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respectfully.
    Martha directed them over to a row near the middle and sat, draping her sweater over the back of the chair. “Bob looks ticked,” she murmured.
    Bob poured a glass of water from the pitcher in the middle table, offering it down the line. His face, usually affable, was reddened and the crease in his forehead more pronounced.
    “Geez, full house tonight.” Martha surveyed the room, nodding to familiar faces while Sherry sat expressionless.
    She worried that they were going to build the hospital over on Grogan St., where Chris had the accident. Part of her knew it wasn’t healthy that she had been visiting the spot nearly ever week, alone, for the past two years. When Denise was older she would bring her, but until then she felt it was best this way.
    Ned and Kate kept their struggles with the town secret. Sherry was in the dark about their battle to have the site developed. It was a safety hazard. Although the road had been closed since Chris died, they knew one day someone would venture past the signs and find it.
    The town was growing, and even if a new hospital wasn’t built there now, sooner or later that area would have purpose. It was a good parcel of land with fertile soil. If the Bakers had the money they would buy it, but they already owned over one hundred and fifty acres, which was ample farmland.
    Sherry heard the double doors at the entrance close and she looked back. Ned nodded to Bob to proceed.
    “This meeting will come to order,” Bob announced. “First order of business.” Bob motioned Alan to start the meeting.
    Alan rose, clearing his throat.
    “Err…first order of business is the development of the parcel of land next to Baker’s Farm, on Grogan St.” He paused. “Town residents would like this to be the location for the new hospital.”
    Alan passed a document to Bob, who quickly reviewed it and handed it to Robert Decker, who seemed to take forever to read through it. Guests shuffled, and then he whispered in Bob’s ear, who then passed the message on to William.
    Bob tipped his head in assent to Robert and William, and then Bob cleared his throat and lowered the reading glasses he had perched high on his nose.
    “The State has requested that the hospital be built closer to the highway. Zoning was denied for Grogan St.”
    More shuffling. Someone shouted out. “Where? How close to the highway?”
    Alan cleared his throat, speaking over the chatter. “Sir, if you can please rise and state your name for the records.”
    A tall, middle-aged man rose and lifted his hand. “I’m Tom Johnson.”
    “Ruben’s boy?” Alan asked.
    Ruben Johnson had lived in Cog Hill all his life. His wife left him ten years ago for his drinking. Since then, Ruben had been raising hell in town: bar fights, stealing alcohol and food, and breaking into houses (although some argued that in his drunkenness he simply thought he was home; that the break-ins were not malicious).
    “Yes, sir. Err...I was just wonderin’, how close to the highway are they puttin’ this hospital? My pop’s got a real bad hip and he can’t get around too much anymore. I got a real problem with you puttin’ the hospital up farther away from us, especially if you plan on shuttin’ down the one we’ve got now.”
    Some grunted agreement while others booed. Bob used the microphone in front of him, which let out a loud squeak.
    “Now…w…we’ll come to order.” The shuffling stopped as Bob continued. “We have no plans to shut down the old hospital, Tom, so rest assured. That’s why the city wants to put the new one over by the highway, to cover the rest of the growing population.” Tom was still standing. Bob waited a moment and Tom sat back down, satisfied.
    “Isn’t that land owned by the Bakers?” A voice called from the middle of the room. He rose, stating his name. “Reggie Maxwell.” While tipping his bright red hunter’s cap.
    “It figures,” Martha mumbled.
    Reggie Maxwell was close friends with