Don't Come Home
Page 22
Graduation had been beautiful but meaningless: the lavish ceremony, the moving of tassels from one side to another, the throwing of hats. There was a lot of pomp and circumstance that went into the celebration, and it had all been a bit overwhelming. Leigh went through the motions, a fake smile stretching as she looked out at the crowd, missing two faces that should have been there. Sometimes she couldn’t believe that she had actually made it; she was a graduate of Harvard, something her parents wouldn’t have dreamed possible. She was the first in her family to graduate from college, but there was no one there to celebrate with her; there was only the blurred crowd and the loud clock ticking down inside of her. She had been waiting for this day for three years, but not for the same reason as the elated graduates beside her.
Her graduation robe lay on her bed, folded into a neat square, along with all her packed belongings. She wouldn’t be staying long after this; she had a three o’clock flight to Canada, where she was set to start her internship at the Toronto Office of International Aid in only two days. The apartment was already ready; most of her meager belongings had already been shipped out and the most important person in her life was already there, eager to start his own new job.
Henry was waiting. And after she did this, Leigh Mae would follow.
Leigh turned around. “I think I’m ready.” She said softly to her roommate. Imogen looked over at her from the other bed, a sad smile on her face as she opened up her arms for a hug. Leigh stood and let herself slip into her friend’s warm embrace.
“You know your parents would be so proud today, don’t you?” Imogen whispered.
“I do. I felt them with me this morning.” It was true. She had felt their hearts beating within her own as they handed her the diploma. When she had taken the scroll, a robust wind had ripped through the ceremony, battering the banners and sending papers flying everywhere. She had had to clutch her cap to keep it from flying away. It had been a sudden Wyoming sort of wind; a gift from her parents.
She would take it.
“Thank you for everything you have done for me. A friend could not be more to a person than you have been to me.” She whispered, surprisingly comfortable with this intimate moment. Leigh as much more huggy now. It was all Henry’s fault.
Imogen squeezed her back. “Don’t get all mushy. I’ll miss you, but I’ll see you in a few months. Toronto is not ready for this heat.” She picked up an enormous black binder from the bed and handed it to Leigh. “You’ve got this girl.” Leigh touched her friend’s face with gratefulness. Then she turned and walked out of the dorm room and toward the empty community room at the end of hall.
She could hear the news team as she neared the door: the clamor of voices, the checking of equipment. Henry’s father had pulled a lot of family favors to get them here; they were all working much harder now without his grandparents support, but things were better. His parents had welcomed Leigh with open arms, a love she ate up hungrily.
As she neared the doorway her heart began pounding. But instead of feeding the anxiety, Leigh let it flutter up and away from her. It flew away from Harvard and across the country, through fields of columbines and tall pines, rushing past a waterfall before it settled in a wide valley, bursting with new life. A place where the air smelled of sagebrush.
Leigh let out a deep breath and walked forward, black heels clicking as she made her way inside. There were two chairs in the center of the room, and in one a beautiful young woman looked skeptically down at a clipboard. Around her, men around adjusted lights and electronic equipment. Her head jerked up when Leigh entered.
“You must be Leigh.” They shook hands and the reporter leaned forward. “You’ll have to excuse me, but I’m still in a bit of shock. You’re sure you’re ready to tell this story on camera and swear to its authenticity?”
“Absolutely.” Leigh nodded, settling comfortably in the chair. “Every word of it. Not only did this egregious crime happen, but I have the paperwork to prove it. Lots and lots of paperwork.”
The reporter stared at her for a moment before shaking her head. “If so, this is going to be the story of the year, of the decade. God, this could make my career.”
Leigh nodded. “It will. Why do you think I asked you here? I could have picked anyone to tell this story, but I wanted a fresh reporter, one just on the edge of greatness.” She paused. “One who struggles to overcome her own humble upbringing.”
The reporter’s facsimile smile slipped away. Leigh leaned forward, her eyes flashing. “I do my research. You’re the perfect person to tell my story. Trust me.”
“Aren’t you afraid of repercussions?” She asked Leigh quietly, but she shook her head. “Henry and I made that decision together, that if there was a cost to be paid from speaking the truth, then we will pay it. But…” The lights in her eyes were blinding. “But it’s harder to do things in the dark once the truth is in the light, out there for all to see.”
The reporter sat back, her eyes impressed. “Alright then, Leigh.” She said gamely. “Let’s do this.”
In the corner of her eye, a light bulb flickered. The cameras and microphones rose in the air as Leigh cleared her throat and placed the overflowing binder on her lap. It contained over 419 individual pieces of evidence about what happened, each one slowly hunted down by herself, Henry and Ford over the past three years. The noise quieted down as the reporter signaled for them to begin. A red light on the camera clicked on, and the reporter introduced herself with a serious look.
“Hi. My name is Annie Myers reporting from Boston Today. Today I’m here at Harvard with a young lady who has an incredible story to tell.” As she spoke, Leigh tried not to focus on the images running through her mind: Her mother’s smile. The pitch black of night over an empty valley. Henry, pulling her into a hotel bed. The feel of cold metal against her finger and the sound of a gunshot echoing in a valley. A crumpled body on the ground.
Annie looked over at Leigh and gestured for her to begin.
“Thank you for coming today.” Leigh said, her face void of emotion as she swam back up to the surface. She clutched the binder and channeled the strength of her mother, who had warned Leigh against all odds, and of her father, who had fought for his town until the very end. And of Winnie, whose tragic story deserved to be told. Leigh still felt her in the corners of her mind occasionally. She would never forgive her, but she understood her. They all would have agreed: it was time to tell the truth.
“My name is Leigh Mae Montgomery.” she said bravely. “And I am from the missing town of Blackriver.”
The End