The Splendour Falls (40 page)

I obeyed orders and headed to where Paula was waving to me. I'll say one thing – she was efficient as she ushered me into Reverend Watkins's tiny, book-cluttered office. Even he seemed a little stunned by the whirlwind as we faced each other across his desk. ‘So,'
he said, looking me right in the eye, ‘Paula says you haven't been sleeping well.'

I had my answer prepared. ‘It's not the big deal she thinks it is. Now that she's letting Gigi stay in my room at night, it shouldn't be a problem.'

‘But you were in the woods last night.' He raised his brows in a question. ‘Near where you saw the girl jump in the river?'

I sighed, and with an air of confession, gave him the half-truth I'd decided would make me sound as normal as possible. ‘I was meeting a guy in the woods. Do you think I should have told her that instead?'

He blinked, and cleared his throat. ‘Were you … um …'

‘No, no, no,' I assured him honestly. ‘Just talking.'

Looking relieved, he sat back in his creaking chair. ‘Do you like this boy?'

‘Yes.' This was more candid than I'd ever been with my shrink. The old, Manhattan Sylvie would have shrugged, or said something cutting. The agreement slipped out easily now, though I couldn't voice all my feelings because I didn't understand them, or why they seemed to run so deep when I'd only known Rhys a week. ‘But it's complicated.'

‘Don't answer if you don't want to, but … is it Shawn Maddox?'

I eyed him, gauging his reaction. ‘No.' His guarded expression slipped away, and he looked relieved. The realization surprised me into saying, rather tactlessly, ‘You seem to be the only one in town that doesn't seem to think the sun rises and sets on him.'

Reverend Watkins bit back a smile and said, with exaggerated gravity, ‘Maybe it's because I already have a saviour.'

‘Ha!' He'd surprised a braying laugh out of me. Since I felt like I'd get an honest opinion out of him, I floated an observation. ‘You may have noticed that people around here seem to have some expectations of us. Shawn and me, that is.'

‘Just a bit.'

His irony gave me hope – finally – for some refreshing candour. ‘Can I ask you a question?'

‘Certainly.' Glancing at the clock, he said, ‘We might need another few minutes to convince Paula you've unburdened all your troubles.'

‘What do you think of this Maddox Point deal? It keeps coming up whenever I talk to people from town.'

He steepled his fingers in front of his chin. ‘I think that when the price tag makes things exclusive, the people it tends to exclude …'

I filled in the blanks of his tactful omission. ‘You end up with a place as homogenized as a carton of milk. But the town is in favour of the place. I mean, everyone I've met is.'

He shrugged. ‘Folks believe it will bring in rich people to spend their money on the weekends. Which it might.'

‘Which would be good, right?' One of Shawn's win-win situations. ‘The town could use the money. I mean, there are some nice houses in Maddox Landing, but out in the country …' I trailed off, and didn't
mention the single-wide mobile homes and tumbledown shacks.

‘Right.' He followed my gist with a sober nod.

‘People who will pay with their taxes if the bond that Zachary Maddox wants is voted in. Call me a raging liberal, but I don't think people should have to fund the sewage system of a place that's too exclusive for them to afford.'

He stopped, looking a little embarrassed. ‘Sorry. I thought I was done preaching for the day.'

‘It's OK. I didn't know there was a bond up for a vote.' That put the town's rampant one-sided opinion on the matter in a different light. As usual, I hadn't thought about money.

‘Anyway,' said the reverend as he stood to escort me the three steps to the office door. ‘Revenue is nice, but I like looking out over a multicultural congregation. I don't want to go backwards, just to get more money in the collection plate.' He winced. ‘That's just between you and me.'

‘Of course.' I grinned. ‘Sanctity of the confessional and all.'

The reverend smiled in return, and opened the door. ‘You're thinking of the Catholics, but I'll take it.'

I went to meet Paula knowing I wasn't going to get a sudden case of the flu. I had to go to the festival. I took Rhys's warnings seriously – vague as they were – but when was I going to get a better chance to dissect the layers of mystery around the Teen Town Council and its connection to Maddox Landing and Maddox Point? Not to mention Bluestone Hill.

I'
d seen the banner over Main Street announcing the festival, but I hadn't known what to expect. I had a bit of a clue as Shawn drove past cars and pickups parked two deep on the town's side streets and in the lots of stores that appeared to be closed for the day.

‘Where did all these people come from?' I asked. Gigi stood on my lap, her paws on the window, just as fascinated, but less flabbergasted.

Shawn slid me a smile as we pulled into a private parking lot right before the barricades across Main
Street. ‘Did you expect twenty-five people at the high school gym?'

‘Of course not. I was thinking a hundred or so in the National Guard armoury.' He laughed, but the truth was, I
had
underestimated the TTC. Through the windshield I could make out an enormous marquee shading long folding tables and chairs, and vendor booths set up around the town square. When Shawn killed the engine, I could hear a live band and happy crowd chatter. ‘I didn't think Maddox Landing had this many people in it.'

‘It doesn't. But people do know how to drive someplace when there's food, music and beer.' Flashing that grin, he got out of the truck and came round to help me down. When I'd gone back to the Hill, I'd discovered all my jeans were covered in garden dirt, so I was wearing another skirt. At least I wouldn't be able to tell if people were staring at me because I was a Davis, or because of the scars on my leg.

I put Gigi into her tote; I didn't want her to get stepped on in the crowd. She popped her head out the open top, nose twitching blissfully. I smelled at least part of what she did – plenty of fried food, both sweet and savoury. That, at least, was no surprise.

Shawn took my hand to steady me as I stepped over the kerb, and he didn't let go afterwards. I felt a tingle of reaction, but it was drowned out by the cynical voice in my head, pointing out how smoothly that was done.

What was I doing? I wasn't a girl detective. I was a ballerina who couldn't even trust her own senses. Last
night I'd chased a ghost and nearly broken my neck. Was I running just as foolishly headlong now?

I was very aware I was doing the
exact
opposite of what Rhys had told me to do. It wasn't pure obstinacy, and it wasn't frivolous curiosity. I needed to dig at this mystery the way I needed to dig the weeds out of my garden. I kept thinking if I could just reveal the pattern, I would understand – I don't know –
something.

‘You look so serious,' said Shawn, nudging my arm with his elbow as we reached the square. ‘It's supposed to be a party.'

Come on, Sylvie, get in gear.
I might not be much of a detective, but when I had my game on, I could smile through
anything
– bleeding toes, wardrobe malfunctions, clumsy partners. I could handle this.

‘Sorry,' I told Shawn, deliberately relaxing the furrow of concentration between my brows. We'd arrived with the festivities in full swing. The tables under the awning were already crowded, and the band was covering the only Lynyrd Skynyrd song I could name. It gave me an excuse for an arch smile. ‘Is it in the state constitution that you have to play “Sweet Home Alabama” at every event?'

He laughed. ‘Only at ones with more than fifty people.'

The streets around the town green (Maddox Green, of course) had been blocked off, and vendors were selling arts, crafts and every kind of fried food imaginable. It wasn't high-toned – ' booth' in some cases meant a barbecue and a card table stacked with paper plates and condiments – but in addition to the music and laughter,
there was an energetic pulse in the air. I could feel it catching me up in its wave, maybe a little against my will.

‘The Teen Town Council did all this?' I couldn't keep the marvelling wonder out of my voice.

‘We spearheaded it, I guess you'd say.' Shawn downplayed the accomplishment. ‘The real town council – mostly my dad and Ms Brewster – helped. For some reason people don't trust teenagers when it comes to forking over money for sponsorships and advertising.'

I would wager Shawn could convince anyone to trust him with anything. But there were probably logistical considerations if most of his workforce was under eighteen.

‘I think you can tentatively call it a success,' I said.

He nodded. ‘I'm thinking maybe next year it will be a two-day festival, maybe advertise in Selma and Montgomery. And of course by then, we'll have people in Maddox Point.'

‘So soon?' I spoke without thinking, not shocked by his optimism, but by the timing. ‘Don't you have to finish the surveys and see if the bond passes?'

His brows shot up in surprise, and he stopped walking. I was aware of the audience – hyper-aware, since I had my game on – but standing with Shawn always felt a little like standing in a bubble, just he and I, everyone else looking in.

‘You've put your ear to the ground, I see.'

Crap. That was stupid, showing my hand that way. Even if Shawn were as straightforward as his public image, he was bound to take my interest the wrong way.

‘Sylvie!' Hugely relieved for the distraction, I turned at my squealed name, then heard, even louder and more thrilled, ‘Gigi!'

Caitlin and Kimberly ran up to us, and I felt almost flattered that they hugged me in welcome before petting my dog. Gigi, of course, was ecstatic, licking their hands like they were coated in bacon.

‘Are you having a good time?' Caitlin asked.

It was a little hard to tell whether she was talking to me or the dog. I took a chance and answered. ‘We just got here.'

Kimberly gestured across the tent. ‘We've got a table by the band. One of the perks of helping to set up. Come sit with us.'

I was grateful for the invitation. I could feel out the TTC and have some respite from Shawn's full attention.

‘We were about to get something to eat,' said Shawn. ‘We'll head over after we hit the booths.'

Caitlin looked up from scratching Gigi's chin. ‘Can we hold onto Gigi for you?'

A quick pinch of unease made a liar out of me. I wasn't
that
comfortable with them. ‘It's awfully crowded. I'd better keep her close, in case she gets anxious.'

At the moment, she was closer to nirvana than a nervous breakdown. But Caitlin took it in stride, and Kimberly said, ‘Bring your food over. We're right by the dance floor.'

They took off at full speed, red curls and black braids bouncing in tandem. I looked at Shawn, feeling ambushed. ‘No one said there was going to be dancing.'

He raised his hands, holding off the bite in my accusation. ‘I'm so sorry, Sylvie,' he said, sounding contrite. ‘I didn't even think.'

Did I believe him? On the one hand, I suspected Shawn didn't spit without a plan. On the other, how could he know how much it still hurt to watch other people let music move them. It wasn't about skill, or style, or talent. It was about the kinetic joy of motion. The worst dancer in the world was happy shuffling his feet to the beat. How could I ever be happy shuffling, when I used to soar?

Shawn touched my shoulder, let his hand trail down my arm to again clasp my hand, this time with a reassuring squeeze. My defences were low, and the warm comfort of his touch spread through me, the catin-the-sunshine glow unknotting the tight knot at the base of my skull.

Game face, Sylvie.
I needed to keep my head about me, to make good on my boast to Rhys that I knew how to swim in deep waters.

‘Come on,' he said. ‘Let's get something to eat. What will you have? Cheese fries? Elephant ear?'

‘No fried green tomatoes?' I asked, the closest I could come to a disarming quip.

He grinned. ‘I'll bet I can swing something for you.'

Almost more amused than cynical, I bet he could, too.

By the time Shawn and I joined the rest of the TTC, I'd seen almost everyone I knew – south of the Mason
Dixon Line, anyway – and met a lot more. I recognized some from the church, and some from the Daisy Café, but they all seemed to know me, or at least
of
me.

It was no longer a surprise, but my ballerina smile was getting a workout. Especially at the similarity of everyone's sentiments. ‘Welcome home.' Or, ‘It's great to see a young Davis back at Bluestone Hill.' It quickly went from irritating to unnerving.