Chapter 2 #2
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Rhett Callahan, gracing us with his presence after all these years.”
I turned to find Vanessa Newton grinning at me, champagne flute in hand. She’d aged well; her blonde hair now cut in a sleek bob that emphasized her sharp cheekbones as she gave a quick nod in acknowledgment to Emmett as he walked on by.
“Vanessa,” I greeted her with a genuine smile. We’d stayed in loose contact over the years, occasional emails and Christmas cards keeping a tenuous connection. “You look fantastic.”
“And you look like you’re mentally undressing our bartender,” she replied, arching a perfectly manicured eyebrow.
I choked on my drink. “I’m doing no such thing.”
“Please,” she scoffed, linking her arm through mine and steering me toward a quieter corner. “I’ve known you since kindergarten, Rhett. You’ve got that same look you had in high school whenever Moses entered a room, like you’ve been wandering the desert for days and just spotted an oasis.”
“Poetic,” I muttered, but didn’t deny it. There was no point lying to Vanessa; she’d always seen through me. “I take it subtlety isn’t on the menu tonight?”
“Life’s too short for subtlety. Especially when it comes to unfinished business,” she said, her expression turning serious.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, Nessa. Whatever was between Moses and me is ancient history.”
“Is it?” she challenged, tilting her head toward the bar. “Because you haven’t taken your eyes off him since we started talking.”
I forced myself to look away, focusing instead on the crowd around us. “I’m just... curious. About what happened back then. He said something earlier that made me think there’s more to the story of that night than what everyone believes.”
Vanessa’s expression shifted, something like guilt flashing across her features. “There usually is, with these small-town scandals. People see what they want to see.”
Before I could press her on what she meant, the microphone squealed with feedback, drawing everyone’s attention to the small stage at the front of the room. Principal Josiah Bushman stood at the podium, beaming at the assembled alumni.
“Welcome back!” he boomed, his enthusiasm undimmed by the decades. “What a joy to see so many familiar faces back in the halls of Gomillion High!”
A cheer went up from the crowd. I clapped politely, my attention drifting back to Moses, who had paused in his drink-making to watch the proceedings.
Our eyes met across the room, and for a breathless moment, the years fell away.
I was eighteen again, stealing glances at the beautiful, mysterious boy who had captured my attention from the first moment I saw him.
“Before we get this party started properly,” Principal Bushman continued, “I’d like to invite a familiar face to you all to offer a toast. Moses Morley, co-owner of the finest establishment in Gomillion, would you do us the honor?”
Moses froze, panic flashing across his face before he schooled his expression into something more neutral. The crowd turned toward him, expectant. Slowly, reluctantly, he made his way to the stage, every step looking like it cost him.
“Ten bucks says he bolts,” Vanessa murmured beside me.
“Twenty says he pulls it off with surprising grace,” I countered, though my heart ached at his obvious discomfort.
Moses took the microphone, clearing his throat. “Um, thank you. It’s... to say this is not something I expected to be doing tonight, is an understatement.”
A smattering of laughter rippled through the crowd amongst the growl and tut of disapproval.
“I’m not one for speeches,” he continued, his voice gaining strength. “But I'm good at mixing drinks, which is basically the same skill set, combining elements that shouldn’t work together but somehow do.”
More laughter, more genuine this time. I felt a surge of pride watching him win over the room.
“Like this reunion,” he gestured around. “A mix of past and present, of who we were and who we’ve become. Some ingredients have mellowed with age..." he nodded toward a group of former football players whose wild days were clearly behind them, “, while others have only grown more potent.”
His eyes found mine as he said this, and heat crawled up my neck. Around me, I sensed a shift in attention, people following his gaze to where I stood.
“So, here’s to Gomillion High,” Moses raised an imaginary glass, “and to all of us, the complex, sometimes contradictory blend of experiences that have made us who we are today.”
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause as others shifted quickly from their seats as Moses hastily returned the microphone to Principal Bushman and made his way back toward the bar. I was about to follow him when I felt a tug on my arm.
“Not so fast, Romeo,” Vanessa said. “Give him a minute to recover. That took a lot out of him.”
“He did well,” I said, unable to keep the admiration from my voice.
“He did,” she agreed. “But public speaking isn’t what scares him. It’s being the center of attention in a town where his name is still synonymous with scandal.”
I frowned. “It’s been twenty years. Surely people have moved on?”
Vanessa gave me a pitying look. “Oh, sweet summer child. This is Gomillion. People are still talking about the Henderson affair of 1973, and both parties have been dead for a decade.”
She had a point. Small towns had long memories, and what Moses had done, defacing the beloved Paul Bunyan statue on graduation night, had been considered something close to sacrilege in Gomillion.
“Have you talked to him? Really talked?” Vanessa pressed.
“I tried earlier,” I admitted. “He’s... evasive.”
“Moses has always played things close to the chest,” she said thoughtfully. “But I think he might be ready to open up. Finally.”
“What makes you say that?”
She smiled mysteriously. “Let’s just say I’ve had some interesting conversations with our resident gin expert recently. He’s carrying something heavy, Rhett. Something he’s kept to himself for far too long.”
Before I could ask her to elaborate, a commotion near the bar caught our attention.
A small group had gathered, voices rising in what sounded like confrontation.
At the center stood Moses, his expression tight, facing off against a red-faced man I recognized as Tom Jenkins, one of the more conservative members of our graduating class.
“...just saying, it’s pretty rich for you to come back here acting like nothing happened,” Tom was saying loudly enough for his voice to carry. “Some of us still respect traditions in this town.”
“And some of us have moved beyond high school grudges, Tom,” Moses replied evenly, though I could see the tension in his jaw. “It was a statue, not the end of the world.”
“It was more than that, and you know it,” Tom pressed, stepping closer. “It was a symbol of this town, and you destroyed it because, what? You had some kind of breakdown? Or was it because of those rumors about you and..."
“That’s enough, Tom,” I interrupted, suddenly at Moses’s side though I had no recollection of crossing the room. “Whatever happened twenty years ago, we’re here to celebrate, not rehash ancient history.”
Tom’s bleary eyes focused on me, recognition dawning slowly. “Callahan. Should’ve known you’d defend him. You two were pretty tight before he went nuts and trashed the statue, weren’t you?”
I felt Moses stiffen beside me. “Tom, you’re drunk,” I said calmly. “Why don’t you go get some coffee and cool off?”
“I’m not the one who needs to cool off.” Tom sneered, his gaze shifting back to Moses. “Everyone knows why he did it. It wasn’t just teenage rebellion. It was because he couldn’t handle people finding out he’s..—"
“—an award-winning mixologist and successful business owner?” I cut in smoothly. “Yes, very shocking. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I believe Moses owes me a drink.”
I placed a hand on Moses’s lower back, guiding him away from Tom and the curious onlookers who had gathered. Moses let me lead him toward a quiet corner near the emergency exit, his breathing shallow and quick.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said once we were out of earshot.
“I know,” I replied simply. “I wanted to.”
He looked at me then, really looked at me, his dark eyes searching mine for something I couldn’t name. “Why?”
“Because despite everything, Moses, I don’t like seeing you cornered,” I said softly. “Never have.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “My knight in shining Armani.”
I grinned, relieved to see a flash of the old Moses, quick-witted, sharp-tongued. “I’d have gone with ‘defender in designer denim,’ but yours works too.”
He laughed, the sound warm and genuine, before his expression sobered. “Thank you, really. Tom’s always been an ass, but he’s not wrong about... about certain things.”
My heartbeat faster. “What things?”
Moses hesitated, his gaze drifting over my shoulder to where the party continued in full swing. “Not here,” he said finally. “Too many ears, too many opinions.”
“Yellow Branch Falls,” I suggested impulsively. “Tomorrow morning. 6.00 a.m. No crowds, no interruptions. Just us.”
He studied me for a long moment, conflict evident in his eyes. “Rhett, I don’t know if that’s a good idea. The falls... there’s history there.”
“I know,” I said quietly. “That’s exactly why it’s the perfect place.”
Our eyes held, the air between us charged with two decades of unspoken words. Finally, Moses nodded, just once.
“Six in the morning,” he agreed. “But I’m not promising anything, Rhett. Some stories don’t have satisfying endings.”
“I’m not looking for satisfaction,” I told him, though that wasn’t entirely true. “I’m looking for the truth. Whatever it is.”
A shadow crossed his face. “Be careful what you wish for,” he murmured, before straightening and adopting a more casual tone. “I should get back to the bar before Bronwyn hunts me down.”
“Go,” I said, making no move to stop him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He nodded again and turned to leave, but paused after a few steps. Without looking back, he said, “It’s good to see you, Rhett. Despite everything... it’s really good.”
Then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd, leaving me with a hopeful ache in my chest and the sense that tomorrow would either heal old wounds or tear them open completely.
Either way, after twenty years of wondering, I was finally going to get answers. Whether I’d like them was another question entirely.