discord.
“Would you like to introduce yourself?” the Sheriff asked.
Syd faced the room, cheeks still cool and pale while the blush bloomed over my own face just standing beside her. She held the pastry out to the Sheriff, and said, “I don’t think we need to pretend if we don’t have to. Is there anyone here who doesn’t know who I am?”
Two hands shot up. The Fenton brothers, who moved here just after Syd and her mother left town.
She didn’t do a very good job of hiding her annoyance, her fight to keep from scowling turning her mouth into an uneven grimace. “I’m Syd Turner. My father is, was, Cal Turner. He bred horses, as you probably know. I’m here because, well.”
The Fentons mumbled their condolences.
“Is that sufficient?” Syd asked. The Sheriff nodded.
But before we could sit down, a voice started cackling. “So that ballerina nonsense you moved away for, how’s that working out for you?”
To Syd’s credit, she tried to ignore Becky Purcell. But Becky wasn’t so easily dismissed.
“Empty auditoriums getting you down? Or do you even have auditoriums anymore? I heard all you Survivor folk are like animals, fighting over food and burning all your furniture and your books and all that artsy shit that was so important to be cultured. ”
“Yup. Once a week we trade fingers for tennis shoes. But look,” she said, cocking her head, “I still have one left.” She flipped Becky off with a flourish.
“Okay, okay,” said Sheriff Jayne. “Put it away.”
“Thought you were better than all of us,” Becky mumbled. “Gonna show all us backward hicks what success looks like. Looks like a tired-assed has-been to me.” Snickers and snorts made their way through the room.
“At least I tried to make something of myself,” Syd said.
It was an unexpectedly halfhearted comeback. Things might have ended there if Becky and her friends had given up their whispering. If Syd had let their pettiness go. If I had come to her defense.
I’d been standing there guppy mouthed, so Len stood up and pushed me into a seat. He grabbed Syd’s shoulder, whispering, “They aren’t worth your time. Come sit.” But Syd’s expression shifted, hurt to anger. The cheek she’d attempted to turn flushed deeply.
When the plague came, we did lose a handful of people. Becky’s father and uncle were among those who, for various reasons, had skipped out on the Bishop’s bird flu vaccine—the one that ended up protecting us from the sickness that decimated the rest of the world.
The Purcells’ original refusal deepened a divide running between the ramshackle cabins on the east side of New Charity and the rest of town. Unlike Syd’s mom, who missed the vaccine for a business trip, the Purcell men flat refused to trust the Bishop. The resulting scandal was less about the health decision and more about the snub to the Sanctuary. By the time the Bishop asked for the sacrifice of the townspeople’s gifts, that seam was pulled into an outright rift. The cabins had more to lose without their magic to help with farming and fishing, and they didn’t trust my father’s promises or the Bishop’s.
When the defectors raised a fuss and left town, it was a surprise to most of us that Becky and her mother didn’t go with them. It seemed there was nothing to keep them here, and yet they stayed, Mrs. Purcell ceding her water gift as if it were a pot roast instead of her legacy.
Syd smiled at Len, then at Becky. “Good to know some things never change, Len. Seven years and you haven’t even bothered to take out your trash.”
Becky shot from her chair like a startled bird. The Sheriff had her in a headlock just as quick, which was lucky for Syd. After Becky quit ballet she’d put on more than a few pounds of muscle baling hay for the McMahons and helping her family’s trout fishery. “Enough. Both of you.”
“You were right, Cas,” Syd said. “This has been informational.” In three long steps she was
“Would you like to introduce yourself?” the Sheriff asked.
Syd faced the room, cheeks still cool and pale while the blush bloomed over my own face just standing beside her. She held the pastry out to the Sheriff, and said, “I don’t think we need to pretend if we don’t have to. Is there anyone here who doesn’t know who I am?”
Two hands shot up. The Fenton brothers, who moved here just after Syd and her mother left town.
She didn’t do a very good job of hiding her annoyance, her fight to keep from scowling turning her mouth into an uneven grimace. “I’m Syd Turner. My father is, was, Cal Turner. He bred horses, as you probably know. I’m here because, well.”
The Fentons mumbled their condolences.
“Is that sufficient?” Syd asked. The Sheriff nodded.
But before we could sit down, a voice started cackling. “So that ballerina nonsense you moved away for, how’s that working out for you?”
To Syd’s credit, she tried to ignore Becky Purcell. But Becky wasn’t so easily dismissed.
“Empty auditoriums getting you down? Or do you even have auditoriums anymore? I heard all you Survivor folk are like animals, fighting over food and burning all your furniture and your books and all that artsy shit that was so important to be cultured. ”
“Yup. Once a week we trade fingers for tennis shoes. But look,” she said, cocking her head, “I still have one left.” She flipped Becky off with a flourish.
“Okay, okay,” said Sheriff Jayne. “Put it away.”
“Thought you were better than all of us,” Becky mumbled. “Gonna show all us backward hicks what success looks like. Looks like a tired-assed has-been to me.” Snickers and snorts made their way through the room.
“At least I tried to make something of myself,” Syd said.
It was an unexpectedly halfhearted comeback. Things might have ended there if Becky and her friends had given up their whispering. If Syd had let their pettiness go. If I had come to her defense.
I’d been standing there guppy mouthed, so Len stood up and pushed me into a seat. He grabbed Syd’s shoulder, whispering, “They aren’t worth your time. Come sit.” But Syd’s expression shifted, hurt to anger. The cheek she’d attempted to turn flushed deeply.
When the plague came, we did lose a handful of people. Becky’s father and uncle were among those who, for various reasons, had skipped out on the Bishop’s bird flu vaccine—the one that ended up protecting us from the sickness that decimated the rest of the world.
The Purcells’ original refusal deepened a divide running between the ramshackle cabins on the east side of New Charity and the rest of town. Unlike Syd’s mom, who missed the vaccine for a business trip, the Purcell men flat refused to trust the Bishop. The resulting scandal was less about the health decision and more about the snub to the Sanctuary. By the time the Bishop asked for the sacrifice of the townspeople’s gifts, that seam was pulled into an outright rift. The cabins had more to lose without their magic to help with farming and fishing, and they didn’t trust my father’s promises or the Bishop’s.
When the defectors raised a fuss and left town, it was a surprise to most of us that Becky and her mother didn’t go with them. It seemed there was nothing to keep them here, and yet they stayed, Mrs. Purcell ceding her water gift as if it were a pot roast instead of her legacy.
Syd smiled at Len, then at Becky. “Good to know some things never change, Len. Seven years and you haven’t even bothered to take out your trash.”
Becky shot from her chair like a startled bird. The Sheriff had her in a headlock just as quick, which was lucky for Syd. After Becky quit ballet she’d put on more than a few pounds of muscle baling hay for the McMahons and helping her family’s trout fishery. “Enough. Both of you.”
“You were right, Cas,” Syd said. “This has been informational.” In three long steps she was
Similar Books
