Chapter Fifteen
FIFTEEN
“Well,” Miranda said, nursing a cup of warm apple cider, “at least we got nice weather for the rally.”
Faye angled her head up to the sky. Despite weather forecasters predicting a forty percent chance of rain for Sunday, the clouds had parted. Warmer temperatures had returned. It was a glorious October morning in upstate New York, and everyone had pulled out their chunky sweaters and smiles for the occasion. Instead of needing to squeeze their Say No to Hate Rally into the local high school gymnasium, it was able to go on as planned in front of the large rotunda of Woodstock Town Hall.
“Excuse me?” Shulamit said from the podium. “Can everybody hear me okay?”
“We can hear you,” Miranda shouted back.
Shulamit gave two thumbs-up to the crowd before proceeding. “I wanted to thank everyone so much for your patience. In just a few minutes, we’ll be starting our Say No to Hate Rally! Please, grab your signs, get comfy...and don’t forget to leave a message of unity on one of our display boards. Today is all about celebrating and acknowledging love.” With that, Shulamit headed to the side of the stage to talk to a waiting pastor.
“She really is the best of all of us.” Miranda sighed.
Faye had to agree. For all the bad of the world, it was nice to know that people like Shulamit still existed. Not even the worst anti-Semite could frazzle her love of humanity, and her desire to make the world better.
“And,” Miranda said, nudging her friend playfully, “now that I finally have you to myself...”
Faye tsked her teeth. “Stop.”
“I’m just saying, it seems like things between you and Greg are going really well.”
Faye had been keeping her friend abreast of the situation over the last few weeks. She texted her updates on his improvement regarding his speech, news about their search, all the dead ends they hit together. She supposed that Miranda—like all her friends, really—was waiting for some great reveal regarding his identity. When it didn’t happen, they were all surprised. But the fact Greg was still living with her, and without a defined date for his departure, clearly shocked Miranda to the core. For three years, after all, Faye had been adamantly staving off relationships.
“I’m sorry.” Faye grimaced. “I know I’ve been MIA recently, but I’ve just been so busy between the store and helping Greg—”
“Hey.” Miranda cut her off right there. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I mean, I was sort of hoping you missed hanging out with your best friends in the world because you were having amazing, incredible, nonstop sex with this magic golem you created...”
A shiver ran down Faye’s spine. “He’s not a golem.”
“Of course he’s a golem.” Miranda laughed. “I mean, look at him! He’s hot. He’s huge. He’s redheaded—which is totally your kink, by the way. He’s also still living with you...”
“He’s living with me because we haven’t figured out who he is yet.”
“Right.” She grinned. “And you won’t figure out who he is...because he’s a golem.”
Faye fell silent. She knew her friend was just joking, but it bothered her all the same. Her eyes drifted back to the stage, where Greg was now carrying a speaker beneath one arm. Her mind wandered back to the clay effigy she had created. She had given him bulk, size...
She had given him size everywhere.
Quickly, she shook the thought away. There was nothing remotely supernatural about what she and Greg were experiencing together.
His language skills had improved because she and Greg had been working for weeks on his speech. He was able to cook baladur cakes and help around the store because in addition to practicing his words, they had worked to reteach him important life skills, tasks he had forgotten alongside his accompanying amnesia. As for his ability to read and then regurgitate books like some sort of supernatural AI chatbot...okay, she had to admit, that one was weird.
But she wasn’t a doctor.
This was likely all...totally normal. Evidence of progress. Improvement. He was getting better. Which meant that Greg, the man , would eventually leave her. She wasn’t so far gone as to not realize the implication of that, to feel the weight of her own baggage, her own clay memory, about to shatter beneath the pressure.
Greg put the speaker down, and his eyes scanned the crowd, landing on Faye. He lifted one hand to acknowledge he had seen her, and she waved back...before Shulamit set him on yet another task. Watching him depart, she knew that Greg was growing on her, inching his way past her terra-cotta walls...until there were moments that she almost wished he was a golem.
Some force in her life that would protect her. Some creature who would love her unconditionally, but also, never leave. She was certain it would be easier to be crushed to death, trampled beneath the foot of some stone giant that would eventually go berserk ...than to have her heart broken once again.
“I’m kidding,” Miranda said suddenly.
“What?” Faye returned from her thoughts.
“He’s obviously not a golem,” she clarified, “and I didn’t mean to sound insensitive. I know that this whole experience must be hard for Greg. You, too. How is everything going, by the way? Where are you in the search for his true identity? I’m amazed at how much his language skills have improved.”
Greg had spent some time talking to Miranda and Shulamit when they had arrived early to help set up for the rally.
“He’s doing better,” Faye said. “His speech is almost entirely back to normal, save for some leftover remnants and glitches. Otherwise, I can’t really say there’s been any downside to having Greg live with me. He’s been helpful around the store. Hillel loves him. Unfortunately, poor guy... In terms of the search, we’re kind of at a standstill. We’ve decided to take a bit of a break from hunting for the time being.”
Miranda raised one eyebrow. “Oh, really?”
Faye brushed off the insinuation. “We’re just trying to be less proactive and more mindful. We’re actually going caving this afternoon.”
“Oh my Gawd!” Miranda got excited all over again. “Please tell me you are going to have hot all-night sex with Greg in a cave!”
“Of course not,” Faye spat back. “There are bats.”
Miranda snickered.
“Anyway,” Faye said, attempting to clarify once again. “We’ll still be doing Jewitch rituals, focusing our intentions, all of that good and helpful stuff. But as we’ve exhausted all earthly resources at this point, the only thing I can think to do now is step back. Let him relax a little. Let his mind relax a little, too. My hope is that letting go of any pressure associated with remembering will actually aid his memory in returning.”
“Soooooo—” Miranda pursed her lips together “—kind of like when folks finally stop trying to get pregnant...they get pregnant?”
“Exactly,” Faye quipped, “just like that.”
Miranda smirked from behind her cider.
Her best friend was acting coy.
“What?” Faye said, looking around her.
Seriously, she didn’t understand what Miranda was standing there smirking about. And then, Faye finally put it together.
“No...” Faye said.
“Why do you think we wanted Greg to move the speakers?”
“Miranda!” Faye shouted her name. “You’re pregnant!”
She threw her arms around her best friend. Miranda and Shully had been trying for a baby forever, and now it was finally happening.
“Shhhhh,” Miranda shushed her, leaning in to whisper. “It’s not common knowledge yet. Plus, Shully still has to let the synagogue know. But we both wanted to tell you. We were going to tell you together at the Rosh Chodesh Women’s Circle—but clearly, you were too busy entertaining the redheaded hottie who gives you salami.”
Faye laughed. “So, I’ve turned you into a believer of Jewitch magic then?”
“Well, I’ll tell you this much,” Miranda said, shrugging her shoulders at her own disbelief. “I would not have paid for three rounds of IUI if I had known that all we needed to do was nail a red pouch full of some weird-ass stuff to our wall. I don’t know, Faye. Maybe you should close Magic Mud Pottery and just do spells for people. We got babies coming, talking golems... What’s next? You gonna single-handedly bring down The Paper Boys with a hex?”
Faye laughed, and hugged her bestie again. “I’m so happy for you, Miranda.”
Just then, a blustering wind appeared from the north, causing kippahs to go flying off of heads, and papers to go soaring off the podium.
Perhaps there was part of her that never believed in her own power. When she considered the last three years, she had done many spells...but much like prayers in her childhood, they often went unanswered. And yet, Greg had appeared in her life, seemingly out of nowhere. Shulamit and Miranda were finally pregnant. She supposed she could look at the events as coincidence...but what if she really could bend the natural world to her will?
It seemed impossible, given her backstory. She was not an educated Jewish woman. She had a shoddy Hebrew school background and could barely read Hebrew. But maybe, when it came to embracing the divine Goddess that lived inside of her, none of that mattered. She was powerful enough simply because she believed, and because when she did magic...it connected her to six thousand years of Jewitch women who came before.
It was a lovely thought. As lovely as the knowledge that Faye would soon have a little baby in her life to spoil.
Faye pulled back from Miranda just in time to see Greg approaching from behind.
“Greg!” Faye said upon his return to her side. “You’ll never believe it. Shulamit is pregnant!”
“That’s amazing,” Greg said, and moved to hug Miranda as well. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” Miranda beamed. “We’re due in April.”
Faye gasped excitedly. “A Passover baby!”
“Let’s hope not,” Miranda said, shaking her head. “Can you imagine? Passover cake for every birthday, for the rest of her natural life. She’ll write memoirs about me, for sure. Seriously, Faye. Do you think you could work one of your spells to get her in around the late February time frame— Oh my Gawd! ”
Faye jumped, clutching her heart. “What? What is it?”
She had no idea what Miranda was freaking out about. And then, she spotted a tiny gray-haired woman pushing her way through the crowd. Clad in a black leather pageboy cap, with a tiny German flag sticking out of the side, was Nelly.
“I’m sorry,” Greg asked, glancing between the three of them. “Is something wrong?”
Faye grimaced. “Most definitely.”
Indeed, No-Filter Nelly had completed whatever meshuga look she was going for with the addition of lederhosen, black combat boots, and a T-shirt bearing the emblem of a German flag inside a heart.
She looked ridiculous. Like some tourist who had lost all their luggage at the Frankfurt airport on Christmas morning and had no choice but to buy their entire wardrobe from the gift shop of their hotel. Worse still, she had the audacity to be storming their way.
“This can’t be good.” Miranda shielded her face with one hand. “Oh God...she’s coming over here. Faye...do something!”
Faye threw her hands up. “What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know,” Miranda said. “Just...make sure people know we’re Jewish.”
Faye glanced to a family of five—the women all wearing long skirts and black stockings—standing beside them.
“Shabbat shalom.” Faye smiled.
It was Sunday.
The family looked askance at each other. Then, not trying to make things even more awkward, mumbled back the familiar refrain. Faye returned her line of sight to the fast-approaching Lufthansa jet heading in their direction.
“There you are,” Nelly said, infiltrating their inner circle. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Why?” Faye deadpanned. “You planning to lead us all in a bright-and-early goosestep this morning?”
“Hush,” Nelly said, ignoring her jab. “Don’t you see what I’m doing here?”
“Not really,” Miranda admitted.
“I’m infiltrating,” Nelly explained, before leaning in to whisper, “Everything I’m wearing... is German .”
“Should I ask?” Faye rolled her eyes over to Miranda. “I really don’t want to ask.”
“You should ask,” Miranda squeaked.
Despite no one asking, Nelly answered the question anyway. “Remember when I told you I was setting up a VPN in my basement?”
Faye covered her mouth. “You didn’t?”
“I did,” Nelly shouted happily. “I set one up, and I went on the dark board—”
“You mean the dark web,” Miranda corrected her.
“Whatever!” Nelly snapped back. “My point is, I found them. The group claiming responsibility for the flyers. The Paper Boys! And now, I’ve been listening to the online chatter. Did you know they got a local cell operating here in upstate New York? Can you believe it? The audacity of these people.”
“We’ve all seen the news, Nelly.”
“Well, that’s why I’m dressed up like this,” Nelly explained, pointing to herself again. “I’m infiltrating. Going undercover! They’ll see me wearing this Nazi gear, think I’m one of them, and invite me to one of their meetings. Once I’m in good with them, I’ll figure out what they’re planning next. And then we can finally use our stun batons to bring those Nazis to justice.”
Faye wanted to respond, but she couldn’t. Her lower lip had fully found its way to the sidewalk beneath her feet. Even Miranda, not one to ever miss an occasion for snark, was shaken into silence. Nelly had always been a bit eccentric, but now her antics were veering into dangerous territory.
“Nelly,” Faye said calmly, “you really should leave the investigating to law enforcement.”
Her whole face wrinkled up around her nose. “Why the hell would I do that?”
“Because that’s their job,” Faye snapped at her. “And because half the people in this town know you as the eccentric old Jewish lady who runs dog tea parties out of Second Glance Treasure. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”
“Nelly.” Miranda attempted a less hostile takeover. “This isn’t a game, okay? This isn’t a Netflix documentary, either. This is a vile and hateful anti-Semitic group that has committed really terrible crimes against innocent Jewish people all across America. I know you mean well...but you really don’t want to be drawing so much attention to yourself.”
“But that’s exactly what I want,” Nelly said, exasperated. “I want the Nazis to contact me. I want them to find me.” And then, without warning, Nelly snapped her feet together and attempted to give the one-arm salute. “Heil Hit—”
“Nelly!” Faye grabbed the old woman’s arm before she had a chance to cause a riot.
Nelly pulled her hand back, annoyed. “At least I’m being proactive. That’s more than I can say for the lot of you.”
“Do you not see us all here at the peace rally?” Miranda asked, incredulous.
“Blah.” Nelly spat out the word. “All this peace and love nonsense. You think these alter cockers care about peace and love? You think they’re gonna eat some pumpkin-spiced babka, hear a speech from the cantor, and suddenly realize they shouldn’t hate Jews? You’re all living in a dream world. A la-la-lovefest fantasy land. Shame on you when— as Jews, especially —you should know better.”
With that, Nelly was off, pressing through the crowd, screaming about how much she loved visiting Germany in the 1930s.
Faye sighed. “Do you think Germany would take her?”
Miranda snickered. “Faye.”
“You know you were thinking it.”
Miranda laughed. Faye did, too. And then her eyes caught on Greg. He wasn’t joining in on the fun. Instead, his gaze was fixated on Nelly. The old woman had approached a group of middle school boys, who were now cornered by the back of the stage.
“That woman will be the death of me.” Faye sighed before adding, “One of us should probably go keep an eye on her.”
“If you want,” Greg said, intervening, “I’d be happy to keep an eye on her.”
“You wouldn’t mind?” Faye asked.
“Of course not.”
“Thank you,” Miranda said. “Truly.”
Greg wasted no time chasing her down. Faye found her eyes following his perfectly sculpted back where muscle met shoulder blades...when a sight towards the edge of the crowd drew her concern. A man was lingering at the boundaries of the rally.
He was old and alone. Practically scowling. Plus, he was wearing a coat far too big and puffy to be applicable for the warm weather. She didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but her mind wandered.
She didn’t understand why he would come to the rally and stand off at the edge. She didn’t like the way he behaved, eyes scanning the faces of the crowd, as if he were taking a census. And then, a memory returned... She recognized this man. He was the same man she had seen sweeping up flyers the morning after the anti-Semitic incident.
She swallowed, and immediately bit back the thought. Once again, she was being extreme, seeing anti-Semites where there were none. Golems where only men existed. Delusional. Prone to fantasy and fits. Just like her mother. Still, she made a mental note to mention the man to Eric as soon as the rally was over.
Greg pressed through the crowd with only one thought on his mind. Nelly had information on The Paper Boys. He needed to speak with her. He caught up with the octogenarian smack-dab in the middle of interrogating a group of middle school boys waiting to sign a unity poster.
“Let me ask you each a question,” Nelly said, pointing a blue marker at each of their heads. “You have two movies to watch on Friday night. The first is Schindler’s List . The second one is Triumph of the Will . Which one do you pick?”
The boys looked awkwardly at each other.
“Hey, Nelly,” Greg said, stepping between them, “I was wondering if I could speak to you for a minute.”
The boys took their opportunity to escape. They sprinted off into the crowds and back to their parents. Nelly was not pleased. Crossing her arms against her chest, she fixed him with a frosty gaze. “You spare the rod,” Nelly said through pursed lips, “you’ll spoil the anti-Semite.”
“I don’t think those kids were part of The Paper Boys.”
“You don’t know that,” Nelly defended herself. “Maybe they’re not with The Paper Boys, but kids know things. Kids hear things. It’s always the ones that seem nice on the surface that cause the most trouble.” She allowed the comment to linger in the air. “You can talk now?”
“I can talk,” Greg confirmed.
She wrinkled her nose at him, but otherwise didn’t seem all that impressed.
“They don’t get it, you know?” Nelly said, finally. “Faye, Miranda, even the police... I try to tell them what I found, what I’ve been doing, but they treat me like a joke. Do you think I’m a joke, Greg?”
“Not at all.”
“But they sent you to babysit me?”
“Kind of,” he admitted. “But also, I was sort of hoping to talk to you alone. I’d actually love to hear more about what you’ve learned regarding The Paper Boys.”
Her eyes went wide in shock. “You would?”
Of course, what Nelly didn’t know was that his interest in The Paper Boys was as much for personal reasons as anything else.
“I knew you were a smart one,” Nelly said, rubbing her hands together. “So, when do you want to do this?”
Greg was confused. “Do...what?”
“Come over and see my war room,” she said excitedly.
“Whoa.” Greg raised both his hands up in the air. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”
“Well, we can’t talk here.”
“Why not?”
“Eyes and ears, Greggy boy,” Nelly said, leaning in to whisper, nodding to the crowd beyond the row of hedges where they were speaking. “You never know who’s listening. That’s the thing about these Nazis. They hide in plain sight. We can’t talk here, ’cause then they’ll know what I’m up to, capiche? It’ll blow my cover.”
It seemed a tad extreme. Greg couldn’t help but think it. He took stock of the crowd surrounding him, families eating ice cream, couples waving American and rainbow-colored flags. Still, Nelly was the only person in his world right now that seemed both willing to answer and capable of answering any question he had relating to The Paper Boys.
“What’s the problem?” Nelly said.
“I’m just not sure how to get away from Faye without looking suspicious.”
Since his accident, Greg hadn’t spent one second away from Faye. Other than when they were sleeping, of course. Or in the bathroom. But even then, she was always just down the hall. Like Hillel.
Plus, there were practical matters to contend with. For one, how could he explain leaving her for any extended length of time? It would raise questions. Uncomfortable ones. He had read a book about finding a missing person. But he hadn’t yet read one that would help him disappear.
“Lie,” she said simply.
“I can’t just lie to her.”
“Why not?” Nelly shrugged. “I lie to Faye all the time. She’s none the wiser.”
“Well, maybe I can just tell her I’m going over to your place? Explain to her that I want to learn more about The Paper—”
“What’s the matter with you?” Nelly grabbed him by the collar. “Don’t you have any sense of self-preservation? What do you think Faye will do if you tell her you want to come see my war room?”
“I have no idea.”
Nelly spat out the words. “She’ll ground you, Baby Bird. Put you on lockdown. Lock up that nest of hers like we’re all back in COVID. And you know what that means, don’t you? No hunting down The Paper Boys. No stunning those bastards into oblivion, either. You see what she’s like. She’s got no vision. You’ll never have it make sense to her. And she’ll never allow you to go running into the danger zone, either.”
Nelly had a point. Still, Greg couldn’t help but hesitate. Something about sneaking out, lying to Faye—especially after everything she had done for him—felt all types of wrong.
“You’re struggling,” Nelly said. “I can see you’re struggling.”
“I suppose I am,” he admitted.
“Come closer then,” she whispered sweetly. “I want to explain something to you. I realize you have no memory left, so let me tell you a story. It’s a true story. You like stories, don’t you, Greggy?”
“I love stories.”
“Good,” Nelly said, her voice creaking with age, “because we Jews are a storytelling people. It’s very important, the transmission of memory, you know? Not just telling a history, blind facts, and all that...but feeling as if that history is your own. So that you become responsible for it. So that it seeps into your DNA, into your bones, until it becomes your memory, too. You understand, right? The way a memory, or a story, can feel like it happens to you.”
“I think so.”
“So I got two grandkids in Boca,” she continued. “Two beautiful and perfect grandchildren who I love very much...and every time I go to visit them, they draw me a picture, and ask me, ‘Grandma? Do you like my artwork? Are you going to keep it forever?’ Do you know what I tell them, Greg?”
“That you love it?”
“Smart one,” she said, pinching his cheeks. “Every single time, I tell them, ‘Oh, yes. Grandma loves your artwork. Grandma is going to keep this drawing on her refrigerator forever.’ And do you know what I do the second I get home from visiting them?”
“You put it on your refrigerator?” Greg assumed innocently.
“I throw it straight in the trash,” Nelly said. “Nobody has time for those scribbles.”
“Haman’s hat.”
“My point is, Greg,” Nelly said definitively, “I love my grandkids, but I don’t tell them the truth. I let them live in their sweet delusional little fantasy world, give them better than reality...because if I told them the truth, they would cry, and get upset, and not understand why Grandma hates their most special artwork. I lie because they will never understand why I don’t want a house full of crayon drawings that they spent three seconds on. Capiche?”
Greg considered her words. “You’re kind of a terrible influence, you know?”
She shrugged. “I know who I am.”
I know who I am. The words brought his entire debate back down to its essential question. He hated the idea of lying to Faye. But he had questions—about who he was, if he was a bad person, the real reason why he had come to Woodstock. And for all his baladur cakes, he was no closer to answers. If he had been a Paper Boy, he felt the urge to right the wrongs of his past, too.
“I’ll try,” he said finally. “But it might take some time.”
“Well, Baby Bird.” Nelly expelled the words in a huff. “When you find a way to fly the nest without Mamma Bird watching, come and find me. But don’t take too long. I can’t wait forever. And neither will the anti-Semites.” With that, the old woman was off, disappearing back through the hedges and into the crowd.
It was your typical sort of peace rally. Faye followed along politely beside Miranda in the audience.
After the nondenominational prayer, there was a poetry reading by a local student. A synchronized dance done with large feathers and sparkle bodysuits by the SilverSmiles Dance Company, a dance troupe made up of residents from the nearby assisted living center. A moving and heartbreaking speech from a Holocaust survivor, aided by her daughter. Until all the examples of why anti-Semitism was bad for the greater society were exhausted, and they brought out representatives from local and federal government.
Finally, it was Chief Eric Myers’s turn. Faye gave a little more gusto to her applause than usual.
“Hey,” Greg said, reappearing at her side.
Faye was surprised to see him so soon. “Hey,” she said back. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” Greg pointed with one thumb towards the parking lot. “Nelly decided to leave. Apparently, she didn’t understand how old ladies in feathers were going to stop The Paper Boys ...and also, too many people here recognized her.”
“Oy.” Faye rubbed an eyebrow in frustration. “Well, I appreciate you looking after her.”
“Of course,” Greg said, and then nudged her playfully. “Anytime.”
She appreciated him so much.
Faye turned her attention back to the stage, where Eric was just beginning. Hands on the podium, lips angled directly into the microphone, he gave no hint of anxiety regarding his performance. His eyes panned around the audience. His voice never wavered. In truth, she was impressed. She had no idea that Eric could be such an eloquent speaker.
He spoke about what led him to become a cop, and eventually, chief of police. He professed his love for law enforcement and the people of Woodstock. At one point, Faye felt her hand inadvertently drift over her heart. The man was straight-up mesmerizing.
“Believe me,” Chief Myers said, “I have the full resources of the law at my disposal, and we will prosecute these offenses swiftly and to the highest level of the law. Let this serve as a warning to anyone here thinking about engaging with, or participating in, these acts... You will be found out, and you will serve serious time for any crimes you commit within my jurisdiction.”
It felt good to have someone like Eric in her community.
“What happened over the holiday of Sukkot,” Eric continued, “was not just an attack on the Jewish community, but on everyone in Woodstock. It was an attack on our values and our beliefs and our ability to live free, in any way that we please. A Hasidic proverb teaches, ‘Love is the most reliable cure for wounds of the soul.’ Last week, someone papered our town with hateful propaganda and rhetoric. But today, we are all one family. We are all one community. We are all Jews.”
His words caused the entire crowd to explode in simultaneous uproar. Eric embraced Shulamit warmly before heading to each person on stage, shaking their hands.
The final act was a wild rendition of “Hava Nagila,” played by the local high school jazz band. The song had the intended effect. Moments after the trumpets began blaring, people were grabbing hands. Forming a circle in the middle of the town square, everyone at the rally began to dance. Faye was just about to grab Greg’s hand and join her friends when she saw Eric moving through the crowd, waving her down.
“Oh, Eric,” Faye said, rushing to greet him. “You were spectacular. Just incredible. I had no idea you were such an eloquent and passionate speaker.”
Eric blushed. “Thank you, Faye. That means the world...coming from you.”
His words touched her, along with those piercing blue eyes, before his attention flicked back to Greg. “Greg,” Eric said, offering his hand. “How are you?”
“Good,” Greg said.
“Still here, though?”
Greg cocked his chin back. “Excuse me?”
Tension sat in the air between them before Eric retreated. “I’m sorry,” Eric said. “I didn’t mean that to sound rude. I just meant... I’m surprised you’re still here. I thought you two would have figured out who you are by now. Memory’s not back yet then?”
Thankfully, Greg relaxed with the apology. “Unfortunately, no.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Eric said genuinely. “Hopefully, one day soon then?”
Greg nodded. “Hopefully.”
“Actually,” Faye said, twisting back to Eric, “I was wondering if I could speak with you for a minute. Privately.” She glanced over her shoulder back at Greg. “You don’t mind, do you, Greg?”
His eyes flicked back to Eric. “Not at all.”
“Great,” she said, and moved with Eric, out of earshot of the rest of the rally goers. “I was wondering if you heard any more news?”
“You talking about Greg?”
“No.” Faye waved away his concern. “Not Greg. Greg has been nothing but a perfect gentleman. I was just wondering if you’ve heard any more news on people in our community, strangers who might have come to our town with ill intention. It’s just...”
Eric squinted. “What brings this up?”
“There’s this guy around town I’ve been seeing. He’s just... giving me a bad feeling.”
She went on to explain it. Their strange interaction the day after the flyers. The way he had been lingering and watching the crowd. Eric listened intently, and after she was finished recounting her story—which, even she had to admit, seemed totally innocuous on the surface—he placed his hands on the divots of his hips and grew serious.
“Well, I don’t know, Faye,” Eric admitted. “There’s not much to go on here.”
She shook her head. “I know... I sound completely bonkers.”
“Tell you what,” he said, finally, “I’m going to investigate it, okay? I’ll let my guys know to keep an eye out—on your place, especially—and if we see this perp loitering about, we’ll bring him in for questioning.”
She put her hand on his arm. “I appreciate that.”
“Of course,” he said, returning the touch, both their hands lingering. “Anything for you. Really, I hate that you’re going through all this.”
With one final embrace, Eric took off, pushing back through the crowd. Cops often didn’t have the best rep in America, but Eric was, undoubtedly, a beloved and respected member of their community.