Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92777 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92777 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
I thought about what Burt had told me about Betty and about her lost words. I thought about how they completed each other, each providing what the other was missing.
I thought about Haven, and about Easton too.
I thought about how they were nomads, searching for a home.
And how I was a man with a home I’d never fully appreciated until I saw it through their eyes.
I felt ashamed, and grateful, and devastated, and humbled.
I let it all fall over me, soaking into my skin, filling my heart, weaving into the fiber of my bones, who I was and who I might become. Who my father believed I would be.
Listen to your wise and tender heart.
I thought about all the ways I’d taken the multitude of gifts I’d been given for granted, abandoning all faith and embracing the very worst parts of myself.
And I no longer wanted to be that man.
I wanted to be someone better.
I slipped on my reading glasses, opened a document, and began to type.
Chapter Thirty-One
Travis
“Thank you all for coming to, uh, the follow-up to the town meeting,” I said, the microphone giving out an ear-piercing shriek that traveled along my already-frayed nerves as I winced, leaning back slightly. I cleared my throat. “I know this is irregular, and I appreciate you all making time to be here. Again.”
I bent, lifting a box of stapled packets at my feet and handing it to Deb. She took it with a small huff, staggering slightly under its weight. I leaned away from the microphone. “There’s a dolly over there,” I whispered, inclining my head.
“Thank goodness,” she murmured, taking the few steps to where I’d parked the dolly I’d used to cart the boxes in.
The crowd murmured, interest evident in their expressions, and some concern, as Deb wheeled the first box toward the crowd, asking everyone to take a packet and pass them down. I waited a few minutes while they were distributed, Deb wheeling back and getting a second box to hand out to the middle and back rows. I avoided looking at the first of the citizens who’d already received the list I’d compiled throughout a long week and several sleepless nights. I couldn’t bear to see their faces. I was bone weary, and yet fear and humiliation roiled in my gut.
“The flyer distributed at the annual meeting about the Torreses was wrong on every level,” I began. “I didn’t intend for any of that to be made public”—I shot Spencer a look and he bowed his head, ashamed—“but I take full responsibility because I was the one who, because of my pride and my shortcomings, planted the seed that resulted in that list being compiled.” I looked around, watching the packets being passed down one aisle and then the next. “We’re better than that, as a community and as individuals. Eight years ago, we learned what making outcasts of people does and what gifts we all receive when we embrace a welcoming spirit.”
I cleared my throat. The murmurs were rising in volume. Yeah, there was a lot to murmur about.
“Regarding the Torreses, I’d also like to make it clear that I’m biased. I’m biased because I’m in love with Haven Torres. Deeply, miserably, completely in love with her.” I was pretty sure more mouths dropped open but my vision had gone slightly blurry. “Maybe it seems quick—”
“Maybe it seems like it’s about damn time!” someone yelled from the crowd below. I thought it sounded like Mrs. Connick, but I couldn’t be certain.
“In any case, I’m sure it will be some consolation to many of you that you’ll enjoy witnessing my torment and suffering for a long time to come. Possibly for the rest of this life. Potentially into the next.”
Murmurs. The sound of pages flipping. Someone in the back shouting, “What the hell? Who does that?” as they read over one bullet point or another.
“Haven Torres is the bravest, most big-hearted person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, and any community would be lucky to have her in it. Communities should hold lotteries to win people like her. She cares for people, and even things, deeply, and we don’t deserve her because no one does.” I glanced around quickly. “Easton Torres has made mistakes. But so have I.” I squinted, clearing my throat again. “I, of all people, have no right to pass judgment on others. I’ve done things to ruin lives. I’ve acted in ways some might judge irredeemable.” I paused, gathering what little courage it felt like I had left. “And the further truth—and a fact that wasn’t included on that list—is that Easton acted as a hero when he saved his sister’s life and for that, I will spend the rest of mine grateful to him. As an act of contrition and of public apology for my part in what happened at the first town meeting, I’ve compiled a list of every immoral, shameful, in a few regrettable instances sacrilegious, and…well, in some cases downright illegal things I’ve ever done. Because I can’t make excuses for Easton Torres nor for myself, but I can join him. And that’s what I’m here to do. I’m here to join him.”