A young woman strode to the lectern on the edge of the stage.
“Welcome to KLSW’s mayoral debate. I’m Lucy Krakowski, with the Lost Harbor Tribune. We’re going to start with a short statement from each candidate, and then I’ll pose some questions that have been submitted by Lost Harbor residents. I may have a few questions of my own too, so stay on your toes, candidates. Let’s start with Trixie Tran.”
She brought the microphone to Trixie, then took a step back. Trixie rose to her feet, somehow looking much taller than Lulu remembered. “I’m Trixie Tran, owner and operator of Soul Satisfaction Ice Cream, one of the most successful businesses on the boardwalk. My family came here as immigrants when I was nine, and we more or less embody the American dream. I’m the next generation of that dream. Lost Harbor needs to look to the future and hear the voices of young people. We need forward-thinking leadership regarding issues like climate change. If you do me the honor of voting for me, I’ll lead Lost Harbor in a new direction.”
A new direction…eyeing the salt-of-the-earth citizens surrounding her, with their work boots and canvas jackets and baseball caps, Lulu wasn’t sure that message would resonate.
“Next up, Malcom Crow.” To the sound of polite applause for Trixie’s statement, the moderator brought the microphone to the native gentleman with the porcupine quill boots.
He came to his feet. With his silvered black hair and sober expression, he radiated a kind of gravitas that even the abrupt squawk of the rooster next to him couldn’t disturb. He ignored the fowl and addressed the crowd. “My fellow Lost Harborites, this is a time of reckoning and reflection. That’s why our old mayor walked off the job. He didn’t want to do that kind of work. Ever since we found out how this town got its start, people’ve been wondering what’s next. I’ll tell you what’s next. Let a Native Alaskan lead the way. If you choose me as your mayor, I’ll make sure everyone gets a chance to speak and be heard. We’ll work this out. The Crow family stuck with this town when we could have left with the others. Now I’m asking you all to stick with us. Vote Crow.”
Applause swept across the room, and Lulu realized that Tristan’s real competition wasn’t Trixie, or the rooster. It was the man in the khakis and soft-sided porcupine boots.
“And now, let’s hear from Tristan Del Rey,” said the moderator as she brought him the mic.
Tristan took hold of it and rose slowly to his feet, notepaper in hand. Lulu actually felt nervous on his behalf. She balled her hands into fists and silently urged him on. In for a penny, in for a pound, after all. If she was going to fake-manage a campaign, she wanted him to win.
“Thanks, Malcolm. Hard act to follow, man,” he said after clearing his throat.
A ripple of laughter cascaded through the crowd.
“I’m Tristan Del Rey and I’ve been fishing here in Lost Harbor since I was two. Fishing is the backbone of this town. Without us fishermen, the only industry would be tourism. All those RVs and cruise ships, they come from outside. I’m running to represent the people who live and work here, who put their blood, sweat and tears into Lost Harbor.”
Lulu held back a squeal of excitement. He’d used her line about blood, sweat and tears! She’d thought of it while watching a fisherman in oilskins weigh an enormous halibut on an overhead scale. The thing was heavy, and it dripped blood on his slick orange coveralls.
Tristan glanced down at the piece of notepaper in his hands, cleared his throat again, glanced at the audience, then down at his feet. Oh no. Something was wrong. The silence dragged on, punctuated with a few rustlings and chair-squeakings. She wished she could jump onstage and do a tap dance to distract everyone.
Suddenly, Tristan balled up her page of notes and stuck it in his pocket. “You know something? Malcolm is right.” He turned to the older man, whose dark silver-streaked head tilted up in surprise. “You deserve to be mayor. I’m gonna vote for you. Just treat us fisherman right, is all I ask.”
He sat down as a cascade of gasps and questions rolled through the room. Lucy took the microphone from his hand. “Are you dropping out of the mayoral race, Tristan?”
“I am. Malcolm Crow has my vote. It’s about time we have a Native Alaskan be our mayor. Past time. I endorse him. Sorry, Trix.”
Next to him, Trixie was glaring at him in absolute outrage.
“This is certainly bombshell news,” said Lucy. “Do you have anything more to say?”
Tristan swept his gaze across the room. Lulu couldn’t read the emotion in his sea-gray gaze. Maybe embarrassment? Regret? Relief? She didn’t know him well enough to say.
“Sorry, I’m just a fisherman,” he said finally. With a shrug of his big shoulders, he gestured toward the backstage area. “Should I—yeah. I’ll get off the stage now. Thanks, everyone.”
He headed offstage with that long, rolling stride. The crowd was still buzzing with speculation and the excitement of the drama. Lulu left her seat and made her way down the aisle, dodging knees and boots. She saw no need to attend the rest of the debate. Her stint as a campaign manager was over. Shortest job she’d ever had, and that was saying something.
Outside the auditorium, she scanned the parking lot, absently noting the spectacular view of mountains in the background. Imagine going to school in a place where you saw that vista every day.
Finally she spotted Tristan swinging into a dusty black truck. She ran after him, glad she’d worn her new trainers instead of her boots from last night. He was already underway when she reached him, but he paused and gestured for her to get in.
“Looks like I’m going to have to let you go,” he said lightly. “Campaign’s over.”
“Well, sorry, but you can’t because I quit. There’s this other candidate who really caught my eye and I have to follow my heart. Those black tail feathers, that throaty crowing…my God.”
He shot her a cautiously amused look. “If you’re about to give me a hard time for quitting the race, you can skip it. I’m sure I’ll get shit from all sides. My sister, my crew, every single fisherman from here to Dutch Harbor.”
“Why should I give you a hard time? I just left my job in the dark of night with absolutely no notice. I have no grounds to criticize anyone.”
“True enough. I guess we’re a couple of dropouts.”
“Cheers to us. Shall we celebrate? Bottle of champagne, perhaps?”
“I don’t drink,” he reminded her. “But sometimes I really wish I did.” They reached the main road that threaded through town. He paused, his hand on the turn signal, clearly trying to decide which direction to go.
She really needed to get back to the boat, but something told her he needed company right now. A little more time wouldn’t hurt anything.
“Ice cream sundae then?”
He groaned. “Trixie will probably bar me from the premises of the ice cream shop. Man, the look on her face.”
“She looked fierce, all right. But she’s still at the debate.” She lifted her eyebrows suggestively. “Surely she has someone else manning the shop?”
“Good point. I knew I hired you for a reason.”
“Something to do with the potentially homicidal maniac pursuing me, but I take your point.”