Ted looked at Allison for reassurance, but she was looking at the door Cox had just exited. She turned back around and looked at Ted; she looked a little shaken herself. She’d probably seen the shove. She smiled and gave Ted a thumbs-up. “You got this,” she mouthed. He turned on the slide projector and the first image appeared on the screen: a shot of the Willard farmhouse circa 1900 with Mr. Willard standing on the porch in a white suit, a straw hat on his head. Someone turned out the lights, and Ted brought the picture into focus.

“Once upon a time . . . ,” Ted said. The timer started, the green light glowing, reminding him he had only three minutes to make his case.

He told the story of Willard Park, about the original farm and the plans for a community of twenty “stately homes in a countrified setting” Mr. Willard had proposed to build in 1890. Ted brought to life the soda fountain and the trolley tracks, the chickens the Willard family used to keep, and old Willard Pond—where kids sailed toy boats in summer and skated in winter. He told them the story of his parents, who’d bought one of the second generation of homes. There they were in front of the house, young again.

“Mom and Dad!” Terrance called.

Ted smiled gently at Terrance, giving him a wink to remind him that he was just supposed to listen.

There was Mr. Victor, who ran the general store; there Mr. Willard’s daughter in the 1970s—an old woman by then; there were the peacocks, feathers spread.

“Remember we played tickle with the feathers, Ted?”

Ted shook his head at Terrance, and showed a series of photos of children playing, at the fountain, on the green, on the playground over the years.

“We used to play marbles!”

Ted closed his eyes. All of the work he’d done. All of the effort selecting just the right slides, just the right words—just the right everything—and now Terrance was spoiling it.

“Down by the creek,” Ted started, showing a slide of a young couple picnicking, circa 1920.

“We played army,” Terrance called.

“Terrance,” Ted said, his voice firm.

Terrance stood and waved his hat above the crowd. He clambered over legs until he got to the aisle, and took a bow. People laughed and clapped good-naturedly.

He joined Ted at the lectern. “Not now, Terr,” he said, a whisper that got caught in the mic and amplified. A few people laughed. Ted swallowed. He could still regain control of the room.

“Children have been sledding on the hill by Wythe Manor—” Ted projected a slide of the sledding hill at the turn of the last century.

Terrance reached for the microphone. Ted moved it away from his hand, but Terrance reached for it again, smiling.