Chapter 39 #2
I take in the big, open views as I drive into downtown Silverwood, struck with a pang of nostalgia when I see the familiar Christmas decorations downtown.
Tonight, the entire street will glow from strings of lights hung on lampposts, zigzagging from one side to the other.
There’s a Santa booth at the end of one block, and all the stores are decorated for the holiday.
People rush around, trying to finish last-minute shopping, and I flip on a Christmas station to get in a festive mood, something I just haven’t been feeling lately.
I park outside a nondescript brick building a few blocks from downtown and spot Momma’s red truck parked a few spots over. I don’t understand why she still drives that thing—it’s more rust than truck—but I think there’s sentimental value she’s hanging onto with Ol’ Red.
A mom and her two young kids walk into the building. I think Momma said there’s childcare all day for working parents or those who don’t have uninterrupted Christmas shopping time. This place is making an impact.
Right here where we are.
I get out of the truck and walk toward the building, eyes fixed on the mountain range in front of me. I take my phone out and snap another photo, then tuck it into my pocket and walk inside.
The building has been great, but the community center is already out of space. The expansion is going to require a lot of fundraising and maybe a grant or two. But after yesterday’s meetings, we have a solid plan.
When I walk in, I stand in the lobby and get my bearings. There’s no one at the front desk, but I hear voices coming from one of the three large activity rooms. I start walking toward the door when I hear someone call my name.
I turn and find my mom marching toward me. She looks . . . worried?
“Hey, Momma.” I saunter toward her. She grabs my arm and turns me around. “What’s going on?”
“I thought you’d come down later, after lunch,” she says. “After our chat.”
I frown. “I wanted to see if I could help. Maybe try on the Santa suit.” My smile is faltering. Something is wrong.
She glances back toward the open door where the sound of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You” is playing. “Do you remember when I said I wanted to talk to you about the center?”
I shake my head. “No.”
She waves a hand in the air. “It was last month. You were distracted, and Dad took the phone from me and probably gave you terrible advice on your love life.”
I cross my arms. “He said he was put on the earth to admire you.”
She bites back a smile. “That old flirt.” She pats my arm. “That’s where you get it, you know.”
“Oh, I know.” I grin. “But I get my good looks from you.”
She sighs comically. “Will you go home and wait for me to come talk to you? Go help your dad with the horses.”
“Momma, if it’s a big deal, why didn’t we have the chat yesterday?” I emphasize the word chat because she keeps using it like it’s important.
“It was the first time we’d all been together in months,” she says, visibly troubled. “I didn’t want to spoil it.”
“Okay. What’s going on?” I ask. “Just tell me whatever it is.”
She works the corner of her mouth between her teeth, then lets out a sigh. “Fine, but just know—”
But before she can say more, a woman with wiry blond hair walks out into the lobby. “Melinda, I wasn’t sure if we were wrapping all the—” She sees me and stops short.
I start to introduce myself, but then I realize that I recognize this woman.
She’s older now, but I see her face every time one of her stupid letters shows up.
I remember the trial. The way she sat there, stone cold until it was time for her sentencing. Then, she had plenty of tears. And now she’s standing right in front of me, in a place that I helped build.
Just her presence here mocks me and everything this place stands for.
I glare at Eileen. “What is she doing here?” My voice doesn’t sound like my own. It’s fueled by anger I don’t like feeling.
“Finn, let’s go outside,” Momma says, trying to take me by the arm.
“No, I’ll go,” Eileen’s eyes are glued to mine.
“Yeah, I think you should,” I say.
“Finn!” My mom turns to Eileen. “Don’t go, Eileen. Let’s talk this through.”
I look at my mom, feeling stabbed in the back. “How could you let her in here after what she did?” I take a step back, shaking my head, anger seething from a dark place inside. I turn to go.
“Finn, wait,” my mom calls after me, but I don’t turn around. Because how could she do this? I storm out the door and onto the street. How could she betray our family like this? She knows how we all feel about Eileen.
How can anyone who loved Hunter ever let her walk around here thinking that it’s okay?
I get in the truck and slam my hand on the steering wheel, again and again. My palm starts to hurt, and I switch to rearing back and swinging my fist into the passenger seatback.
I hit it. I hit it again.
A group of carolers pass by, singing “Joy to the World.” They’re dressed in old Victorian costumes, and their happiness feels wrong given the way I feel right now.
Angry.
Frustrated.
Hurt. And more than anything—betrayed.