Ryan’s hand is at my back.
Jack hugs me.
Tristan’s hand finds my shoulder briefly and squeezes.
Archer is at my right, solid and present.
I look at Scarlet, who is closing her briefcase with the efficiency of someone who has done what she came to do.
“Scar,” I say, quietly, just to her. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“No thanks needed. I owed you one. Amber calledthis morning,” Scarlet replies. “She asked me to tell you—” She pauses. “She said she’s sorry. And she said she knew you’d find somewhere good to land.”
“If you speak to her again,” I start. “Please tell her that I forgive her. I know she was in a difficult situation and felt forced into framing me. I forgive her.”
“I’ll tell her.” We hug. “It looks like you’ve found a good place here. I’m happy for you, Lol.”
“Thank you.”
I breathe. I look at Main Street.
The town that came out this morning in its good coats and its lawn chairs.
The town that stood between me and the law and didn’t move.
Ryan’s hand is warm at my back.
“Okay?” he asks.
I look at Sweetwater Valley.
“Yeah,” I say.
The cheering is still going.
Chapter 26
Lola
The crowd disperses the way it gathered. Without coordination, without announcement, people simply finding their way back to the things they were doing before. The ease of a community that has handled something.
Jenny folds her lawn chair.
Doris Harrow buttons the top button of her good coat and pats my arm once, briefly, and goes.
Elsie walks back to the gas station at her own pace, hands in her pockets, looking satisfied.
I stand on Main Street and watch them go. My heart has swelled so big that I’m surprised it doesn’t shoot out of my chest. The lump in my throat feels permanent. How could all these peoplecare so much aboutme?
I just stand there and feel all the emotions.
Ryan steers me. His hand at my back, the guiding gesture that I’ve learned over two weeks meansthis direction, when you’re ready.I’m ready, the direction is the pack house, and we go.
All of us. The walk doesn’t take long.
I sit on the couch. My couch. My corner. Tristan makes tea. I have stopped being surprised by this and started being grateful for it. He brings it and sits beside me, close but not crowding. The tea is the right temperature and I hold it in both hands, breathing in the steam.
Jack sits on the floor. This is Jack, the way he occupies space, always finding the unexpected position. He sits cross-legged at the coffee table and looks up at me with a bright expression on his face.
