“Well I know that.” Dan
had watched Patty McCafferty speak in a voice that transformed
her words into religion for the faithful. Maria Fischer’s
voice was a lesser instrument of that same fervor—a more
interesting voice.
“So how do you feel about helping
our cause?”
She waited for his response. He took
the last gulp of his beer and contemplated the iced tea.
“You want my views on another
forest preserve?”
“Well, maybe not.”
“Let’s talk about it sometime
when we don’t have to go to the bank.”
“I know I’m not supposed
to ask. But why all the secrecy? Why doesn’t whoever it
is just write a check for such a huge amount and take credit?
Not to mention the risk of loss. Isn’t it just crazy to
carry around cash?”
“I guess I don’t know,
really.”
The waitress asked if they’d
like something more to drink.
“You?” he asked Maria.
“Thanks, no.”
“I don’t care for anything,
thank you.”
“It is an individual donor,
right?”
“You don’t give up easily.”
“Well maybe you guys regularly
sneak around with cash paying people but we don’t.”
“I could take it back. Tell
them you don’t want it.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Tell me,” he said. “What
drives you to save an old growth forest?”
“It’s still there, and
like the capitol building, it’s part of where we came from
and what ties us to our past.”
“No. I don’t mean that.
What created this fire in your belly? Did you find it under a
tree?”
