“Not true,” my brother says. “Now we get to see you.”
* * *
Roe
Back at home,my mom’s home, I share what has happened. Everything with Maggie. From the beginning. Well, mostly. I can’t share about her talents and instead hint that she’s just a strong journalist. Also, I don’t share how intimate we were. The relief that the town is fine, not only fine but flourishing without me, allows me to focus wholeheartedly on how massively I screwed up. My love for her is written all over my face. I can’t help it. Talking about Maggie makes me that way.
“She sacrificed everything for me. For nothing. He abused her. Again.”
“Poor girl.” My mother shakes her gray curls. “It’s a cruel world.”
“I need to make it right for her. But what could I possibly do at this point to undo what he did to her?”
She taps her chin for a minute. “It sounds to me like all she ever needed was you and your support.”
“I’m such an idiot.”
She grabs my hand and squeezes. “You’ll make it right.”
“I’m grilling up ribs for dinner. Been marinating overnight.” My dad rubs his stomach in anticipation. “Are you going to eat with us?”
I feel my mother watching me closely. I’m about to give my normal brush off but think about how I haven’t eaten since pancakes. Pancakes make me think of Maggie and just like that, guilt is making me want to not eat. I see now that maybe it isn’t how I should be viewing food. As a reward and punishment system.
“Sounds great,” I say.
“Help me shuck some corn,” Mom says.
My phone vibrates and I reach for it so fast I almost drop it.
“Is it Maggie?” my mother asks, ever hopeful for me.
“I don’t know the number.” I slide to accept it. “Hello?”
“Hello, Mr. Roe. This is Maggie’s friend. Please turn on the TV to Entertainment News.”
“Dad, turn the TV on,” I ask him with my hand over the phone because he’s closest to the remote. Then I ask the phone, “Who is this?”
“A friend.” The voice sounds weird and garbled. “You have some serious making up to do.”
The line goes dead and I growl at it. “I know that. If you stayed on the line, you could have told me how.”
A text pops up and I blink at the same number. The text states, “You’ll figure it out.”
I stare at the phone in disbelief and with more than a little concern but am quickly sidetracked by the sight of Maggie on the screen. The caption on her image says “Maggie May, Journalist.” She’s sitting in a studio. Someone runs off screen after adjusting her mic as though they rushed into all this.
Her voice is strong but her hands holding the paper shake. I should be there holding her. I can’t tear my eyes away.
“Hi, I’m Maggie May. You might know me as Miss Mayday. I’m here today to set the record straight about a few things.”
I sit in front of the TV, turning it up way louder than it needs to be. People collect behind me, but I’m only vaguely aware of them.
“First and foremost, let me say that I never wrote that story about James Roe. Mr. Roe is a man of impeccable character, and the lies propagated about him aren’t true. I didn’t write that story, but it was my fault that he was involved in this mess. He has nothing to do with anything I’m about to say.” She holds the camera in an intense stare. It’s the determined woman I know so well. It’s like she’s looking at me, willing me to understand. “I’ll find a way to prove he has nothing to do with the allegations against him.”
Someone gasps behind me but I can’t move my eyes. Another person says, “That’ll be easy. We’ll fix that.”
“I’ve already contacted a lawyer,” my dad says.
I don’t turn though. I can barely blink. Even now she’s protecting me. Trying to help at her own risk.
