He nodded. “Yes, for you it’s over.” He reached for my hand and squeezed it. “You faced down a monster last night, Lila. That experience is going to change you. Take some time to work through what’s happened. Enjoy the little things. Your family. They’ll see you through.”
IN ADDITION TO the weekend, I took three days off from work. Three days of sleeping late, sitting around in my pajamas, losing myself in a comforting Alexander McCall Smith novel, and drinking tea with slice after slice of Althea’s chocolate banana bread. When I found myself concocting a dinner for my mother and me of angel-hair pasta with goat cheese and sun-dried tomatoes, accompanied by wine, I knew I was ready to face the world again.
Before heading in to Novel Idea the next day, I stopped in at Espresso Yourself. The coffee shop was quiet. Only two tables were occupied, and Makayla was in the corner by the bookshelves, removing books from a paper bag.
“Hey, girl! Long time no see,” she said upon noticing me. “Take a look at these.” She held up two books. The first was The Book Thief by Markus Zusak and the other, The Help by Kathryn Stockett. “One of my regulars dropped off this bag for my little lending library. There are some fine books in here.” She put them on the shelf and pulled out another. “Oh, I am going to get lost in this one during my break. Ever read any of hers?”
I took The God of the Hive by Laurie King from her and perused the back cover. “No, but it sounds like an interesting series.” I handed it back.
“Did you read the paper this morning?” Makayla asked. When I shook my head, she said, “There’s an article about Marlette and his book.” She handed me a copy of the Dunston Herald. “Page three.”
Eagerly, I opened the paper. In the bottom left-hand corner, Marlette stared out at me from a black-and-white photo, younger than when I met him but older than in the camp photo. His eyes gazed out knowingly beneath his wild hair. For a moment I felt him in the coffee shop, as if he were standing behind me, looking over my shoulder.
ARTS CENTER BEQUEATHED TO INSPIRATION VALLEY read the headline. I pored over the article, which briefly described Marlette as a former university professor turned author. There was no mention of his recent lifestyle or how he died. I wonder whose influence directed this account.
The article continued:
A lucrative publishing contract has been signed for Robbins’s novel, The Alexandria Society. Due to his untimely death, Robbins will fail to reap the rewards of his success. However, the town of Inspiration Valley will benefit, as the heir to Robbins’s estate, a distant cousin, has donated the entire advance, as well as all rights to the book, to the town of Inspiration Valley. The proceeds will be used to construct the Marlette Robbins Center for the Arts.
“We are thrilled by this act of generosity,” said Ms. Bentley Burlington-Duke, president of Novel Idea, the literary agency representing Robbins’s novel. “Marlette Robbins was a gifted member of our community. His creative achievement will put Inspiration Valley on the map as an epicenter of culture.” Burlington-Duke will make an official announcement to the town upon her return from New York.
Beaming, I looked up at Makayla. “This is wonderful! Marlette gets credit for his book, and an arts center in his name will ensure that the town will always remember him.”
“Too bad we didn’t appreciate him more when he was alive,” she remarked, tamping down coffee grinds.
My smile faded. “I know. But given everything that’s happened, this is a pretty good result.”
“Here you go, sugar. That’ll fuel you for your first day back.”
“Thanks.” I picked up the takeout cup and turned to go, glancing through the window. As if summoned by the memory of Marlette, a sparrow flew past the coffee shop and landed in the tree on the corner. A group of people ambling down the sidewalk broke out into spontaneous laughter. A young woman trailing closely behind them had a long braid. Addison!
“Hey!” I shouted, running out the door and across the street. “Wait!”
Addison stopped but didn’t turn to greet me. I couldn’t blame her. After all, I was the reason her brother had been apprehended—that her world had been turned upside down.
“What do you want?” she demanded, her voice a low growl.
“To tell you that I’m sorry.”
She frowned. “For what? Ruining my life? Showing me a side of my brother I never knew existed?”
I was relieved to hear that this young girl hadn’t had foreknowledge of Carson’s crimes. “I’m sorry that you have to go through this. I wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone.”
She kicked at the curb with the heel of her boot, and I could see her eyes welling up with tears. “That’s what the cop who interviewed me said. But here I am.”
“You’re going to be okay,” I told her. “You’re strong. Just don’t stop believing in people. They can surprise you in good ways, too.”