4. Haven #3
He grips the paper in his fist so tight it crumples.
“Dragonfly Creek has always been a safe place to raise our children, and we want to protect the values that underpin that safety. We’re asking the council to establish a citizen response committee, to monitor concerns and bring them forward for discussion. ”
“What kind of concerns, exactly?” Dr. Tailfeathers stands again.
Brian Pelley turns to her. “A man was killed, doctor!”
“That man is the only one who threatened any violence. He shouldn’t have brought that to our town, we’re in agreement about that, but he’s gone now. And so is that threat. So unless you have any other concerns—”
“Madam Chair, if I may.” A new voice cuts in from the back of the room. Not that far behind me, and I don’t have to turn around to know Jeb arrived at some point.
Why didn’t I sense him, like the dark, malevolent presence that he is?
“Go ahead, Pastor Martin.”
He strides down the aisle between the rows of folding chairs.
This afternoon, he’d seemed small and weak compared to Cash, and I’d used that to my advantage to make a point.
But tonight, in front of a crowd that he likes, he looks powerful.
“I appreciate Dr. Tailfeathers’ strong defence of an innocent young woman.
But perhaps if the girl had gone to the authorities instead of hiding out on that ranch, bloodshed could have been spared, yes? ”
“No,” Mercy mutters under her breath.
Jeb doesn’t look at me. He looks at everyone else, which is worse, because as he holds their gazes, as he turns around like a messiah, there’s a transfer of trust and belief that sends me a clear message. This isn’t your town anymore, Haven.
Maybe it never was.
“I think Brian’s concern comes from a place of love,” Jeb says.
“He’s a father. And we all value curiosity in our young people.
We do. But curiosity without guidance can lead a child somewhere they’re not equipped to go.
We see that in troubled youth in the city, don’t we?
All we’re asking is for the community to provide that guidance. Together, before it’s too late.”
The room murmurs. Reasonable. He’s so reasonable. Half the people in here are nodding, because what kind of monster opposes guidance, opposes together?
But he hasn’t actually said anything. Dr. Tailfeathers is right to be outraged, at the inappropriate gossip they’re fostering by talking around Hope Weatherford’s situation.
I’ve only met her once, but she’s clearly a loving mother, and Zane Kincaid thinks the world of her. That should be the end of anyone’s thoughts about her. Who cares if she’s from the city?
These people do, though. They’re murmuring loudly about law and order and protecting our children. A match dropped onto dry straw, ready to spark into an outraged blaze.
Suddenly, I’m sixteen years old again, sitting in the fellowship hall with my Bible on my lap, listening to my uncle explain that a girl’s curiosity will, inevitably, lead her to wickedness. And I believed him. I believed that was in me, and Jeb took full advantage of that fear.
He wants to do that again, now. To leverage the judgemental weight of a small-minded community against me.
Maybe he even had a hand in organizing this before I kissed Cash, because I’m not the only irritant in his life.
I was barely on his radar before this afternoon.
But he isn’t going to sleep on this perfect opportunity to respond to me kissing Cash, without ever saying a word about me at all.
It’s as effective as him leaning in and whispering in my ear, I know you, Haven. I know how to hurt you.
The clock ticks to the top of the hour, and the meeting is called to a close, the outstanding matter adjourned to next month.
I bet they’re thrilled about that. Now they have a month to gin up even more examples of community standards at risk.
I think about the email I deleted. Whoever wrote that will get in on this immediately.
“Okay,” Mercy whispers. “So that was less fun than advertised. I’m so sorry.”
“I have to go.” My voice comes out steady, which is a miracle on the scale of loaves and fishes.
“Yep.” She’s already gathering her bag. “Side door, I’m with you.”
We make it all the way down the steps and into the warm summer night before my hands start shaking.
Six months of holding my head up. Six months of absorbing cold shoulders and telling myself that bullies want attention, that I’m a big girl.
“Fuck them,” I snap.
“Exactly.”
“You really go to these things for fun?” I shake my fist at the building behind her. “I’m so mad.”
“They’re the worst,” she agrees.
“We should have had more cider first.” I think about Cash. The kiss, the gentleness with which he treats me. Because he thinks I’m fragile, probably. Well, I’m not. “Have you ever been to Bar None?”
Mercy’s eyebrows hit the sky. “Sure. Why?”
“I’ve never been.” The bar on the outskirts of town is kind of rough, but apparently a lot of fun for people who don’t care about things like uptight community standards. And I am firmly, one hundred percent, not one of those people. Not after tonight. “I want to go. When’s the best night to go?”
Mercy doesn’t miss a beat. “Thursday.”
“You want to give me a proper welcome to town? That’s where I want to go next.”
“It’s a date.”