Devon looked down. Fresh shame hit him like a smack. “I don’t know, Memaw.”
“Devon Robinson.” Memaw struggled to sit upright, her hospital gown all tight and twisty. When she’d gotten settled, she held out both her hands. They shook a little, and he took them, afraid to meet her eyes.
When he finally did, he saw she was blinking hard, and behind the blinking were tears.
She took a long, slow breath. “I mean it, child. That … that thing between me and your uncle was between us. That was me and him, mother and son. Me, finally having the courage to say what I should have said a long, long time ago. What happened that night was Terrence’s fault, not yours. You understand?”
Memaw’s voice was hard, and he’d nodded, unable to speak.
“I said, do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She’d relaxed. “That’s better. Now, fetch me one a’them blankets. The blue one. I want to catch me some beauty sleep ’fore that nurse comes in again to poke around with them needles.”
He’d gotten her the blanket, switched off her light, and sat with her a few minutes.
“I love you, Memaw,” he’d whispered when he got up to leave.
“I love you, too, sweet boy.” She’d blown him a soft kiss. “Your mama sure would be proud of you, proud of the young man you’ve become.”
They’d moved her into the retirement place over the weekend, and so far, so good. Rev and Marla had been taking him by to see her every day, and they even had a small worship service Sunday afternoon at the home.
Yesterday, they’d gone out to the house. It had been his first time back since he’d left, and he half-expected it to feel weird, empty, wrong. But instead, he just felt peace.
And when he’d knelt down at Mama’s memory garden, he could have sworn for a moment that he smelled her in the trees around him, felt her smiling down. And he knew in his bones this was right and good.
Now, he was hoping he could help Miss Becca get the Rotary Club to give her a grant so she could keep the paper open and go from newspaper editor to newspaper owner. He had to admit it sounded pretty cool. It was good for Dahlia, plus it would mean she’d get to stay on, even help him with math after school each week—his worst subject.
Twenty minutes later, he stood at Miss Becca’s side as she wrapped her speech to a close.
“Dahlia deserves a newspaper that serves its readers in the true sense of the word,” Miss Becca was saying. “It deserves a newspaper invested in the community, not a cookie cutter big-shotoperation that swoops in and delivers what it thinks Dahlia needs. I made that mistake when I first came here, and I learned my lesson the hard way,” she said, and her cheeks got all red.
Come on, Miss Becca. You’ve got this.
“But thanks to a healthy dose of humble pie, I’m ready to serve Dahlia the right way. My friend Devon, here, taught me a lot about what this town means to each other. Watching you all come together to save this boy, this child of Dahlia, well…”
She trailed off, looked down at him a moment.
Devon smiled up at her, as big as he could. It felt like he had sunshine in his chest.
“Let’s say it taught me a lot about the true spirit of this town,” she said. “And with your help, we can make it happen.”
A lady raised her hand. She had a frown on her face.
“How do we know you’re going to do the right thing for this town? The clause specifies no editorial control over what your newspaper produces.”
The room got quiet. In the back of the room, Devon saw Mr. Josh give Miss Becca a thumbs-up.
“You don’t—you’re right,” Miss Becca said. Devon heard people gasp. “We can’t be a newspaper worth our salt if we don’t have editorial independence. But I can promise you as a person, and as a granddaughter of this town, I will do the right thing by Dahlia. And if I don’t, you can give me the boot the next time grant funding comes around again.”
“She’s got a point,” a man called from the back. “It’s a one-year short-term grant, not a lifetime subsidy. Let’s see what she can do with our support. This is our town paper, after all.”
The Rotary president cleared his throat and looked like he wanted to duck under the table.
“Thank you, everyone, for your opinions, and thank you, Ms. Chastain. Now, if you and your friend Devon here’ll step out, we’llinform you of our decision shortly.”
Devon watched Miss Becca pace the front of the church as they waited.
