Page 9 of The Boy Who Cried Bear
As far as Émilie knows, Yolanda is just here enjoying some time to herself while supervising final construction. If we told her that Yolanda insists on acting as her representative—taking on a leadership position—she’d put Yolanda on the first flight out. But there’s another reason Yolanda is here. She has early-onset Parkinson’s, and she’s dealing with that, while avoiding telling Émilie, whose husband died of it.
So Yolanda has a good reason for staying. Also, she more than pulls her weight. She might be a billionaire’s granddaughter—and an extremely successful entrepreneur herself—but she lives in the dorm-style housing for residents, insists on taking her turn at even the worst jobs, and doesn’t demand anything … except this: that she be treated as her grandmother’s representative.
“Phil wasn’t at the meeting either,” I say. “He’s the town manager, the closest thing to a mayor we have, and if he wasn’t there—”
“His girlfriend was. She’ll tell him what he needs to know.”
True. Also, if Phil wanted to be there, he could have been, but with Isabel in attendance, he hadn’t bothered.
“We weren’t discussing what to do about the bear,” Dalton says as he comes up behind me. “We were discussing how to convey the threat to the residents, now that we have kids in town. That’s why Isabel and Mathias were there. As the boys’ therapists.”
“And Will?”
Dalton opens his mouth. He’s going to say that Anders was there as head of the militia, in charge of patrols. And as soon as his mouth opens, he shuts it, because he sees the trap.
Claim Anders was there as militia, and it supports Yolanda’s claim that the meeting was about dealing with the bear. It wasn’t. Anders was there because that’s how we run things. Administration is loosely structured, as it was in Rockton. Anders had been with us checking for signs of a bear, so he might as well join the meeting. Yolanda was not, so we didn’t inform her.
“We have a fucking grizzly bear,” Dalton says. “A potentially desperate predator who may be willing to try its luck with human prey. It was urgent. If you heard we were meeting at the Roc, you could have joined us. We have no idea what you do and do not want to be called in on, so we’re going to handle it the way we handle every crisis. The crisis itself comes first. We bring in everyone who needs to be consulted. You are entitled to answers before a town meeting. You are entitled to give your opinion. You are not entitled to an engraved invitation.”
“I can patrol with Will, Kenny, and Kendra,” she says. “I have a gun, and I might not be a hunter, but I can also shoot a rifle.”
I swear I can hear Dalton grinding his teeth. This is how Yolanda ends arguments. Instead of acknowledging his point, she moves on. By dropping the matter, she’s saying he’s right. He just wishes she’d admit it. Personally, I don’t care, as long as we do move on.
“Fine,” Dalton says. “Talk to Will. Right now, we have a meeting to run.” He starts to say more, and I’m sure it’s something like “Do you need an invitation to that, too?” but he decides against it and heads to get his boots.
CHAPTER THREE
In Rockton, I instituted the practice of town meetings, for which Dalton may never forgive me. His way of handling communications was, well, not to handle them at all. That’s why he has Anders. Which left his deputy passing information to a few key people, who’d tell more people, who’d tell a few more people …
One can imagine how well that system worked. Anders ended up spending more time correcting misheard accounts than he had spreading the initial news. To Dalton, the problem was that people felt they were owed information when they were not. They should trust that his team had the situation under control.
I saw the chaos that created, so I convinced Dalton to let me run town meetings when we had information that we—okay, I—thought needed to be shared with residents.
In theory, it’s an obvious solution that should have been instituted years ago. We’re a democracy, damn it. People have a right to know things that affect them.
Except … we’re not a democracy. We can’t be. I may have grumbled about Rockton being a police state, but it was more like a factory. There were people in charge, who were not elected to those positions, and whose word was law on the factory floor. And, like the average factory, the people on the floor got screwed while those in charge reeled in the profits.
Haven’s Rock is more like a not-for-profit organization. There are still people in charge, though, and they are not elected. We’re like a board of directors that is fiscally responsible to the organization, which includes the residents. Everyone in that organization should be treated well and fairly. Entitled to a say in the running of the organization, though? No.
And while town meetings sound good in theory, in practice there are days when I kinda wish we just went back to Dalton’s way. Because the more information you give people, the more they feel empowered and, again, technically that’s a good thing, but it’s like a new hire wanting to conduct a forensic accounting on the company’s books. We’re running a complex system here, and having newcomers constantly questioning our choices only slows things down.
Haven’s Rock is also proving different because of the new dynamics. We allow couples and families. Again, in theory, that is an excellent move. Early Rockton did allow couples—Émilie and her husband went there fleeing political persecution. But when you’re dealing with family units, it changes the town dynamics, and I see that as I get up on the podium. I don’t look out on a community of individuals, united by happenstance. I look out on clusters of couples and separate individuals.
In Rockton, people like Anders and Kenny had put a lot of effort into community building. They’d made newcomers feel welcome with a vast array of activities. We need to do more of that here, and we haven’t had the chance. Of forty townspeople, over a dozen are staff, and we’re a tight-knit group. Among the residents, we have one family—Dana, Carson, and Max—and four couples. That leaves a group of singles drifting about, mostly keeping to themselves, not sure where they fit in.
I start with my usual welcoming preamble. In a regular meeting, there’d be community updates. Today, I get straight to business.
“Some of you may have heard there was a disturbance on today’s hike,” I say. “A brown bear was spotted in the forest.”
Notice how I say “brown bear” rather than “grizzly”? Same creature, but one term is more loaded than the other.
“It came too close to the hikers for comfort,” I say. “The bear did not attempt to engage with them and fled at the first loud noise, which is good. But we are heading into hibernation season, where older or sick bears may become desperate for sustenance to get them through to spring.”
Desperate for “sustenance” is so much better than “might eat people,” but a ripple still goes through the residents. It’s even more pronounced with the staff who’ve been in the Yukon long enough to know this is a real concern.
“So we are taking this very seriously,” I continue. “All forest forays will be canceled until this is dealt with. If you were scheduled for the upcoming berry gathering or logging shifts, please speak to Phil, who will reassign you. The next hike is canceled, as is the fishing expedition.”
“What?” Grant says. “Why?”
