Chapter 30 Present
I was still sitting in my car, trying to consider my next move.
I knew I needed to head back to the house and finally put ink to paper.
The article about Shay’s heroes was close—but still missing something.
The newspaper clippings had given me most of the facts, and I had plenty of my own thoughts to fill in the gaps.
But what I really needed were voices—real voices.
A few personal accounts to bring it all to life.
I opened my notebook and flipped past the half-finished outlines and crossed-out titles, finally landing on a page of people I could interview.
My eyes narrowed as I tried to decipher my own messy handwriting—half scribble, half shorthand only I seemed to understand.
Mrs. Betty Lawson:
She’d lived in Shay her whole life—and it helped that she was still alive.
If anyone remembered the early days, it was her.
She had a direct line to the gossip, the town’s unofficial social calendar, and probably half the birth and death announcements from the last fifty years.
She was also known to offer strong opinions—and even stronger sweet tea.
Getting an interview with her wasn’t hard, especially once I mentioned she’d be quoted in the article.
Miss Suzie Townsend:
She was the little girl Paul saved all those years ago.
Just five when it happened—too young to remember every detail, but not too young to carry the weight of what it meant.
She’s in her twenties now, working as a vet tech at the local clinic.
She agreed to speak with me whenever I could make my way over.
She sounded genuinely eager—grateful, even—to finally share her appreciation for Paul.
“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.”
I couldn’t help but smile.
At this rate, the article was practically writing itself—no fluff necessary, all thanks to Paul and the fact that he’d actually earned the title of hero.
Along with Mrs. Betty and Suzie, another Shay native deserved some recognition.
I scribbled her name in the margins—Saddie Andrews.
She’s helped me in more ways than she probably knows.
I owe it to her.
My thoughts felt a little less appreciative when I shifted to the next name I needed to include.
It wouldn’t be a full editorial—just a quick blurb thanking The Ledger for being so gracious in letting me use their archives.
Something like:
“A special thanks to The Lakeview Ledger—because of you, I managed to find the real heroes of Shay tucked behind the cover-ups and phony smiles.”
I chuckled to myself, imagining how that would go over once the article was published.
Probably not too well—small towns like Shay make up a good chunk of the magazine’s funding.
Best not to “ruffle too many feathers,” as the Southerners would say.
Honestly, I was feeling good about this list of contacts—
but there were still two more names further down the page that made me hesitate.
Paul and Nick Newsome.
My pen hovered over their names.
For a second, I thought about pressing the tip down and letting it slide across them—scratching them out completely.
But I knew the article needed them.
Tracking them down wouldn’t be hard.
Everyone in Shay knew where the Newsome boys were these days—
their whole lives had played out in front of this town like one long, unfinished story.
The more I thought about having to face them, the more I knew that I was gonna need a good ol’ pep talk, a large cup of Neal’s coffee, and probably one of my mom’s little yellow pills—just to carry their names past this page. I had to catch my breath at the sheer thought of it.
…
Looking up from my notebook, I realized I’d been sitting in the parking lot far too long.
People were starting to glance at my car as they walked past—some curious, some just nosy.
Depending on their age group, they were either headed into the club for dinner…
or off to the drive-in theater for a date.
I decided it was best to head home for the night—a hot meal and my bedroom,
even if the pink wallpaper still haunted me—
was exactly what I needed to be ready for whatever tomorrow might hold.
Though I’ll admit—
I’m more than a little curious to see what that might entail.