Page 50 of Rhett & Moses
My stomach dropped. This wasn’t just a formal dinner; it was a press conference disguised as one. I shot an alarmed look at Rhett, who seemed equally surprised by this development.
“Don’t panic,” he whispered, his hand finding mine beneath the table. “We’ve got this.”
The principal consulted a list in front of him. “First, we’d like to hear from Mayor Hayes, whose family has been central to recent revelations.”
The mayor rose with the practiced ease of a career politician, straightening his tie as he approached the podium.His speech was exactly what I would have expected, a carefully worded acknowledgment of ‘unfortunate events’ from the past, assurances that the Hayes family had always prioritized Gomillion’s welfare, vague references to ‘healing and moving forward.’ Not once did he directly address his own role in the cover-up.
As he concluded to polite applause, the principal consulted his list again. “And now, we’d like to hear from Moses Morley, whose courage in coming forward has prompted much reflection in our community.”
The room went silent, all eyes turning toward me. I froze, unprepared for the invitation to speak. Public speaking had never been my forte, and the prospect of addressing the very people who had once judged me so harshly was nearly paralyzing.
“You don’t have to,” Rhett said softly, reading my panic. “You can decline.”
But something in me rebelled at the thought of remaining silent, of letting the mayor’s sanitized version of events stand unchallenged. After twenty years of hiding, of carrying secrets that weren’t mine to bear, I was done with silence.
I stood slowly, straightening my bow tie one last time before making my way to the podium. The walk felt interminable, each step echoing in the hushed room. When I finally reached the microphone, I took a moment to survey the faces before me, former classmates, town officials, reporters with pens poised over notepads.
“Thank you,” I began, my voice steadier than I felt. “I hadn’t planned to speak tonight, so I hope you’ll forgive me if my remarks are less polished than the mayor’s.”
A ripple of nervous laughter passed through the audience. I caught Rhett’s eye, drawing courage from his encouraging nod.
“Twenty years ago, I left Gomillion in what many considered disgrace. I had confessed to vandalizing a beloved town landmark, and accepted my punishment. For two decades, that was the story most of you knew.”
I paused, gathering my thoughts.
“The truth, as we now know, was more complicated. I didn’t vandalize the statue. I took the blame to protect myself and others from threats made by someone with more power and influence than I had. It was a choice made out of fear; fear of exposure, fear of rejection, fear of losing everything I cared about.”
The room was utterly silent now; every gaze fixed on me with rapt attention.
“I don’t share this to rehash the details or to assign blame. What’s done is done. But I do want to say this; living with secrets, with shame that isn’t yours to carry, comes at a tremendous cost. It took me twenty years to find the courage to tell the truth, and I regret every day that I waited so long.”
I looked directly at Mayor Hayes, who maintained a carefully neutral expression despite the obvious discomfort in his posture.
“I understand the impulse to protect those we love, to preserve reputations and maintain the status quo. But when that protection comes at the expense of truth, of justice, that protection becomes harmful, not helpful.”
Several heads nodded in the audience, including, to my surprise, some of the older town council members who had once been among my harshest critics.
“I had prepared to face the same judgment I’d experienced twenty years ago when these familiar faces returned. Instead, I found something unexpected, a community willing to listen, to reconsider, to grow. For that, I'm genuinely grateful.”
I looked around the room, making eye contact with various faces, Vanessa, smiling proudly; Bronwyn, raising her glass in asubtle toast; Rhett, whose expression held such pride and love that it nearly took my breath away.
“This week has been about more than clearing my name. It’s been about reconnection, reconciliation, second chances. About finding courage I didn’t know I had, and discovering that it’s never too late to tell your truth, to reclaim your story.”
I paused, considering my next words carefully.
“Gomillion will always be part of my story, for better or worse. It shaped me, challenged me, and ultimately taught me that the only way past certain obstacles is through them. I leave here tomorrow with a lighter heart than I arrived with, and for that, I thank you all.”
As I stepped away from the podium, the room erupted in applause, not the polite, measured kind that had followed the mayor’s remarks, but something more genuine, more spontaneous. I made my way back to the table on slightly shaky legs, relief washing over me as I reclaimed my seat beside Rhett.
“That,” he whispered, leaning close, “was magnificent. You’re magnificent.”
I flushed at the praise, still processing what had just happened. “I didn’t plan any of that.”
“Which is why it was perfect,” he replied, his hand finding mine again beneath the table. “Honest, direct, not a script in sight.”
Principal Bushman had returned to the podium, inviting questions from the press. I tensed, preparing for invasive inquiries or challenges to my account. But the first question, directed to me from a reporter with the regional paper, caught me entirely off guard.
“Mr. Morley, there’s been talk of your artisanal gin collection becoming available more widely in the Carolinas. Any plans to expand distribution beyond Atlanta?”
