I was so ticked off last year when they went ahead with the homecoming game. And after I nearly killed that kid, they went ahead with the Harvest Festival. But this town has a way of turning a blind eye like nobody’s business. After news of my dad’s slaughter spread, a handful of reporters descended on Midland like a bunch of turkey vultures, but they couldn’t find a single person in this town to give them an interview. Mom felt real grateful, but it weirded me out more than anything. What did they have to hide?
A string of little kids rush in front of us, their faces painted up like tigers and princesses, laughing their heads off as they disappear into the maze. Reminds me of why I’m here. If there’s even a nail’s head of truth in all this Devil business, I have to do everything I can to stop it. For my dad. For my family. For the future.
While all the other guests have to walk around the main house and use the side gate to get to the back lawn, we’re Tates. The founding families use the front door. It’s our privilege. It’s what’s expected. Even stepping over the threshold feels like a commitment, like I’m a part of this now, whether I like it or not.
I notice Jess having some trouble with the clasp of her necklace.
“I can help,” I say as I step forward.
She lets me.
As I’m securing the locket around her neck I say, “Keep an eye on Noodle for me.”
Noodle looks back at me like she’s about to give me a piece of her mind, but I give her a sly wink and she simmers down. She gets it.
Noodle takes Jess’s hand and leads the way down the long hall toward the festivities. Mom follows, clutching her purse in front of her like it’s the last life preserver on the Titanic.
I keep my eyes trained in front of me, but I can feel my ancestors and the rest of the founding families staring at me from the portraits lining the hall. Even though they’re trapped behind glass, it feels like they’re watching … waiting.
With every step, my heart’s pounding double-time.
As we head out the French doors lining the back of the building, I notice the window’s already been fixed, like it never happened. For a second I wonder if it ever did. I wonder if this is how Dad felt at the end, questioning every little thing, but when Mr. Neely steps forward to greet me, bracing my elbow with a firm grip, I know it was real.
“Welcome home, Clay,” he says. There’s a sanctimonious glint in his eyes as he leads me to the edge of the patio so everyone can get an eyeful.
I glance around nervously. They’re waiting to see what’ll happen next. Even though I hate myself for doing it, I reach out and shake Mr. Neely’s hand. And it’s almost like I can feel the entire community take a deep breath.
As if on cue, the bluegrass band strikes up a raucous tune. Couples start two-stepping; kids are running around all high on Kool-Aid and sheet cake. Strands of tiny white lights are strung overhead, twinkling like low-lying stars.
Mrs. Neely quickly ushers my mom over to the other women of the founding families. They seem to welcome her back into the fold without a hitch, but there’s something about Mom, a distance, like she’s not all connected. I wonder if they can see it, too. God, I hope not.
The only one who hasn’t changed is Noodle. And with any luck, she’ll never have to. People are fawning all over Jess, telling her how pretty she looks. A boy asks her to dance—Ben Gillman’s little brother. He’s a good kid, decent QB at Midland Middle. Maybe this is just what Jess needs, a reminder of how things used to be, how they should be.
And just like that I find myself getting caught up in it all. It’d be so easy to slip back into this life, into ignorance, like cattle being led to slaughter. I guess that’s the Devil’s plan—it may look like a Wyeth painting, but it’s really the gateway to hell.
I take a deep breath, trying to get control of my nerves. Just stick to the game plan, Clay. Get the video and get the hell out of here.
I lock eyes with Tyler, who’s hanging around the patio with Tammy, Ben, and Jimmy. He doesn’t look surprised to see me. Mr. Neely obviously told them I’d be coming tonight.
As much as I want to just walk up to them, get this over with, I know I have to let them come to me. I circle around the party, acting as normal as possible. All anyone wants to talk to me about is football, and for the first time, I’m grateful for it. I head toward the buffet tables lining the center of the lawn, chock-full of casseroles. Mr. Miller has his smoker all set up. The whole place smells amazing, like hickory and spices, butter and caramel. There are metal troughs full of giant blocks of ice with all kinds of pop, kegs of beer. Kids are hiding out under the red-and-white-checked tablecloths, trying to sneak some, just like me and Dale used to do. Don’t have to sneak it anymore. If you play ball, you can get away with murder in this town. I fill up a cup with beer and slip it under the table to them.
“Thanks, Fifty-four. You’re the best!”
“No way. Clay Tate’s here?” A kid with freckles for miles peeks his head out. “Will you throw the ball to us, a real spinner, see if we can catch it?”