weren’t answering your phone, so I decided to drop by.”
Reva exhaled, trying to settle her racing heart. “No, it’s fine. I just—” She gestured vaguely to the screen. “Got some… news.”
Capri raised an eyebrow and sauntered over, glancing at the screen as she flopped down in the chair across from Reva’s desk. “FEMA? What, are we getting disaster funds? I thought the earthquake damage wasn’t that bad.”
Reva shook her head and sat down, feeling the tension start to creep into her shoulders. “No, not exactly. They’re imposing strict new regulations on all the public buildings in town. The school, city hall, the community center—all of them need to be retrofitted to meet updated seismic codes. And it’s going to cost… well, way more than we have.”
Capri’s face shifted from curiosity to a frown, her brow furrowing as she processed the information. “What? You’re kidding. We’ve felt a few tremors, but nothing serious. Even the expert you brought in reassured us that this kind of thing is rare around here.”
“That’s not how the government sees it,” Reva muttered, leaning back in her chair. “They want us to be prepared for ‘worst-case scenarios,’ which is understandable…but we don’t have the money. Not without getting into serious debt. And I don’t know how the town’s going to react when they find out.”
“Can’t you fight it?” Capri asked.
Reva shook her head. “We could. But attorney fees would be costly, even if I did most of the legal work. In the end, we’re not likely to prevail. Public safety often trumps everything else when you take these things to court.”
Capri crossed her arms, leaning back in her seat, clearly irritated. “So, what? We’re just supposed to fork out money we don’t have because some suit in Washington says we might have a bigger earthquake?”
Reva nodded grimly. “Exactly. And if we don’t comply, they’ll shut down the buildings. Can you imagine the school closing or the chapel? The town would fall apart.”
Capri was silent for a moment, staring at the ceiling as if trying to wrestle down her frustration. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is the last thing we need right now. Tell them we’re not Los Angeles or Dallas—Thunder Mountain doesn’t have that kind of money lying around.”
“I know, Capri. Believe me, I am fully aware of the issue,” Reva said, rubbing her temples. “But it doesn’t matter. The mandate is nonnegotiable. We either comply, or face fines. Worse, we lose the town’s resources.”
Capri blew out a breath and stood, pacing the small office. “What’s the plan, then? You can’t just break this news at the next town meeting and hope for the best. People are going to freak out. You need a strategy.”
Reva watched her friend pace, the fire in Capri’s eyes a stark contrast to how overwhelmed she felt. “True, but I just got the news. Perhaps we could organize some kind of fundraiser, get the community involved. The Knit Wit ladies will probably try to help with something…but fundraising isn’t going to begin to cover what we need.”
Capri paused mid-step, her eyes narrowing in thought. “Maybe. But you’ve got to go bigger. You need to get people fired up. Make it about saving the town, not just paying for upgrades. We’ll have to do this online and get the word out far and wide.”
Reva bit her lip, mulling over Capri’s words. “I like how you are thinking. Unlike Jackson and other nearby towns, we’ll have to drum up financial support. I’m nearly certain people would rally around helping.”
Capri turned, hands on her hips, her gaze sharp. “They have to. This town means too much to everyone to let it fall apart because of some out-of-touch government mandate. You make it personal, make it about the future. We’ll figure it out. Heavens, I’ll talk to Bodhi, maybe we can organize something at Grand Teton Whitewater—urge some tourists to pitch in. People like a good cause.”
Reva’s shoulders relaxed just a little as Capri’s words sank in. She had been so focused on the overwhelming cost and logistics that she hadn’t considered what her friends—and the community—could really accomplish when they pulled together.
“Okay,” Reva said, a small smile creeping onto her face. “You’re right. We’ll figure this out. Maybe it’s not impossible after all.”
Capri gave her a determined nod. “Dang right, it’s not. We’ve gotten through worse than this.”
Reva couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope. They might be facing another storm, but maybe, just maybe, they could weather this one too.
“I think you’re onto something,” she admitted to Capri. She stood, came around the desk, and gave her friend a quick hug. “But that doesn’t answer why you stormed into my office. What’s up?”
Capri immediately sank into Reva’s office chair and plopped her head into her hands. “I’m in trouble.”
Alarm caused Reva to stiffen. “Oh, honey. What’s the matter?”
“I’m falling for him.”
“For whom?”
