54. More to Say

One Saturday morning near the end of February, Sheriff Wells pays Mom and me a visit. Perhaps he’ll manage to get a little more out of her than I have. Any attempt of mine to ask how she’s doing or feeling or what exactly happened when she was gone goes nowhere.

I’m just thankful she’s alive. Maybe, hopefully, being able to move away from Solitary after school is over will finally make her be her old self again.

I’ve gone out on a couple more ghost hunts with Mounds. He’s paid me, and a little extra money is all I need.

I still have the wad of money Staunch gave me. Part of me wants to use it to buy Mom something, but I can’t get myself to do that.

I’m not taking anything from that guy. Never again.

The sheriff looks older, even though it’s only been a few months since I’ve seen him.

Maybe that’s what this town does to you. It turns you into an old person before your time.

He’s lost weight, and his goatee looks grayer and his hair looks thinner. He doesn’t have the swagger that he had when I first met him.

Maybe that’s what guilt does to you. Guilt over letting an innocent girl like Jocelyn die on his watch, then refusing to believe it until it’s way too late.

“You folks have a few minutes?” he asks before Mom invites him inside.

She asks if he’d like anything to drink and gets him to have a cup of tea. It takes a couple of minutes before he has his cup and he’s sitting on the couch across from us, holding it.

“I want to formally apologize to you folks,” Wells says as the wrinkles on his face seem to tighten up.

Mom still has her tired, slow-mo thing going, but it also seems like having a visitor has made her wake up a little.

“I don’t understand,” she says in a polite way.

“I’ve been, uh, relieved of my duties. Not that I’ve been doing even half of them. But it’s, well—it’s time to go.”

“You got fired?” I can’t help but ask.

“Not quite,” Wells says. “Doesn’t work that way. Officially I resigned. Unofficially, I got canned.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mom says.

“No … Ms. Buckley, I’m the one who’s sorry. I have not done right by you and especially not by Chris. When you were attacked in town and someone knocked you out, I should’ve done more. I just—I couldn’t. After the things that happened with Wade and Jocelyn, again, I could’ve done more. But I didn’t until it was too late.”

Mom doesn’t react, and I suddenly hope and pray that Wells doesn’t say more about Jocelyn. I never told Mom. And while I might sometime in the future, I don’t think she’s in much of a mood to hear about Jocelyn’s death.

“The stuff going on—stuff Chris came to me about—I didn’t do my part. I didn’t step up. And I’m sorry. Chris—I let you down. As a sheriff. And as a man.”

Mom glances at me and then looks back at Wells. “Thank you for saying that. But are we—is Chris in danger?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he slowly but surely says. “And he has been for some time.”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“I’m not leaving yet,” Wells says. “And whatever I can do, I will do. It’s just—there’s been a development that recently came to a head. It’s one of the reasons I’m stepping down.”

I have no idea what he’s going to mention. Perhaps Wade’s death? Or Lily’s?

“An FBI agent has been around here asking questions. You met her, didn’t you?”

So she was legit?

I nod at Wells.

“That started the avalanche. And there are those who just don’t like any snow whatsoever, if you know what I mean.”

Mom doesn’t seem to get it, but she sips her tea and keeps listening.

“That’s still an area of concern,” Wells says.

“For us? For Chris?” Mom is the most alert she’s been since coming back, even though that alertness is more like worry.

“The concern is about secrets coming out, ma’am. And when that happens—if that happens—then the people who are keeping them will be very unhappy. And that means you two will be in danger.”

“I didn’t say anything to the FBI agent,” I say. “I didn’t think she was even real.”

“Of course not,” Wells says, rubbing his goatee. “How could you? I’m surprised you thought I was real. Really, I’ve just been a grown-up man dressed in this costume. It’s been Halloween for the last ten years around here.”

Wells is talking more to himself than to us. He refocuses and stares at me.

“I came here to tell you I’m sorry, and I’ve done that. You listen to me, Chris. You be careful. About everyone and everything. But know this—there’s some good around these parts. You wouldn’t know it if it suddenly showed up and slapped you across the face, but there are some good folks. I know that. I know that ’cause I’ve seen them. They have hope, and they believe in the power of good, Chris. They’re not going away. And neither am I. At least not for a while.”

He tells me this in a way that seems to say I’ve got your back.

I nod and then watch as Wells goes to the door.

He looks as if he could say more, but then again so could everyone else around this place.

There’s always more to say.

Always.