CHAPTER 44
Devon
A week later, Devon and Miss Becca pulled up at the Baptist church in her little gray car.
The day was sunny, a pretty August morning.
School started back next Monday, and looking around the town, he thought it hardly seemed like there’d even been a storm.
Gone were the fallen trees and the mess of branches and clutter on the roadside. The town looked new. A fresh start.
Just like he was getting.
Miss Becca parked the car, sat a moment, her shoulders still.
He leaned forward, put his good hand on her arm. “You’re nervous?”
She ducked her head like she was embarrassed. “Very.” She tossed him a look over the car seat. “Thanks for coming with me this morning. Are you sure you feel up to it?”
“Honestly, I’m fine.”
He was. He still had the cast and a few scratches, and the bruises would take a while to heal, but he felt like a new person.
Today, he and Rev and Marla were going to see Memaw in the retirement home.
That man Miss Becca knew, Mr. Erik, with the extra-tan skin and extra-extra white teeth, had worked out some really neat deal.
He’d heard her and Mr. Josh talking it over with Rev and Marla, didn’t know what everything meant, but from what he gathered, Memaw was getting to live in some super-fantastic place, so fantastic she didn’t mind one bit leaving the house she and his PawPaw had bought all those years ago.
They could even keep the house, which Memaw was putting in something she called “a trust” for him till he turned eighteen. They lined up some renters, who were supposed to move in next week.
Memaw’d hugged him at the hospital, right before his release, told him just ’cause he wasn’t living under her roof anymore didn’t mean she wasn’t his Memaw.
“You best still come visit me,” she’d said, elbowing him. “Robinsons stick together. Even across the miles.”
“I promise, Memaw.”
Memaw had gotten quiet then, peered at him hard.
“You know, sweet boy, what happened that night. It wasn’t your fault.”
Devon looked down. Fresh shame hit him like a smack. “I don’t know, Memaw.”
“Devon Robinson.” Memaw struggled to sit upright, her hospital gown all tight and twisty. When she’d gotten settled, she held out both her hands. They shook a little, and he took them, afraid to meet her eyes.
When he finally did, he saw she was blinking hard, and behind the blinking were tears.
She took a long, slow breath. “I mean it, child. That … that thing between me and your uncle was between us. That was me and him, mother and son. Me, finally having the courage to say what I should have said a long, long time ago. What happened that night was Terrence’s fault, not yours. You understand?”
Memaw’s voice was hard, and he’d nodded, unable to speak.
“I said, do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She’d relaxed. “That’s better. Now, fetch me one a’them blankets. The blue one. I want to catch me some beauty sleep ’fore that nurse comes in again to poke around with them needles.”
He’d gotten her the blanket, switched off her light, and sat with her a few minutes.
“I love you, Memaw,” he’d whispered when he got up to leave.
“I love you, too, sweet boy.” She’d blown him a soft kiss. “Your mama sure would be proud of you, proud of the young man you’ve become.”
They’d moved her into the retirement place over the weekend, and so far, so good. Rev and Marla had been taking him by to see her every day, and they even had a small worship service Sunday afternoon at the home.
Yesterday, they’d gone out to the house. It had been his first time back since he’d left, and he half-expected it to feel weird, empty, wrong. But instead, he just felt peace.
And when he’d knelt down at Mama’s memory garden, he could have sworn for a moment that he smelled her in the trees around him, felt her smiling down. And he knew in his bones this was right and good.
Now, he was hoping he could help Miss Becca get the Rotary Club to give her a grant so she could keep the paper open and go from newspaper editor to newspaper owner.
He had to admit it sounded pretty cool. It was good for Dahlia, plus it would mean she’d get to stay on, even help him with math after school each week—his worst subject.
Twenty minutes later, he stood at Miss Becca’s side as she wrapped her speech to a close.
“Dahlia deserves a newspaper that serves its readers in the true sense of the word,” Miss Becca was saying.
“It deserves a newspaper invested in the community, not a cookie cutter big-shot operation that swoops in and delivers what it thinks Dahlia needs. I made that mistake when I first came here, and I learned my lesson the hard way,” she said, and her cheeks got all red.
Come on, Miss Becca. You’ve got this.
“But thanks to a healthy dose of humble pie, I’m ready to serve Dahlia the right way. My friend Devon, here, taught me a lot about what this town means to each other. Watching you all come together to save this boy, this child of Dahlia, well…”
She trailed off, looked down at him a moment.
Devon smiled up at her, as big as he could. It felt like he had sunshine in his chest.
“Let’s say it taught me a lot about the true spirit of this town,” she said. “And with your help, we can make it happen.”
A lady raised her hand. She had a frown on her face.
“How do we know you’re going to do the right thing for this town? The clause specifies no editorial control over what your newspaper produces.”
The room got quiet. In the back of the room, Devon saw Mr. Josh give Miss Becca a thumbs-up.
“You don’t—you’re right,” Miss Becca said.
Devon heard people gasp. “We can’t be a newspaper worth our salt if we don’t have editorial independence.
But I can promise you as a person, and as a granddaughter of this town, I will do the right thing by Dahlia.
And if I don’t, you can give me the boot the next time grant funding comes around again. ”
“She’s got a point,” a man called from the back. “It’s a one-year short-term grant, not a lifetime subsidy. Let’s see what she can do with our support. This is our town paper, after all.”
The Rotary president cleared his throat and looked like he wanted to duck under the table.
“Thank you, everyone, for your opinions, and thank you, Ms. Chastain. Now, if you and your friend Devon here’ll step out, we’ll inform you of our decision shortly.”
Devon watched Miss Becca pace the front of the church as they waited.
“You know it’s going to be okay one way or the other,” he finally told her. “You said it yourself the other day—God has a plan for us.”
She scrunched her mouth into a funny smile. “I did say that, didn’t I.”
“Yep. You did.”
She let out a big breath and sat down next to him on the hard wooden bench.
“Well, I guess I’d better just give it to God, then.”
They were a quiet a moment, and then he giggled, and she did too, and they were still laughing when a smiling man stuck his head out the door.
Miss Becca jumped. “President Vickers!”
“Congratulations,” he said warmly, and Rebecca let out a squeak.
“You’re kidding!” She covered her mouth with her hands.
“No joke. You’re the official recipient not only of this year’s Dahlia Rotary Grant but our new Special Project Business Scholarship.
” The man’s eyes got all crinkly at the edges, and he caught Devon’s eye and grinned.
“I’d say you’ve got more than enough to get you started—not to mention advertising support from every major business in this town. ”
Miss Becca started crying and laughing. “I—I don’t know what to say.”
“Welcome to Dahlia, Ms. Chastain,” the man said, and if Devon wasn’t mistaken, he saw some tears in his eyes, too.
“For good this time.”