Travis (Pelion Lake 1)

“Thank goodness,” she murmured, taking the few steps to where I’d parked the dolly I’d used to cart the boxes in.

The crowd murmured, expressions rife with interest, and some concern, as Deb wheeled the first box toward the crowd, asking everyone to take a packet and pass them down. I waited a few minutes while they were distributed, Deb wheeling back and getting a second box to hand out to the middle and back rows. I avoided looking at the first of the citizens who’d already received the list I’d compiled throughout a long week and several sleepless nights. I couldn’t bear to see their faces. I was bone weary, and yet fear and humiliation roiled in my gut.

“The flyer distributed at the annual meeting about the Torreses was wrong on every level,” I began. “I didn’t intend for any of that to be made public”—I shot Spencer a look and he bowed his head, ashamed—“but, I take full responsibility because I was the one who, because of my pride and my shortcomings, planted the seed that resulted in that list being compiled.” I looked around, watching the packets being passed down one aisle and then the next. “We’re better than that, as a community, and as individuals. Eight years ago, we learned what making outcasts of people does, and what gifts we all receive when we embrace a welcoming spirit.”

I cleared my throat. The murmurs were rising in volume. Yeah, there was a lot to murmur about.

“Regarding the Torreses, I’d also like to make it clear that I’m biased. I’m biased because I’m in love with Haven Torres. Deeply, miserably, completely in love with her.” I was pretty sure more mouths dropped open but my vision had gone slightly blurry. “Maybe it seems quick—”

“Maybe it seems like it’s about damn time!” someone yelled from the crowd below. I thought it sounded like Mrs. Connick, but I couldn’t be certain.

“In any case, I’m sure it will be some consolation to many of you that you’ll enjoy witnessing my torment and suffering for a long time to come. Possibly for the rest of this life. Potentially into the next.”

Murmurs. The sound of pages flipping. Someone in the back shouting, “What the hell? Who does that?” as they read over one bullet point or another.

“Haven Torres is the bravest, most big-hearted person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, and any community would be lucky to have her in it. Communities should hold lotteries to win people like her. She cares for people, and even things, deeply and we don’t deserve her because no one does.” I glanced around quickly. “Easton Torres has made mistakes. But so have I.” I squinted, clearing my throat again. “I, of all people, have no right to pass judgment on others. I’ve done things to ruin lives. I’ve acted in ways some might judge irredeemable.” I paused, gathering what little courage it felt like I had left. “And the further truth—and a fact that wasn’t included on that list—is that Easton acted as a hero when he saved his sister’s life and for that, I will spend the rest of mine grateful to him. As an act of contrition, and of public apology for my part in what happened at the first town meeting, I’ve compiled a list, of every immoral, shameful, in a few regrettable instances, sacrilegious, and . . . well, in some cases downright illegal things I’ve ever done. Because I can’t make excuses for Easton Torres, nor for myself, but I can join him. And that’s what I’m here to do. I’m here to join him.”

I dared a glance at Moira Cormier in the front row, who ran the pet grooming shop in downtown Pelion. Her eyes were wide and her mouth hung open as she scanned one page, flipping to the next. “There are some doozies in there. As you’ll see, names and specific dates are redacted to protect the privacy of the individuals involved.” I swallowed. The murmurs rose again, this time not only in volume, but in intensity. My face felt hot, muscles achy with tension. I didn’t want these people to know these things.

“Er, I realize . . . well, I realize that some of these items might make you consider a chief of police recall. I wouldn’t blame you. I’m prepared for that if you all deem it in the best interest of the town,” I finished. I felt scared, miserable, and yet there was a strange weight that had been lifted off my shoulders. I didn’t know if I was grateful for the release of pressure, or if that empty spot would come to be filled by a different, weightier burden.

But I’d accept whatever fallout this might cause. I’d earned it.

I’d never fought for anyone before. I’d been too busy fighting for myself. Thinking only of myself. While Haven had only done the opposite. And I loved her. God, I loved her.