That evening, all our friends gathered at Stephen and Walter’s waterside house. This promised to be one of the last mild evenings until Spring, and so we took full advantage of their large deck, the bonfire on the grass by the water, and a widely disparate assortment of hot dog roasting sticks. Daniel claimed that his stick only produced burnt hot dogs, and mine seemed determined to keep mine lukewarm . . . so he ate the one I cooked, and I ate his, which was perfectly charred and tasted amazing in a potato bun with ketchup and relish.
Everyone had come with something to add – potato chips, coleslaw, some sort of chili that Lu swore was the only thing that made hot dogs palatable. Lucas even whipped up a batch of pumpkin cupcakes with cream cheese frosting for the gathering. It was perfect, especially when Stephen and Walter revealed their brand new bar that rivaled the best liquor stores on the Eastern Shore.
After everyone had eaten their fill and settled in by the fire with a cupcake and some of the most amazing hot toddies I’d ever had, Tuck filled us in on the full story. Mart sat between Symeon, whose weekly night off was Tuesday, and Tiffany and held both of their hands tightly. I kept a close eye on Tiffany, and it seemed like she slowly relaxed as Tuck talked. Maybe that was what closure looked like.
Apparently, Scott and Coach Cagle knew each other, just as Tiffany had suspected, but what she didn’t know was that they had met online in a chat room for men who claimed they’d been falsely accused of sexual assault. “It was the most misogynistic thing I’ve ever seen,” Tuck said. “I had to confirm the story the detective from Minneapolis told me about how Cagle and Scott knew each other, but I could barely stand to be there. It was so disgusting.”
Lu leaned against her husband. “Good. I’m glad it disgusts you. If it didn’t, I’d be worried.” Every woman around the fire nodded.
“Eventually, the men decided to meet up in person, and apparently they not only became friends but they also committed two ‘alleged,’” Tuck made air quotes, “rapes, too. But they both skipped town before they could be prosecuted. The prosecutors had them dead to rights for those two attacks, but they couldn’t find them, so the crimes are still unsolved.”
I slid closer to Daniel, whose jaw was clenched so tightly that I thought he might crack a molar. I ran my fingers along his jaw. “It’s okay. Tuck’s not finished with the story,” I said quietly. “Right, you’re not finished?”
“No,” he smiled at me. “Gavin – Scott as you knew him – is being extradited back to Minnesota to stand trial for those two rapes as soon as he finishes his trial here. He’s still claiming innocence of any sexual assault, but he has admitted to the threats and the bombing on the grounds that he was simply defending himself.”
“Defending himself,” Mart sputtered. “In what way is that possible?”
“It won’t stand up in court,” Tuck said. “But he’s claiming that his reputation was sullied because the women he attacked were willing—”
“Okay, we get it,” Cate said as she looked at Tiffany. “We don’t need to hear more of that BS do we?”
“Definitely not,” Tiffany said. “But he will stand trial?”
“He will. Twice, and both the attorney general here and the one in Minnesota assure me that he will be put away for the rest of his life.” Tuck took a long pull from his beer. “As he should.”“Amen,” Bear whispered. “But what’s the story with Cagle’s death? Did you figure out who committed that crime?”
Tuck grinned. “Actually, that was pretty easy. Scott, I mean Gavin did it. He was afraid Cagle was going to go back to Minnesota and rat him out, so he took care of the threat. That, it seems, is the reason he came here.” He looked at Tiffany. “I really think he had no idea you were here, no clue that Cagle had stalked you here. But when he found out—”
“Then, I was a threat, too.” Tiffany’s voice was matter-of-fact. “Well, that clears that up.”
Mart put her arm around Tiffany’s shoulder. “You okay?”
“I think so. I mean, maybe. Okay, probably not, but I do feel relieved. No matter how much I know none of this was my fault, it’s hard not to believe that on some level when everyone tells you it is.” She took a long, deep breath. “But this proves none of this was my responsibility.”
All at once, Henri, Mart, Cate, and I stood up and knelt by Tiffany’s feet. “This is not your fault. None of it. No matter what anyone says,” I said. I looked in Tiffany’s face and saw tears spilling down her cheeks. “We will tell you that over and over again for as long as you need the reminder.” Then, we all hugged her until we fell into a giggling, crying heap in the grass.
The next morning in the shop, I was just settling in with my vanilla latte so I could run the previous week’s sales figures. Rocky was bouncing along to Lizzo in the café, and I was marveling at the speed with which that woman could spit out words. It was feeling like it was going to be a great day.
Just then, the bell over the door rang and two women walked in. One woman was African American with long dark hair spilling down her back, and the other woman was white, her graying hair cropped close to her head. They were both gorgeous, and I was excited to see new faces . . . until their eyes met mine.
Usually, when customers first step into the shop, they look around, get a lay of the land, so to speak. But these two women scanned just long enough to find me at the register and made a beeline. Typically that kind of focus on the person in charge precedes a complaint, so I braced myself.
But when they reached the counter, the white woman put her hand on mine, and the other woman leaned over the counter to hug me. “We saw your window display on Galen’s Instagram, and we came down right away from Baltimore. We wanted to thank you in person.”
“Thank you,” the other woman said. “You have no idea—” She tilted her head and looked at my face. “Well, maybe you do know just how much that means. Thank you.”
“Now, where do I get one of those delicious smelling drinks,” her friend asked.
Rocky shouted over her music. “In here, ladies. I’ll hook you right up.”
The two women waved and headed to the back just as I heard the bell ring over the door again. I wiped the tears from my eyes and turned to greet the person who had just come in.
Quickly, though, my attempt to hold back my tears became futile because there was Daniel with a huge bouquet of flowers and a small sign that read, “I’ll always believe you. Always.”
I smiled and tried to contain my sobs, and then he turned the card over. “Will you marry me?” it said.
I nodded, and then I saw a happy tear slide down his cheek. The cheers from the café drowned out even Lizzo.