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“Brent!” Mom gasps. “Don’t—”
“No, I’m sick of it!” Dad yells, his finger in my face. “You want to talk about feelings? Do you have any idea the emails I get? The text messages? The letters under my windshield wipers? I go to work every day to defend the actions that someone took against someone else, and they both live in this town. I’ve got to glad-hand and smooth-talk my way through every conversation I have, Lydia. Everywhere I go in Henley is the court of public opinion, and my daughter just threw herself onto that pyre, doused it in gasoline, and practically begged someone to strike the first match.”
I’m quiet, staring down at the floor. Uneven Steven wanders in, his wheels squeaking as he inspects the errant apple. He gives it a half-hearted bat, and it rolls under the table. Mom scoops Steven up and unhooks his wheels, curling him against her chest. He nuzzles under her chin, his purrs filling the tense air of the dining room.
“Dad,” I say, the word almost lost, my mouth dry. I try again, wetting my lips. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Whatever you meant doesn’t matter,” Mom says, wiping a wet cheek against Steven’s furry coat. “Intention means nothing, and perception is everything. People listened to that podcast, and they heard you telling them what to think and how to feel. They didn’t like it.”
“And I know how ugly this town can be,” Dad adds, his anger flushed out now. “There’s no reason to expose yourself to it for the sake of a goddamn school project.”
“It’s not just about that,” I say, taking a deep breath. Dad’s anger is spent, and Mom’s got her therapy cat snuggled in tight. If there’s a time to cut through the cake to the gooey center, it’s now.
“It’s about Denise Halverson.”
Steven stops purring and lets out a small mew. Mom’s knuckles are white, her fingers digging deeply into his orange fur. Dad leans back in his chair, the blankness of his courtroom face back on display.
“You said Erin Hendrix called,” I turn to Mom. “What did she want?”
A bubble grows in my flattened stomach, a rising panic as I say Erin’s name. As much as I want to rail against the heavy criticism the episode is gaining, there is a part of me that understands exactly what Mom and Dad are talking about. Community is everything here, and social capital can mean much more than income.
“Mom?” I ask, the bubble making it to my throat. “Is Erin mad at me?”
“No,” she says. “But . . .” Mom glances to Dad, who nods. “She wants to talk to you.”
“Really?” I lean forward, everything inside of me suddenly rearranged as I go from being knocked down a few pegs to pulling myself up again to regain lost ground. “Has she ever heard from Denise? Does she know if she’s okay? What happened to her?”
“This is exactly what we’re worried about, Lydia,” Dad says. “The Halverson girl is a sore topic, and if you go poking at old wounds—”
“Why is it a sore topic?” I demand, plunging back in. “Why wouldn’t everyone band together to find her back in 1994? Why weren’t there search parties? Why didn’t people care more about this girl turning up missing?”
“People cared,” Mom says. “But it’s hard to care about someone you don’t know—and who burned their fair share of bridges—when your house is gone and everything you own is scattered across the county.”
“Burned bridges—like punching the sheriff?”
“Who have you been talking to?” Dad says, sitting straighter. “This is exactly what we mean, Lydia. Once you start sticking your nose—”
“This isn’t gossip, Dad!” It’s my turn to blow up, my anger popping the bubble of anxiety that had nearly made me choke before. “This isn’t meddling, and it’s not about minding your own business. A girl disappeared, don’t you get it? She vanished, and nobody looked for her.”
“People looked,” Mom says, her mouth a grim line that Steven reaches up to touch, his fuzzy paw patting her face, as if to reassure her. She kisses his pink pads, then tucks his foot back under her chin. “Don’t make this into something it isn’t.”
“Then explain to me what it is,” I say, my voice equally hard. “Because I’m having a hard time understanding.”
“It’s not easy to hear, I guess,” Dad says. “And not easy to say, when it comes down to it. But the truth is that the Halverson girl wasn’t from here, she didn’t belong here, and she didn’t stay here. She left when everything was in chaos, and Henley didn’t have a moment or a dime to spare for anyone who wasn’t our own.”
“Which she wasn’t,” I tack on.
“No,” Dad agrees. “She wasn’t.”
We’re all quiet for a moment, but the tension is gone. It’s been replaced by a low, thrumming sadness, something that Uneven Steven picks up on, his ears swiveling back and forth, looking for the source.
“What’s your next episode about?” Mom finally asks.
“ODOT,” I say, shrugging. “Bristal is in charge of it. She rode along with one of her family members. A guy named Larry.”
“What? Old Scary Larry?” Dad asks, his mood immediately lifted. “You’ll have to make sure you edit that. His language might be a little much for the sensitive ear.”
I bite down on my tongue, holding back a reply that all of Henley seems to have a sensitive ear, one that only wants to hear the positive and leave darker topics in shadowed corners.
