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“Consider it done.” His expression softened as he studied my face. “Everything alright? You’ve got that look you get when something’s eating at you.”
I hesitated, uncertain whether to confide in Mickey. Though he’d become a close friend since my return, his long-standing friendship with Ethan complicated things.
Yet that connection also made him the ideal person to ask.
“Mickey, do you…” My voice emerged barely above a whisper. “Do you think I was a bully in high school?”
His eyebrows shot up. “Where’s this coming from?”
Running a hand over my head, I exhaled. “Something Ethan said. We argued, and he accused me of being a bully. Was I?”
Mickey leaned back, contemplating. “That’s quite a loaded question. Can you give me some context?”
I explained the situation, omitting my worst behavior. With each word, tension crept further into my shoulders as the weight of everything settled over me.
Mickey remained silent for a moment.
I shouldn’t have brought it up. Too awkward.
“Look, I wouldn’t say you were a bully exactly. But you’ve always been… intense. Particularly about organizing events. You’ve definitely mellowed since high school.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I can imagine that sometimes the intensity might have felt pushy or intimidating.”
The knot in my stomach tightened. “So Ethan’s right?”
Mickey shrugged. “I didn’t say that. Perception is complex. What you saw as enthusiasm and rallying people, Ethan might have experienced differently.”
“But I never intended to…”
Intent and impact—they weren’t always aligned, were they?
“I know,” Mickey said gently. “But perhaps this is an opportunity to sit with Ethan and understand his perspective. You’ll be working closely this week. A genuine conversation might prevent further misunderstandings.”
Horror struck me as the memory of how harsh I’d been about his purchase of the Montgomery place flashed through my mind. “Oh God. What if he withdraws? The entire event could collapse!”
Mickey raised a calming hand. “Don’t create problems that don’t exist. Ethan won’t back out. His commitment to Maplewood runs too deep to risk the festival’s success.”
“How can you be so certain?” The desperation in my voice was embarrassing.
Mickey leaned forward, expression serious. “Consider this: despite whatever happened in high school, Ethan said yes to being grand marshal even though he knew he’d be working with you. He also consistently supports community projects and returns every summer for the hockey camp.”
I frowned, trying to recall specific instances of him backing the town beyond seeing him at summer events like Pride or setting his moms up with the theater. “Support?”
“Let’s discuss the library for a moment. Who are your major donors?”
The abrupt topic shift caught me off guard. “We have many individual contributors, with the largest giving a couple thousand annually. Several local businesses, like yours, donate. The biggest is the Maplewood Foundation, which supports several organizations.”
He raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Have you never wondered about the foundation?”
I shrugged. “It was already in place when I took over here. I submit the required annual report. I assumed it was established by the founding families as their way of giving back.”
Mickey’s lips curved into a knowing smile as he shook his head.
My mind raced, connecting the dots. “Ethan?”
He nodded. “He set it up during his first NHL season. You know he shies away from attention, so he didn’t want his name plastered everywhere. But he’s deeply committed to his hometown.”
This revelation rattled me to my very core. The Maplewood Foundation appeared in virtually every local organization’s donor list. Foundation funds comprised nearly half the library’s annual budget. Without that support, the banned books initiative wouldn’t exist.
And I’d thoughtlessly accused Ethan of selfishness.
