Page 49 of Rhett & Moses
His unwavering confidence bolstered mine, as it had so many times throughout this tumultuous week. I squared my shoulders, chin lifting slightly. “Right. No more hiding.”
“No more hiding,” he echoed, his smile proud and encouraging.
Together, we approached the entrance, the photographers turning their attention toward us as we reached the steps. I expected uncomfortable questions, invasive inquiries about the statue revelation and my relationship with Rhett. Instead, most simply called our names, asking us to pause for photos.
Rhett, ever the natural in social situations, fielded the brief questions with easy charm, his hand never leaving the small of my back as we navigated the gauntlet. His presence beside me, solid and unwavering, made it bearable, even, surprisingly, almost enjoyable.
Inside, the town hall’s main chamber had been transformed into an elegant dining space, round tables draped in white linen and adorned with blue and gold centerpieces, the Gomillion colors appearing once again. A small stage had been set up at thefront, complete with podium and microphone for the inevitable speeches.
Vanessa spotted us from across the room, waving enthusiastically before making her way through the crowd. She looked stunning in a red gown, her blonde hair swept up in an elegant updo.
“You two clean up nicely,” she greeted us, kissing each of our cheeks in turn. “I was starting to worry you’d chickened out.”
“Considering it,” I admitted. “Especially now that I see the seating chart.” I nodded toward the display near the entrance, where guests were checking their table assignments.
Vanessa’s expression turned apologetic. “I tried to have you seated with me, but the committee insisted on following the original arrangements. Which means...”
“We’re at the head table,” Rhett finished for her, having spotted our names on the chart. “With the mayor and other dignitaries.”
“And reporters from three local papers,” Vanessa added with a grimace. “Sorry about that. Politics.”
I sighed, resigning myself to an evening of awkward small talk and careful navigation. “It’s fine. We can handle it.”
“Of course we can,” Rhett agreed, though I detected a note of tension beneath his casual tone. “Though I might need something stronger than whatever champagne they’re serving.”
“Already handled,” Vanessa assured us with a conspiratorial smile. “I had a word with the bartender. Ask for the ‘Vanessa Special’ and you’ll get a proper drink.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” I told her sincerely, some of my anxiety easing at the prospect of decent alcohol to get through the evening.
“I do what I can,” she replied with a wink. “Now, I should mingle. But I’ll be watching from table three if you need rescuing.”
With that, she disappeared back into the crowd, leaving Rhett and me to make our way to the bar before facing our assigned seating. True to Vanessa’s word, the ‘Vanessa Special’ turned out to be a perfectly mixed Old Fashioned, strong enough to fortify us for what lay ahead.
“Liquid courage acquired,” Rhett said after taking an appreciative sip. “Shall we brave the lion’s den?”
I nodded, steeling myself as we approached the head table. Mayor Hayes was already seated, deep in conversation with the editor of the Gomillion Gazette. He looked up as we approached, his expression carefully neutral as he nodded in acknowledgment.
“Mr. Morley, Mr. Callahan,” he greeted us formally. “Thank you for joining us this evening.”
“Mayor,” Rhett replied with equal formality, his posture slightly protective as he stood beside me. “A lovely event.”
The mayor gestured to the empty seats across from him. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. Dinner will be served shortly.”
The subtle dismissal was clear, and we settled into our assigned chairs without further exchange. The table filled gradually with various town officials and press representatives, each greeting us with varying degrees of curiosity and caution. I focused on my drink, grateful for its calming effect as the room buzzed with conversation around us.
Rhett leaned in close, his breath warm against my ear. “You’re doing great,” he murmured. “Just breathe.”
I shot him a grateful look, drawing strength from his steady presence beside me. The comfort of having him there, unwavering in his support, was still new enough to feel like a revelation each time I experienced it.
Dinner proceeded with surprising smoothness, the food excellent and the conversation staying mostly in safe territory,reminiscences about high school days, updates on careers and families, polite inquiries about our respective businesses in Atlanta and Boston. If there was an undercurrent of tension, it remained largely unspoken, a tacit agreement to maintain civility for the evening.
It wasn’t until the dessert plates were being cleared that the real purpose of the evening began to unfold. Principal Bushman approached the podium, coughing to clear his throat in an aim to gain the room’s attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice carrying across the now-quieted hall, “welcome to the additional event added to conclude this week's Gomillion High’s twentieth reunion. It has been, I think we can all agree, a week of surprises, revelations, and, ultimately, healing.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. I felt multiple gazes turn in my direction, some curious, others appreciative, a few still wary.
“Tonight,” the principal continued, “we have with us representatives from several news outlets who have been covering the events of the past few days. In the spirit of transparency and community healing, they have a few questions for key participants in what has become quite a significant story.”
