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Finally, he shrugs.
“All right, Gram. I’ll take you.” Looking at me, he adds, “It’s only an hour away. We can always check into a hotel if she wants to stay the night.”
I nod in uneasy agreement. I want to say I’ll come along, too. But Gram is already talking, telling me about the new guest who could show up anytime tonight.
Right. I can’t go. Someone needs to be here.
“No worries, I’ve got it covered, guys,” I say, hunting for Gram’s purse while she disappears into the bathroom to get ready for the drive.
“I’ll call you as soon as we know anything,” Marty tells me. “It’s amazing how shit the past twenty-four hours were.”
“When will it stop? And please do as soon as you know anything.”
He starts heading for the door to wait for Gram, but stops and looks at me.
“How ’bout you, Shelly? Are you okay?”
“I’ll manage.” I have to look away. “I just hope it was nothing serious with Faye...”
“Me, too,” he says. “West sounded shook up. He’s following the ambulance to the hospital and meeting Grady and his family there. Would you rather take Gram and have me stay here?”
I shake my head.
Weston doesn’t want to see me, especially with the nightmare unfolding. I know that.
Also, this isn’t about me. It’s about Faye, the McKnights, Marty, and Gram.
I refuse to inject extra drama into the situation, unintentionally or not.
“No, that’s sweet, but she wants you to take her. You’re a better driver at night on the backroads, too. Just tell me how everyone’s doing the second you hear, okay?”
“Will do. It’s interstate the entire way, so it won’t take long to get there.”
They leave a few minutes later.
Anxious and alone, I consider texting Weston an I’m sorry to hear... message.
But he’s driving, I’m sure, following the ambulance and worried sick about his aunt. He doesn’t need distractions. To keep myself from reconsidering, I set my phone on the desk.
Then, lost as to what to do, I walk across the lobby and click on the flat screen TV hanging above the old fireplace, just to break the silence that feels ominous.
The evening news breaks for a political commercial, some lady running for something or other in Montana. We get their broadcasts since we’re within spitting distance of the state line.
With T.E. Franklin for Governor, we’ll keep Montana safe, the ad drones, showing a smart-dressed woman in front of people who look way too excited for an election rally. Justice for hometown heroes and punishment for corporate bullies—no more violence or vigilantes. No towns left behind like Heart’s Edge. No burden too big. No place too small. We are Montana.
I wrinkle my nose. I haven’t missed that.
D.C. is the epicenter of lofty promises and scandalous disappointments. These types of ads are everywhere there, and politics even bleeds into the Smithsonian. I learned a long time ago to bite my tongue and not ruffle anyone’s feathers, no matter what they believe, because it’s a lose-lose scenario.
I remember hearing about some major craziness in Heart’s Edge, too. Giant companies using the town as an illicit test site, several brutal fires, a ghost town whose discovery had every historian buzzing, and mafia creepers getting busted left and right.
Definitely makes me thankful that Dallas hasn’t gone off the deep end yet.
I click the remote to a cable channel with old westerns and set down the remote. Grandpa loved winding down his day with these old shows. They’re the reason the first gift I remember getting is a set of cowgirl boots and a pink toy pistol.
Yeah, I don’t want to go back to D.C.
I tried to fit in, tried to believe it was everything I wanted because that was my plan.
