A Time to Speak

by Riley Scott

  She looked to the door. No one had come into the shop yet. She thought it odd, but decided it gave her a few more minutes. Racing across the floor, she grabbed a fresh apron out of the closet and put it on, checking the ovens. Twenty minutes remained on cook time. With a shake of her head, she grabbed the daily special chalkboard and used the side of her hand to wipe it clean. As craftily as possible, she tried to decorate the sign with happy symbols, flowers and curling letters for her sad message, “Pastries half-off until 7:30.”

  She couldn’t justify selling day-old muffins and pastries for full price. She placed the sign near the display window and set out yesterday’s baked goods.

  No movement showed outside her front door, and her heart fell. This was supposed to be her last day of sorts—her last normal day, at least. She let out a long, deep breath and busied herself with cleaning the kitchen.

  The dinging of her door brought a smile to her face. As quickly as possible, she washed her hands and rounded the corner of the kitchen to greet her customer.

  “Good morning, Walter,” she said, beaming with joy. This was her happy place and she’d take it as long as it was offered.

  “Morning, Amelia,” he said, tipping his hat in her direction. “I’m moving a little slow this morning. I’m going to need a strong cup of joe to get me going.”

  “I understand that. I’ll have it right up.” She took in his face. Its wrinkles seemed to increase with every passing time she saw him. One of the few ranchers in the area who had actually managed to retire and pass his working operations down to his sons, he was something of a town legacy. His thick glasses and grandfatherly charm, combined with the stories he liked to tell of the “good old days,” always made her feel warmer inside. Today was no exception. She listened as he told her about his oldest son’s baby on the way and congratulated him again.

  When she came back with a hot cup of coffee in a to-go cup, he smiled at her. “Thank you, ma’am.” He glanced to the sign and smiled. “Half-off today, huh?”

  “Yes sir,” she said, giving him a sheepish grin. “I got a late start today, so those were made last night. Fresh ones should be ready in just a few minutes. But if you’d like one of these, I can get you one.”

  “I’ll take that blueberry muffin,” he said. As she put on a glove and reached for the muffin, he followed her over to the glass. “No need to be ashamed about a little late start once in a while. Life is full of things that pop up, and sometimes you have to take care of them. Looks like you’ve got a pretty good grasp on that though.” He laughed and looked around the shop. “In fact, it looks like you’ve got a pretty good grasp on most things. Remember, Amelia, roll with the punches of life, and you’ll be all right.”

  She stared at him as she bagged his muffin, wondering how he had known exactly what she needed to hear today.

  “Thank you,” she said, handing over the bag and accepting his money. As she bid him a good day, she used the glass of the pastry case as a mirror. No wonder he had chimed in with encouragement. She looked as awful as she felt.

  Taking a seat on the stool she kept behind the counter, she laid her head in her hands. Breaking through the clutter in her brain, she heard the opening notes to “Silent Legacy” by Melissa Etheridge playing through the shop’s speakers. She let the words wash over her, reminding her she didn’t have to contribute to a culture of silence and hatred. Each lyric breathed into her soul, lighting a fire that had been burned down to embers only moments before.

  Giving in to her emotions, she experienced each for what it was worth. Anger for the hatred. Frustration with the intolerance and lack of understanding. Hatred for what had happened to Chloe. Sadness and disappointment aimed at her parents, at herself. Inspiration by Melissa’s legacy.

  As the song drew to an end, she lifted her head and breathed in deeply, exhaling freedom. She had the power to speak out. She had a voice. And it was high time she learned to use it.

  Even though her hands trembled, she picked up her phone, knowing what she had to do.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Filled with teenagers chattering, the room was a hotbed of life and drama. Dominique stifled laughter as two of the girls talked in excited tones about a boy who had looked their direction. She had already overheard one boy tell his friends that he couldn’t wait to see the pissed-off look on his mom’s face when she saw the pictures, and she figured that’s why several of them were here. Regardless of their reasoning for being in the room with her after school, she was thankful they were here, even if just for a taste of teenage rebellion.

  She shook her head, surveying their artwork, and wished standing up for what was right didn’t have to be a rebellion. Closing her eyes, she quietly tried to exhale her negative energy. She didn’t want them to get the wrong idea.

  Their multi-colored posters were strewn about the floor. Her favorite, from one of the quieter students, simply read, Love not hate. Justice for Chloe.

  “Great job, Quinn,” she said, patting the girl on the shoulder. “I think you captured exactly what needed to be said.”

  The girl looked up, her blue eyes shiny with the remnants of tears. “Thank you,” she whispered. Dominique knelt to her knees, noting the depth of the phrase. She wasn’t being thanked for complimenting Quinn’s artwork. She was being thanked for her work.

  “If you need to talk, I am here,” Dominique whispered the words, careful not to be overheard by other students.

  Quinn’s eyes widened and she looked around the room timidly. She shook her head, looked down at her lap and mouthed, “Later.”

  Dominique nodded. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  She walked around the room again, congratulating and thanking various students for their participation. It might have only been a group of six kids, but it was a start—one this town desperately needed.

  Shape the next generation and you can help spread love. She replayed the words of her mentor in her memory. It was much easier to teach a group of young people about love and equality than it was to try to change long-standing views in a stubborn older person’s mind. She thought about the people she had tried to talk to around town. They were set in their ways, refusing to acknowledge the depth of what had happened here.

  For these kids, it was different. For the two older boys in the room, it was about shock factor for their parents. For the rest of them, it seemed as though they understood. They were part of a bigger, much more diverse world.

  Looking from face to face, she saw hope for the future of Knell.

  “Everyone, let’s gather in the corner of the room for a photo,” she said, clapping her hands to get their attention. “Grab your signs and stand over there.”

  All stood except Quinn, whose paint covered hands shook as she reached for her poster.

  “Come on Quinn,” one of the boys urged while they waited for her. “Why are you always so afraid of everything? Stop being shy and get over here.”

  Instead of offering encouragement, his words seemed to freeze her in place, causing her to drop her poster to the floor again.

  “Yeah, you’re always afraid,” the other boy said, his tone mocking her. “Scaredy Quinn, stand up for something. We’re all waiting.”

  She turned and looked over her right shoulder, and the boy shook his head at her, his jaw set and challenging.

  “Enough,” Dominique said, stepping between the two students. “Your taunting and pressuring is the exact opposite of the goal we’re trying to accomplish.” He frowned at her, so she stepped closer to him. “We’re all different. That’s the point.”

  “Yeah,” he said, laughing snidely. “You’re gay. You’re definitely different.”

  “And you’re definitely missing the point of this entire day.” She sighed and put her hands on her hips. “I haven’t addressed my sexual orientation with you all. And I’m not going to right now. That’s not at the heart of the matter. The issue is that this town was the site of hate-filled actions, and hate is bred through intol
erance and bullying. You’re bullying right now, and you may not even realize it.”

  His face reddened, but he stood firm, pushing out his chest. “I’m not bullying her. I’m encouraging her. There’s a difference.”

  “There certainly is.” Dominique kept her tone matter-of-fact. “And most of it is in the delivery. Let Quinn make her own decisions and applaud them. Don’t push and shove, even if it’s just verbally. Don’t point out differences as flaws. And learn to love one another for who you are, not despite who you are. That’s the point of what we’re doing today. That’s why we’re taking a stand. We’re working to help shape the next generation of this town and ensure that the type of hatred shown here in Chloe Stanton’s hate crime murder is not repeated in the future.”

  Everyone, aside from the two older boys, nodded. She took in the determination plastered on a junior high boy’s face and cleared her throat. “I am not from here. I’m not in this community full time. That’s why I need you all. I need you all to be the continuation of my voice in this community, of your own voices, speaking for a better and more loving society. Can you do that for me?”

  Again, all but two nodded. “You two.” She pointed. “Can you do that for me? It means not only standing up for what is right, but also doing what is right and treating each other with respect.”

  “This is lame,” the boy who had been arguing with her said. Tossing his sign to the floor, he stomped on it and strode out the door. His friend followed suit, and once she heard the door slam behind them, she let out a deep breath.

  Making eye contact with each of the remaining students, she forced a smile. Four committed students were better than six with a couple of defiant, hateful ones thrown into the mix.

  “It’s okay.” She kept her tone light and upbeat. “We’re all okay in here, and we can still take our group photo. Quinn, do you want to join us?”

  Behind her, Quinn was already standing. “I’m ready,” she said, nodding. With newfound determination, Quinn walked over and joined the group. Dominique couldn’t help but notice how her shoulders were straightened, no longer slumping the way they had been every other time she had seen the girl.

  A ball formed in the pit of her stomach and she tried to ignore the nagging nausea, wondering if anyone had ever stepped up in the girl’s corner before. She snapped several photos and put the camera on a timer to hop into the back of one of them.

  “Thank you all,” she said, offering them sincere smiles. “Remember to have your parents sign the photo release forms and bring those back in tomorrow.” A couple of them hugged her on their way out the door, but Quinn remained behind, still standing in the corner of the room.

  When it was quiet in the room, Quinn walked over and shut the door. “I’m ready,” she said, taking a seat on one of the chairs.

  Dominique took a seat in a chair and faced it toward Quinn, making sure to keep a safe, non-threatening distance. She nodded and offered Quinn a soft smile.

  Quinn placed her hands folded in her lap and looked to a blank space on the wall. “I’m not like all the others.” Her words were quiet and slow. “I haven’t ever really fit in with the other kids. They think I’m quiet and shy. I am, but it’s just because I don’t want to stand out. You saw Jace and Roper.” Dominique made a mental note of the boys’ names, in case she had to remember them later. “That’s how everyone treats me. They poke fun and treat me differently, all because I don’t fit their idea of who I’m supposed to be. That’s why I’m here. I was excited when you came to town and I heard that someone was trying to do things differently here. That’s the problem. No one ever tries to make a difference. They just figure everything is going to be the same forever, and anyone who doesn’t fit in is destined to go through a series of growing pains. Do you know what I mean?”

  Quinn turned her eyes toward Dominique. They seemed to have darkened and the lines forming across her forehead begged for encouragement.

  “It doesn’t have to be like that.” Dominique kept her words gentle. “I understand what you mean, and it must feel that way. But it doesn’t have to be that way.”

  “My mom calls them growing pains.” Quinn shrugged. “She says it’s just something I have to go through and that I’ll find friends who understand me better in college. She said it’s always been like that, and if I want to move somewhere else where I don’t have to fit in, I can do it when I graduate.”

  “That’s true to a degree.” Dominique leaned in and lowered her head, so she could make eye contact with Quinn. “Things around here can change. That’s why I’m here. And you may not be just like everyone, but no one is. They just don’t realize it. They each have things they do, think, feel, or are that aren’t the norm. They just won’t admit it. They’re too focused on being just like everyone else. You’re one of the brave ones.”

  Quinn sat back in her chair, scrunching her nose. “Brave?” she asked. “You think I’m brave? I’m the furthest thing from brave. I’m a quiet coward.”

  Dominique shook her head. “You are brave enough to stand out, whether that’s in your quiet presence or in your refusal to be just like the rest of them. You’re brave, and you’ll make a difference here. You’re already working on it. And it’s not going to change here overnight. The lack of understanding of differences has been passed down for generations. Families throughout this town’s history have shaped the mold they want you to fit. They expect people to fit it. They demand it. And that’s not an easy fix.” She placed her hand gently on the girl’s shoulder. “But you are doing something to make that better for the future. You’re working to make a difference in Chloe’s honor, for everyone who might be a little different.”

  “That’s the other thing.” Quinn’s lip quivered and she cast her eyes downward again. “I don’t exactly know what makes me so strange, but I know that I’ve thought about things…” She trailed off, tightening the clasp of her hands. “Things that make me wonder if I’m like Chloe was and if I’m in danger. Her death really upset me, and it really made me scared.” Her breathing quickened, as did the pace of her words. “I don’t know for sure that I’m like that, but I know there’s something different. I know I’m scared to even think of it.”

  “You don’t have to figure that out overnight,” Dominique said. “Just so you know, I understand that struggle. That boy—Jace or Roper, I’m not sure which one said it—he was right. I am gay. I’m a lesbian, and I know that struggle. You may be. You may not be. That’s something only you know for certain. But I will tell you this. I’m here to talk if you need someone to talk to, and I’m here to make sure that, when you figure things out, you have a safe place to do it.”

  Tears slid down Quinn’s face, and she nodded. She opened her mouth to speak, but only ragged breaths came out. She nodded again, stood, hugged Dominique, and rushed from the room.

  Alone in the room, Dominique looked around at the mess of markers, paints and paper. As she took it all in, she thought about the mess of this town and shook her head. Rubbing her fingertips against her temples, she wished for Quinn’s sake, for Amy’s sake, and for the sake of this entire place, things were easier.

  Taking deep breaths, she calmed herself and set to work cleaning the mess and saving a copy of the photo to post to social media once she had the appropriate parental consent—something she feared she might not get once parents knew where their kids had been spending their afternoons.

  When she finished, she gathered her things and heard her phone ding. She checked the message and smiled when she saw Amy’s name flash across the screen: Dinner at my place tonight at 7 if you’re free? As Dominique read the words, her smile grew. After this morning’s crazed start, she had wondered how Amy was doing all day but had resisted reaching out. It now appeared that whatever she was working through, maybe she’d want to clue Dominique in.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The scent of pepperoni filled the air as steam rose from the box in Amelia’s hands. She looked around her house, trying to d
ecide where dining would be more intimate. The living room offered comfort and a cozy, casual atmosphere. But the dining room could be transformed easily into an alcove of romance with a few candles.

  She set the box down and shuffled through her cabinets, finding two long candles. She was being silly, she knew, but she wanted—needed—to make it special. Dominique was incredible and today was a day to remember. Dinner, even if it wasn’t gourmet or home cooked, deserved the same type of prominence.

  She glanced at the clock on the wall, grateful it was only six. She maneuvered her way around the kitchen, opening the bottle of red wine she had purchased to let it breathe, and sliding the pizza into the oven to keep it warm.

  Once upstairs, she flipped through items in her closet. Her fingers brushed against the soft red fabric of her favorite dress. Memories of the last time she had donned the sultry dress flashed in her mind.

  “You look unbelievably sexy.” Chloe’s voice quivered as lust built in her eyes.

  She shook her head, warding off the memory at least for tonight, and settled instead on a simple but sleek black dress, one with no memory of Chloe on it. Tonight was about Dominique and Dominique only. Pairing it with sensible heels, she set to work on her makeup.

  In the mirror, she stared at her reflection, proud to see a new blaze in her green eyes. Tonight they shined with empowerment. She was proud of herself, broken in some ways but proud. From this, she would rise and she would be stronger. And in time, so would the community.

  She wanted the sparkle in her eyes to pop, so she opted to use a glimmering eye shadow. She wanted the same for her plump lips, selecting a pouty pink gloss to coat them. Thinking of Dominique’s dark and mysterious eyes, she smiled at her reflection, hoping her gloss wouldn’t stay on too long. The thought of their lips colliding with the same passion they had earlier today made her tense. She needed to feel Dominique’s body under hers, to hear those moans again. Only this time, she needed more.