Page 39 of Wood Riddance
I had mostly avoided the diner as of late. A fixture of my childhood, it was the epicenter of Lovewell life and, therefore, Lovewell gossip. I’d have to face it sooner or later, and my girl wanted pancakes, so it looked like the time had come. I needed another cup of coffee to keep up with her for the rest of the day anyway.
When I held the diner door open, I was met with the chattering of patrons and the ringing of the bell above us. It was nostalgic. The sounds hadn’t changed a bit in decades.
The place was packed, as it always was on weekends. Stepping inside, I scanned the dining room, hoping to find a small table available or two open seats at the counter.
Immediately, a hush fell over the room, and every head turned our way.
Merry stepped back, snaking an arm around my waist and ducking behind me.
I couldn’t blame her for wanting to hide. The scrutiny was intense. Dozens of patrons were watching me with either curiosity or pity, and many with a sprinkle of scorn.
And my poor daughter was feeling the judgment.
She tugged on my arm and whispered, “Let’s go.”
I surveyed the room, standing a little straighter. It was a cross section of our community. Retirees, families, and a big table full of tween girls who couldn’t contain their giggles. Adele sat in a corner booth with her mother. Our eyes locked, and her gaze narrowed.
Lowering my head, I looked down at Merry, who’d moved so close to me she was tucked under my arm. Her little mouth was turned down and her eyes were glassy. At the sight of my daughter’s dejection, a part of me broke. I had to get her out of here. There was no saving this for us. This place would never forgive or forget, and I didn’t know why I thought it would.
I grasped Merry’s hand, ready to make a hasty exit, but before we could turn and leave, her voice echoed through the quiet room.
“What is your problem?”
Heart lurching, I turned to her. She wasn’t looking at me, though. No, she was pacing through the diner, glaring at every person in her path. Even Bernice, never one to stand down, was frozen, her ever-present coffee pot held aloft.
“This is not how we treat people,” Adele said, spinning on her heel to begin her trek back to the other side of the dining room. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”
A few people murmured in protest, but that only made a fire ignite in her eyes.
“Really, Mrs. Leary?” she said, striding over to where the older woman sat with a group of ladies. They wore twinsets and holier-than-thou expressions. “You’re going to throw stones? This town supported you when your son got drunk and drove into the hardware store.”
Mrs. Leary’s face was purple and full of indignation, and she was sputtering like she was gathering up a retort. But Adele continued, her hands on her hips like she was only getting started.
“We all chipped in to help with repairs. And didn’t we do a bake sale to help pay for him to go to rehab? Yet you and your friends have nothing better to do than gossip, and it hurts good, hard-working families.”
She pivoted to another table. “Father Renee, don’t you preach about forgiveness on Sundays?”
He nodded, not daring to make eye contact with her.
“Correct,” she said, answering her own question. “You, for one, should know better than to jump on this judgment bandwagon. Because if we believe a person is guilty by association, then you and your archdiocese comrades would be in big trouble. Eh, father?”
The priest’s face fell as several patrons around the room sniggered.
Merry and I were frozen, watching this unfold. She was still tucked up against me, but she was peeking out under my arm, intent on Adele.
She pointed at the table of young girls. “I’ll be sure to text every single one of your parents about your behavior this morning. And don’t forget, your school principal is my sister now.”
Their little faces went ashen as that threat landed.
Adele was in the middle of the diner now, commanding the attention of everyone there. “No one here is faultless, and we’ve all been associated with people we wish we could distance ourselves from. Our town has not survived for this long because we turn our backs on one another.
“This is not the Lovewell my great grandparents founded. And it’s time you all get your shit together, because if not, you will have me to answer to.”
The room remained silent, and every jaw in the place was slack as she spun on her heel and headed back to her booth.
Halfway to her table, one person spoke up. “But your father!”
She turned and stalked toward the man who dared to put up a fight. It was Mayor Lambert. He was an affable guy who had coached my peewee baseball team for several years. I’d known him my whole life, and he’d always been involved in the community. Even before he became mayor. He loved his job and this town, and he took his duties seriously. Honestly, he was the last person I thought would join the angry mob.
