“Promise I can make everything right.”
“I can’t promise that. I can tell you that things’ll work out. They always do. Maybe not as you expect but sometimes better.”
I want the factory to be okay. I want the town to have its lifeline. I want Maggie to be okay too.
I just want Maggie.
* * *
My rental cruisesdown a transformed Main Street on autopilot. It’s weird how easily it all comes back. Being home is weird. Despite the dread at seeing everyone, a small part of me feels like I can take a true deep breath.
It’s in better shape than in my memory. The image in my mind is filled with empty buildings with boarded-up windows, broken glass in the streets, the smell of depression in the air. But this town looks like a Hallmark Christmas movie town. There are flower beds in the median, the street signs are replaced with wrought-iron poles, and old-fashioned light fixtures on every corner. Every building is occupied; the strip mall flourishes. There’s a lot of traffic. The town is thriving. My jaw hangs open as I observe all this.
When I pass the factory, there’s a constriction in my chest. Thoughts of Maggie are pushed aside to focus. There are only about five cars in the parking lot. It’s the weekend but there should be more people here than this. I head past to the nicer neighborhood, where my folks live. They wouldn’t let me move them into anything too ostentatious.
“We’ll never be able to fill it,” my mother said. I bought them a modest home east of the factory as they requested.
I probably should’ve called before coming down here but they need to see me in person. They need to see my face while I explain everything. Makes it harder for them to shut me out. Before I can turn into mom’s driveway, several cars pull out in succession and leave back toward the town proper.
I recognize a few neighbors and friends. My mother’s is the last car to leave. She doesn’t notice me in my midsize sedan as she passes. She has no reason to suspect I’m even here. I turn around and follow the caravan. Where is everyone headed? Every mile twists dread deeper into my gut. What if they’re going to the factory to decide layoffs? What if they’re planning to gang up on my parents? What if everyone blames them?
They lead to our small civic center’s parking lot. It’s packed, and by the time I find a spot across the park on the other side of the road most everyone is already inside. I slip into my hoodie and tug my hat lower on my head. Before they get their pitchforks and do anything drastic, I need to talk to Mom. How much have they been keeping from me? How bad has it gotten?
Once inside the storm doors, a hundred plus people all talk at once. The community center isn’t equipped to handle this many people and they overflow into the hallway. Every possible chair is in use.
I slip into the crowd unnoticed. Only bits of conversation make it to my ears. Not surprisingly, there’s an air of outrage and disbelief. As feared, I’m the hot topic.
“After all these years, still never been back.”
“Lived here his whole life. To think he would steal.”
My shoulders lift to my ears to block out the accusations. I have to find my family and explain. I search the room, careful to keep my face as hidden as possible. To my horror, my mother and father make their way to the podium.
My heart sinks. My mother is older. Somehow she became a grandmother while I was too busy to come back home. Too busy was the excuse I made.
My father looks older too. He shouldn’t be working still. My stomach churns with guilt. Behind them is my brother, with his wife and the niece and nephew I have yet to meet. They all look haggard and tired. It’s poor luck they have me as their brother.
“Attention.” My mother taps the microphone and it buzzes but the murmurs around the room die down. “Hi, all. Thanks for coming today. It means a lot.”
Dozens of angry people shake their heads at her.
“I brought some cookies. They’re in the back. And thanks to Darla for the lemonade.”
A very pregnant woman waves from behind the podium. It’s Paul’s wife. I haven’t seen her in years. She’s got a toddler straining on her hand while her belly proclaims her pregnancy. Paul gently lowers her into a chair. There’s a small round of applause. I scan the audience again and feel confusion. There are angry faces, but it doesn’t feel like they’re directed at my mother. I start to inch my way through the crowd up the side aisle.
“Now before we get to business, let’s address the elephant in the room.” I freeze, being said elephant.
The grumbles grow louder. But the snippets only confuse me more.
“I know.” My mother waves her arms and calms the room. “Obviously, we know the story is a lie.”
Say what now?
“That woman is a liar and should be ashamed to call herself a reporter!” A man, I think it may be Ned from the gas station, stands and yells. “We should bring her out here and tell her what this town really thinks of her.”
I look around in disbelief.
“I don’t know about that.” My mom uses her patient voice. “But I’ve been trying to get ahold of Jimmy all morning. Now if you know my boy, you know that he’s probably taken this all on his shoulders. Probably on a flight down here as we speak.”
