Page 38 of Rhett & Moses
Unable to argue with her logic, and admittedly curious myself, I followed, keeping a discreet distance but close enough to hear their conversation.
“I want to be clear,” the mayor was saying as we approached, “this is not an official apology on behalf of the town or my family. That would require discussions with the council and legal considerations I’m not prepared to undertake.”
“I’m not looking for an official apology,” Moses replied evenly. “I made my peace with what happened a long time ago.”
Mayor Hayes nodded, seeming to gather himself. “Nevertheless, I feel I owe you a personal acknowledgment. I...I handled the situation poorly twenty years ago. I was quick to accept the explanation that painted my son in the best light, without questioning him.”
Moses remained silent, his expression carefully neutral as the mayor continued.
“Yes,” Moses agreed simply.
The mayor looked uncomfortable with Moses’s direct response, clearly having expected either angry rejection or grateful acceptance of his half-apology. Getting neither, he shifted tactics.
“I also wanted to let you know,” the mayor continued, straightening his shoulders slightly, “that I’ve spoken with your father. I made it clear that I do not expect or require him to disavow you or your statements. Whatever rift exists between you should not be on my account.”
This seemed to genuinely surprise Moses. “Thank you,” he said after a moment. “That was... unexpected.”
“Yes, well,” the mayor cleared his throat awkwardly, “it seemed the right thing to do.”
An uncomfortable silence fell between them, twenty years of misunderstanding and pain too complex to be resolved in a single conversation.
The mayor nodded once more to Moses, acknowledged me with a brief glance, then turned and made his way back through the crowd, his posture slightly less rigid than when he’d arrived.
“Well,” Vanessa said once he was out of earshot, “that was unexpected.”
“Very,” Moses agreed, looking somewhat shell-shocked. “Did he just... apologize? In his own politically calculated way?”
“I believe he did,” I confirmed, moving to stand beside Moses, my hand finding his in a gesture of support. “And apparently, he’s intervened with your father as well. I believe mine too.” She showed me her cell and the message from herdad about the situation. “Seems things are settling down around here.”
Moses shook his head, clearly trying to process this development. “I don’t know what to make of that. My fathers not that easily influenced, especially when his pride is at stake.”
“True,” Vanessa acknowledged, “but Mayor Hayes can be persuasive when he wants to be. And he does have leverage; your father’s business depends heavily on contracts with the town and Hayes family connections.”
“Political self-interest dressed as moral rectitude,” Moses mused. “Classic Richard Hayes.”
“But potentially helpful for you,” I pointed out.
Moses nodded slowly, the idea taking root. “Maybe. Not today, though.” He glanced around the square, at the gathering that had continued uninterrupted despite the mayor’s brief appearance. “Today is about moving forward, not rehashing the past.”
As if to emphasize his point, Bronwyn appeared, clipboard in hand and determination in her stride. “If you three are done with your clandestine meeting, we have a gin tasting to run and about thirty people waiting to sample Moses’s new citrus blend.”
“Duty calls,” Moses said with a small smile, squeezing my hand before releasing it. “We’ll talk more later?”
“Definitely,” I promised, watching as he returned to his station, immediately engaging with the waiting customers, his passion for his craft evident in every gesture.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a pleasant blur of tastings, conversations, and unexpected moments of connection. I watched Moses move through the crowd with growing confidence, accepting congratulations on his gin selections and, occasionally, quiet words of support regarding his recent revelations.
As the event wound down, I found myself standing before the Paul Bunyan statue, studying the craftsmanship of the restoration I’d designed so many years ago. It was solid work, I noted with professional pride, the wooden figure imposing yet benevolent, a symbol of the town’s logging heritage that had taken on new meaning in recent days.
“You did a good job with him,” Moses said, appearing at my side. “He looks almost friendly now.”
“That was the idea,” I admitted. “The original always looked a bit menacing to me. When they commissioned the restoration, I thought he could use a kinder expression.”
Moses studied the statue thoughtfully. “Symbolic. Transforming something broken into something better than it was before.”
“I might have been working through some personal issues in my design,” I acknowledged with a small smile.
He bumped his shoulder against mine, a casual gesture of intimacy that felt both new and familiar. “Well, it worked. Both the statue and the personal processing, it seems.”
