“Who’s on the board?” Brandon asked.
I counted them off.
“Shelly Haskins,” I said. “Miguel Ruiz. Ruth Abernathy. Marlene Voss’s grandson, Kyle, who runs their farm now. Reverend Collins from the Methodist church. Kayla Brandt, the young mother with the toddler who was in line that day. And Earl Lindquist, because somebody needs to be cranky.”
Brandon laughed. Then he stopped.
“That’s six,” he said. “You said seven.”
I looked at him.
“The seventh seat,” I said, “goes to whoever is the branch manager of Farmers & Merchants in Millbrook.”
He didn’t move.
“As long as they live in Millbrook,” I said. “Not commuting from the city. Living here. In town. Shopping at the IGA. Eating at the diner. Going to the bake sale.”
“Mrs. Whitaker—”
“Your year’s up in April,” I said. “Mr. Hale will offer you a promotion. Back to Des Moines. Regional something. A big office. A big raise. You’ll be able to buy a lot of suits.”
