by Lara Swann
I trail off under his gaze, feeling like the coherent argument I had only minutes ago has started falling to pieces, somehow.
I’m right. I know I am. Why doesn’t any of this make him the slightest bit suspicious? Is it so hard to believe?
After a long moment, he finally uncrosses his arms, a long breath coming out of him as he runs a hand through his bushy gray hair. I can’t quite tell which way he’s going to come down - though I have more than an inkling - until he starts shaking his head.
“Look, Kelsey - you’re a good journalist. You nail those research pieces, you’re great at getting to the heart of the matter and your photographs are excellent—”
I have to resist growling about how photography is absolutely not the same as being a good journalist. It’s an in-joke we’ve had between us often enough that most of the time, I enjoy his teasing, but right now all I’ve got is a bitter taste in my mouth.
“—but even you have to hear what I’m hearing right now. Something is wrong? It feels off? You thought you heard something and it made you suspicious? You can’t go around making accusations like these without anything real to back them up—”
“But if we were really investigating it, we could get the evidence. I’ve just been doing this alone, and in secret - but if it was you, we could go to the Mayor and ask for the detail behind each of the infrastructure projects. We could look into the finances, see where the money is going—”
“We’re not going to do anything of the sort.” He cuts me off, with a tone of finality that feels like it takes me out at the knees. “Kelsey, I know how much you’ve always wanted a big news story to report on, but this is Ashton. I’ve known Ken for most of my life - he’s a good guy. This is a good town. I’m sure it feels like something could happen, but that doesn’t mean it actually is. You’ve always had a great imagination, but coming up with some huge scandal from overhearing a meeting the Mayor had is a little far, even for you.”
I flinch. I can’t help it. That’s what he thinks? Really?
You’ve always wanted a big news story. You’ve always had a great imagination.
He thinks I made this up just for me? That my mind could do that?
The idea hits me like a slap in the face - and numb disbelief washes over me, gut-wrenching despair at what he must think of me to believe that.
“Listen, I think you should take a few days off, Kelsey.” He says, and I barely hear him. It’s a gentle tone, and somehow that makes it even worse. “The Mayor asked to speak to you tomorrow anyway—”
“What?” I blink up at him as that catches my attention.
“He asked to speak to you.” Anderson repeats, as if that’s just a simple thing. “When he called up with his concerns, I explained that Behind The Times wasn’t working on anything that might affect Margaret - I didn’t know about all of this at that point, of course - but promised to ask you about it anyway. He suggested you come around to his office tomorrow so that he could answer any questions you did have, so he could clear things up. I think his main concern was that Margaret wasn’t disturbed again.”
Another thump of guilt goes through me - followed by immediate anxiety.
The Mayor wants to speak to me? Oh god…
That wouldn’t usually be something to worry about, but with everything I’ve been working on…I’ve got a slightly different view of him now, than I did a couple of months ago.
What if he knows? What if he says something about it?
“I suggest.” Anderson continues, in a tone that tells me it’s very much not a suggestion and definitely a requirement. “That you don’t bring any of this up with him. It’s generous of him to offer you his time to answer your questions - and if you can stomach it, you might even be able to ask him some of your questions about what happened with Margaret’s accident. I’m not sure I’d be able to.”
The faint disapproval is obvious there and I want to object to the unfairness of it. I’m not being insensitive - at least, I don’t think I am - I just want to know what’s going on. The other day, it even felt for a moment like I might be able to help…or we might…if we could just get her past that trauma—
“So, this is what we’re going to do.” He continues, without waiting for my agreement on that point. Not that I have any intention of discussing any of this with the Mayor himself. “I’m going to reassure the Mayor that he has nothing to worry about - which he doesn’t - and you’re going to back that up in your conversation tomorrow. Then you’ll take a few days off to reset and get your head back into the articles we’re actually writing. By the time you come back, you’ll be ready to put an end to all of this, okay?”
I’m still barely hearing him, mostly lost in my own confusion and uncertainty - not to mention the worry at seeing the Mayor tomorrow. I was so convinced and I thought I’d drawn so many links…I still can’t believe how resolutely he doesn’t believe me. The way he didn’t seem to waver about that for a moment.
I mutter some agreement, but I’m not sure whether I mean it or not. Mostly, I’m just confused.
He doesn’t say anything more about it and just like that, everything I’ve been working on suddenly seems…over.
If I can’t even convince my boss…the one person who might share my interest in uncovering things…how is this going to go anywhere at all? He’s right. I have no evidence.
I pack up my things in a daze, scooping my papers back into the folder I carry with me and not even caring that he’s basically telling me to leave. Right now, I don’t think I could be here working anyway.
“Kelsey…” He says gently, resting a hand on my shoulder before I turn to go. “Take care of yourself, okay? Take some time out and feel better. It’s obvious all this has affected you - what happened with Margaret especially - but you’re a good writer. Don’t lose sight of that. You just need to redirect your energies…elsewhere.”
The mixture of affection and concern in his gaze just confuses me more, but I nod anyway. I’ve never doubted he cares about me. I just…didn’t think he’d think me so…misguided.
I walk out with my head still lost in confusion, wondering where the hell I go from here.
I never expected that to go so badly, not in all the time I’ve been working on this. Somehow, I thought once I finally told someone…they’d agree. It would be an exciting moment. A shared burst of energy. The start of the real investigation.
God. What if he really is right? What if all this was for you?
Chapter Nineteen
Kelsey
I’m still doubting myself when I step into Town Hall the next day.
The time off hasn’t helped to clear any of my confusion at all - though I guess when that time off is mandated by your boss thinking you’re a liability, maybe that should be expected.
I walk towards the Mayor’s office, anxiety bubbling around in my gut over what he might say or do - and what I might be confronted with. I have no idea what he knows, but if I am right - and the more I think about it, the more that becomes a bit if - then I don’t know what he could be capable of at all. I don’t know him.
I try to shake off that thought as I approach his secretary’s desk, just outside, and I’m slightly reassured by the way she offers me a warm smile.
“Kelsey, come on in. The Mayor is on a call at the moment, but he should be done in five minutes - if you wait here, I’ll go on in and let him know you’re here, see whether he can start wrapping things up.”
“Sure.” I say, as she stands up from behind the desk and moves around it. “Thanks.”
She slips into his office as I’m still trying to work out what I’m going to say or do in there - when it suddenly hits me that I’m now all alone here. With her computer just opposite me.
It’s a stupid thought, and I can already feel the tightness in my chest just at the idea - but before I can stop myself, I’m moving around behind the desk.
I still don’t know what to think and I have no idea what I expect to find -
it’s just his secretary’s computer - but there’s something inside me that refuses to pass up the opportunity.
Even if I’m wrong about all this, so long as no one sees me…
I get a momentary stab of guilt as I think of Anderson, but I haven’t exactly taken my agreement to stop this to heart. I was barely able to think when he insisted on it yesterday, and I haven’t worked it out in my own mind yet.
The moment I’m on the other side of the desk, I can feel the beginnings of panic in my chest, my palms getting sweaty as I look at the screen.
God, Kelsey, you’re really not cut out for this. Maybe investigative journalism isn’t for you after all.
From Anderson’s comments about my lack of evidence yesterday, that thought hits home a little harder than I’d like, and I have to force myself not to dwell on it.
Instead, I wriggle the mouse to stop the screen from turning black and skim over the document visible there. It’s a letter to the local school, discussing changes for the upcoming school year - interesting, but definitely not relevant. I pause as it takes me a moment to work out what could be useful, my eyes and ears on the door opposite me for any hint that Ken’s secretary may be about to come back, but I’d guess she’s waiting for a convenient moment to interrupt the conversation.
I mouse over to his emails, but I know I won’t have time to read through those - and anyway, I doubt he’d handle anything incriminating in a system his secretary could access - but the moment the application pops up, my eyes widen as they land on the linked calendar associated with the account.
Now that could be useful.
My eyes flick over the screen, my heart thumping harder and harder in my chest as every second seems to take forever - before something sticks out at me.
Tuesday. 8pm onward.
A blocked out chunk, for the rest of that evening - with just the words ‘Do not disturb’ written as the event. I stare at it for a moment - and that’s about as long as I can hold down the panic before I quickly flick back to the other document and walk back around to the right side of the desk. That’s all I can possibly expect to get.
Do not disturb.
Why, Ken? Why don’t you want to be disturbed then?
I almost hear Anderson’s mocking response in my head - even though his tone was never actually mocking yesterday - telling me that there could be dozens of reasons. I know that. I know it. But…
Damn. I just can’t get this out of my head.
But if Anderson doesn’t believe me, who on earth ever will? Even if I’m right, is there any point pursuing it if it’s never going to go anywhere?
The door to the Mayor’s office opens and I jump, even though I’m not doing anything wrong. Right now, at least.
“He’s free now.” Ken’s secretary smiles at me, and I nod.
“Okay, great. Thank you.”
I take a deep breath as I walk through the door she holds open for me, feeling even more nervous after the last few minutes.
Why, Kelsey? Why did you do that to yourself?
“Kelsey.” Ken says, his voice as warm and welcoming as almost every other time I’ve heard it. “Come and have a seat - I’m glad you could join me today.”
I try to make myself smile as I follow his gesture to the chair opposite his desk. It’s a large antique thing, with papers scattered about it in an artful mess that somehow adds to the affable image in front of me. Ken looks as genial as ever, with his white hair and slightly rotund figure, his face creased with wrinkles as he smiles at me.
“No problem.” I say, and I’m pleased that my voice actually sounds calm. My palms might be sweating buckets, but I’m grateful this town is familiar enough with each other that he doesn’t try to shake my hand.
There’s a moment of silence and it surprises me that I’m the one to break it. I might not have known what to say to him before I walked in this room - but now that I’m here, there’s only one thing I can think of.
“How’s Margaret?” I ask, not trying to keep the anxiety out of my voice. “I’m so sorry about what happened when I went around to visit her. I’ve never…I’ve never seen her like that before…”
Ken nods, the pain in his expression easy to read as he sighs.
“She’s…okay. I went back home after you left that message with Karen. She gradually recovered and came out of it, but…yes. I’m sure it was quite a shock. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
I shake my head. “No, don’t be, I just…I didn’t know what to do.”
“You probably did the best you could have in leaving, I’m afraid. When she gets like that…she doesn’t always recognize people.”
I nod. I’d gotten that impression myself. “I wish there had been something I could have done, though. I felt, for a moment, like I was seeing some of…well, of how she used to be.”
He blinks, the surprise obvious in his expression. “You did?”
I nod again, then explain about visiting with the cupcakes and how well Margaret had responded to it. I make that excuse into the entirety of my purpose in being there, and as I do I start to relax. So far, this isn’t the fraught conversation I was imagining - it’s actually much more a conversation I’d want to have. About Margaret, and what can be done to help her.
When I finish with the way she reacted - not trying to deny that I’d asked her a bit about the accident when she’d obviously been resistant to leaving the house - he sighs again, but the look in his eyes isn’t accusatory or condemning.
“Yes…unfortunately, while my wife might have recovered physically, she still bears a great trauma about the accident. She gets terrible flashbacks sometimes, and leaving the house only makes it worse. It’s why she refuses to go out these days. I still hope, but…”
He trails off, and I don’t push him to continue. The defeat in his gaze gets under my skin, working its way deep inside me, and I almost want to shiver at the feeling.
Looking at him like this, talking about Margaret…I get another wave of guilt. It’s hard to believe the man opposite me ever had the conversation I remember - that he could possibly do the things I’m suspicious of. I have a renewed understanding of Anderson’s disbelief. Do I really think he was implicated in something that happened to Margaret and he hasn’t done anything about it?
Looking at him now, at the obvious devastation and heartache on his face…it really does seem like some crazy fantasy. Something I might have made up, or exaggerated. Which makes intruding on their private tragedy feel even worse.
“I’m sorry to ask this of you, but I think it would be best if you don’t visit again.” He says, bringing me out of my own reverie. “Not for a while, at least. I’d love for Margaret to be able to see more people - to have more of a life - but unfortunately, I have to say, it usually ends like this.”
“I understand.” I say, slightly hoarsely. “Of course. But if there’s anything I can do…”
“Thank you.” He says, giving me a sad smile. “I really do appreciate your thoughtfulness, Kelsey, just like I know Margaret appreciated it yesterday.”
There’s something about the way he’s talking that I don’t quite like. Almost like he’s given up on her - like there’s nothing that can be done. I understand it’s been three long, hard years for them both, but surely there’s something…
“Can I ask…” I start, before I can even think about it, but he doesn’t look surprised. His smile even turns wry.
“Yes?” He asks, his expression kind as he looks at me. “You know, I actually thought that’s why you went the other day…that you had some questions for Margaret?”
That comment sets off a few alarm bells, but I don’t know whether that’s just because I’ve been anticipating and worrying about it since yesterday. But why would he think that’s why I went?
“No, I didn’t. I just wanted to give her the cupcakes.” I say, the lie feeling uncomfortable in my gut, but I push through that. “But when I was there…some of the things she said when she was…how
she was…it just, I realized that I don’t even know what happened to her, all those years ago. It just…made me wonder…what kind of accident could do that to a person?”
The ‘what kind of accident’ is as close as I’m going to get to insinuating anything else - and just the question took a long time to work up to. I can almost feel Anderson’s disapproval in the back of my head, but I thought a lot about this last night. I definitely couldn’t bring myself to ask Margaret about it again - but as awful as it might be for Ken for me to bring it up, the same risks aren’t there.
After what happened with Margaret, it’s almost a reasonable question - and if I do nothing else about this ever again, I’m at least going to take this one opportunity to try to get an answer.
“You don’t…obviously you don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to. But I can’t help asking…what actually happened? How did she get so badly injured?”
Ken looks down for a long moment and when he raises his eyes to mine again, the obvious pain in them is almost enough to make me question my resolve.
“We don’t talk about it much.” He says. “It’s…not something we like to dwell on, but since you asked…she was staying at my Uncle’s farm. I wasn’t there at the time, so I only know what he told me…they were trying to fix the roof to one of the barns. It had a whole loft area for storage, but it was getting worn. You know how she always used to love those handyman jobs. I’m not sure exactly how it happened but it was obviously less stable than they thought - she slipped and fell, and the weight of that sent the part she was standing on crashing down to the floor. Some of the storage crates fell on top of her and when one of my cousins finally got her out from under it, the lower half of her body had been badly crushed and she was paralyzed from the waist down.”
My heart thumps hard in my chest, aching for them both as he recounts it.
Fuck.
I’d never guessed…I can’t imagine…
“I’m sorry.” I say, and I don’t just mean for what happened - though that’s most of it - I mean for asking him to repeat something so obviously painful, and for doubting them both.
