Page 17 of Rhett & Moses
“Doesn’t it?” Vanessa agreed with suspicious enthusiasm. “And you two are the perfect team. The golden boy architect and the rebel mixologist, reunited after all these years.”
There was something in her tone, a knowing quality that made me wonder how much she’d pieced together over the years. Vanessa had always been too perceptive for her own good, or for mine, in this case.
Before I could question her further, the principal tapped the microphone, calling for everyone’s attention.
“Welcome, Millipeds, to our 80s Prom Trivia Extravaganza!” he announced to cheers and scattered applause. “We’ll be testingyour knowledge of Gomillion’s rich history and traditions. Teams have been pre-assigned based on your high school extracurricular activities, a little reunion within the reunion, if you will!”
I glanced around our table. Besides Rhett and me, there was Vanessa, of course, plus Jeremy Klein from Photography Club, Melissa Knight from Debate Team, and, to my dismay, Tom Jenkins, who had confronted me at the welcome party. The common thread eluded me until Rhett leaned in, his breath warm against my ear.
“We were all on the Heritage Committee senior year,” he whispered.
“Right,” I nodded, the memory coming back hazily. I’d joined the committee because Rhett was on it, not out of any particular interest in Gomillion’s history. Ironic, considering I’d later become notorious for allegedly disrespecting that very heritage.
“The first round will focus on Gomillion’s famous landmarks,” The principal continued, confirming my worst fears. “Each team has a buzzer. First to buzz in with the correct answer gets the points. Ready? Let’s begin!”
The first few questions were softballs, the year the town was founded, the name of the creek that ran through the center of town and the number of churches on Main Street. Our team, led primarily by Vanessa’s encyclopedic knowledge of local history, was neck and neck with a team of former student council members.
Then came the question I’d been dreading.
“The Paul Bunyan statue at the town square has been a Gomillion landmark since what year, and who donated it to the town?”
Tom’s hand shot toward our buzzer, but Rhett was faster, slapping it down with perhaps more force than necessary.
“1952,” he answered smoothly. “Donated by the Hayes Lumber Company to commemorate the town’s logging heritage.”
“Correct!” Principal Bushman beamed. “Five points to the Heritage Committee team!”
Tom shot Rhett a dark look but said nothing. I mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ to Rhett, who acknowledged it with a slight nod.
As the rounds continued, I found myself relaxing incrementally. Despite the uncomfortable topic, there was something comforting about sitting beside Rhett, our shoulders occasionally brushing as we leaned in to confer on answers. His presence was both grounding and electrifying, a contradiction that seemed to define everything about our relationship.
During a break between rounds, while most of our teammates went to refill drinks, Tom leaned across the table toward me, his expression sour.
“Must be nice,” he said, just loud enough for me to hear, “having Callahan defend your honor after all these years. Especially considering what you did.”
I stiffened, but before I could respond, Rhett’s hand landed on my knee under the table, a silent caution, a grounding touch.
“Let it go, Tom,” Rhett said, his voice even but with an unmistakable edge. “It was twenty years ago. Time to move on.”
“Easy for you to say,” Tom retorted. “You weren’t the one who had to explain to tourists why our town mascot had been destroyed.”
“No,” Rhett agreed mildly, “but I was the one who designed the restoration for free when the town couldn’t afford professional architects. So, I’d say we’ve all contributed to Gomillion’s heritage in our own ways.”
This was news to me. I turned to look at Rhett, surprised. “You designed the restoration?”
He shrugged, a hint of color touching his cheeks. “It was a small project, right after I graduated from architecture school. No big deal.”
But it was a big deal. While I’d been hiding in Atlanta, trying to outrun my past, Rhett had been helping to heal the very wound I’d been blamed for inflicting.
“Why?” I asked quietly.
His eyes met mine, soft with an emotion I couldn’t quite name. “Someone had to,” he said simply. “And I knew how much that statue meant to the town. To you, too, despite everything.”
The moment stretched between us, heavy with unspoken words. Tom, seemingly uncomfortable with the turn in conversation, mumbled something about getting a drink and left the table.
“I didn’t know,” I said when we were alone. “About you designing the statue.”
“There’s a lot we don’t know about each other’s lives since then,” Rhett replied. “Twenty years is a long time, Moses.”
