“The difference is that they’re feeding you a line of bullshit. They are concerned with the town’s well-being insofar as that keeps it financially stable. Émilie doesn’t give a shit about that. She has more money than she can spend. Every one of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren has a trust fund. We still have to work for a living, but we can take whatever job we like, without concern for income. That’s her gift to us. My grandmother genuinely cares about Rockton as an ideal. I only mean that you two may disagree on how to best achieve that goal.”
“So trust that she thinks she’s doing what’s best for Rockton.”
“And for Eric.”
I glance over sharply. “Eric?”
Petra shrugs and lowers her voice as we enter a busier part of town. “I don’t know his full story. Only that something happened when he was a child, and she was concerned for his well-being and fought for him.”
She means Gene bringing Dalton into Rockton. Émilie disagreed with allowing Gene to keep him—she’d been uncomfortable with Gene’s story that the boy was neglected and abandoned.
Petra continues, “Do you remember those ads on TV for ‘fostering’ kids in Africa? You were assigned a child and sent money for their schooling and health care?”
“I knew someone who did that.”
“My parents always did. Now it has a whiff of the white-savior complex, but at the time, it was cool getting updates. My parents were so proud when ‘their’ kids grew up and graduated high school and went to college or learned a trade. As if they’d played a role beyond sending checks. That’s a bit like Émilie with Eric. She’s very proud of him, and she definitely has a soft spot for him. You can use that to your
advantage.”
“Got it.”
“Otherwise? Don’t underestimate her. She’s old. She’s a woman. She isn’t physically intimidating. She uses all that to her advantage.” Petra slides a glance my way. “As someone who meets those last two criteria, though, I suspect you’re prepared for that.”
“She flew a plane out here on her own. I would not make the mistake of underestimating her.”
“Good.”
We change the subject once we reach the bakery. It’s almost closing time, meaning pastries are half-price, and there’s a line. I feel gazes on me, people wanting to ask questions, but Petra keeps up a running patter that no one dares interrupt.
Once we reach the counter, I know I need to say something. Devon is watching me. He’s a baker and one of the town … I won’t say “gossips.” To me, that implies malicious intent. Devon fills the role of news source in a town without public media. His partner—Brian—bakes in the back, and Devon interacts with people. Conversation will naturally turn to current events, and he’s happy to discuss them. So when he watches me with that look, I know he’s waiting to see whether I have anything to pass on.
“Lots of talk, I’m guessing,” I say.
“Talk and speculation.”
“Mmm.”
The latter is the problem. The less we say, the more people make shit up to fill in the blanks. Let it go too long, and there’s no point correcting them. What they’ll remember is the speculation.
“Tell people I’ll call a meeting first thing tomorrow,” I say. “We have someone here from the council, and I can’t speak until I’ve run it by her.”
“A woman from the council?” Devon says.
I nod. “Petra is taking her in.”
“What about Phil?”
He means why not have her stay with Phil, but as soon as he says the name, I mentally smack myself. Émilie is here, and no one has told Phil.
Shit.
* * *
Earlier, I’d had a mini-meltdown, overwhelmed by everything after Sophie attacked Jay. Now I’m tempted to have another. Not so much a meltdown as a short-circuiting, my brain pulled in too many directions at once. So many things to do, and it’s already dinner hour, and I’m torn between needing more hours in my day and feeling like it should be midnight already.
Instead of ticking items off a to-do list on this endless day, I seem to be adding a dozen an hour. Juggling more and more balls only to be reminded, every now and then, of the ones I’ve dropped. Like telling Phil about Émilie.
I’m halfway across town when I see the man himself … walking with Dalton in the direction of Petra’s house. Dalton catches my eye and gestures something between a shrug and an exhausted shake of his head. He’s picked up this particular dropped ball then, having told Phil about Émilie, and now Phil is insisting on speaking to her and Dalton doesn’t have the energy to argue.