Weighted Silence (Complete)

Chapter 15: Dion

15Dion

It took me a long time to crawl out of the pit I'd wallowed in. The memories I had of Misty and what had become of her had always and would always haunt me, but to hear someone describe it in such grisly detail, as though talking about roadkill... it'd been more than I could stand, and I sank into my first panic attack in almost a year.

Mrs. May was a huge advocate for helping me heal. She was close to my parents; had known me my entire life, and she was practically family. But even she couldn't touch the raw wound inside me that had started bleeding again. Mayor tried, assuring me over and over that Jefferson was gone, and everything he'd done to Misty— and to me— could never and would never happen again. He swore it on his life.

I knew, but the wound still bled. All I could do now was try to put it out of my mind and hope it scabbed over again.

I had no idea where Saylor had gone. My guess was that she'd gone on to Denver, and I was okay with that. Despite the way I was beginning to feel about her, after everything... I wasn't really ready to see her again. I'd seen the look on her face as she'd dashed out of Nina's. She'd been devastated too. How could she not be after being told something like that? Especially knowing that she was related to the man who had brought this town to its knees.

I was surprised Jefferson's lawyer or someone hadn't told her more about him. I'd have thought that his daughter would be the first to learn everything leading up to his execution. And as his daughter, I'd think she'd have questions; would have asked. But then, given that she was more than a little estranged from him, maybe she hadn't wanted to know. But now she did... and she'd looked wrecked. That made two of us.

Mrs. May tried giving me the day off, 'to collect myself', but I needed to work, if for no other reason than to stimulate my brain with some form of distraction. But all I'd done for four hours was sit in the café, watching customers come and go while I stared a hole into the floor and Maggie repeatedly circled my chair, trying her best to make me feel better. It didn't help, and after a while, I couldn't sit anymore and let the whole thing stew.

So I worked. Mrs. May agreed to let me stay on a full shift, on the condition that I took tomorrow off. Agreeing, I fell into the calm routine of my job. Maggie hung out in the office, and I spent the next six hours quietly serving coffee. And pretending that I wasn't keeping an eye out for Saylor's car. There was only one road into and out of town, the one that extended off of Main to crawl down the mountain toward the interstate. If she came back, I'd see her.

I didn't know why I was watching for her. After today, I would have been more than happy with a clean break from all things Jefferson Monroe, including his daughter who looked way too much like the niece he'd killed. Too much for my comfort, anyway. But yet, there I was, looking up at every car that passed. And none of them were hers.

Maybe deep down, I needed to see if she was alright. Though I wasn't exceptional at offering comfort, last night had been proof of that, I'd been on the downside of raw grief enough times to know that sometimes all it took was someone else telling you that it was going to be okay. The whole town had been telling me for seven years. Considering she'd said she was more or less alone in the world, I wondered if anyone had ever told her.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and looked at the few lines of text exchanged between she and I. I'd sent her a single message almost four hours ago, asking if she was alright, and that we should talk, but she never responded. Part of me hoped that didn't mean she was trying to make a clean break from me too.

I looked up as another car passed. Red, dent in the front left fender. Mrs. Truman, likely on her way from Town Hall toward her little cottage on the south side of town. I didn't allow myself to feel the subtle disappointment that it wasn't Saylor, just turned intentionally away to continue making the hot chocolate I'd been working on for Sam, who'd come in five or six minutes ago.