We Can Be Heroes

by Kyrie McCauley

  MERIT: So you don’t think Bell Firearms, the way it advertised, the culture Nico grew up in, your disdain for Cassie Queen—none of that influenced Nico?

  BELL: I don’t think anything we did could have changed the outcome. It is what it is.

  MERIT: Mr. Bell, did you have faith that your company could handle any backlash after the shooting?

  BELL: The company has faced many hardships in its two hundred years, of course.

  MERIT: But this wasn’t really a hardship, was it? Not politically. Are you aware that gun sales spike in the aftermath of school shootings?

  BELL: I am aware.

  MERIT: So, in a way, aren’t you profiting directly off these shootings?

  BELL: Now, listen, people get scared. They reach for—

  MERIT: Safety. You promise them safety, Mr. Bell.

  BELL: That’s right.

  MERIT: Did you promise Cassie that safety, too?

  BELL: Cassie Queen wasn’t my responsibility.

  MERIT: That’s cold, Mr. Bell.

  BELL: Hang on a damn second. I lost my son, too.

  MERIT: And I’m sorry for your loss, but your son was a killer. And Cassie was scared of him. You knew that, didn’t you? When you went to the hospital that day. You saw how he hurt her.

  BELL: No one could have guessed what would happen next.

  MERIT: But that’s not the truth, Mr. Bell. All the warning signs were there. Plus access to weapons. But you and the sheriff still believe that ignoring Cassie was justified even though, as it turned out, she was completely right to be scared . . . because in your experience, what? Cassie was lying? Overreacting?

  BELL: Not lies. Exaggerations. Dramatization of the truth. I’ve seen it my whole life.

  MERIT: You don’t just mean Cassie, do you?

  BELL: Of course I do. Ms. Logan, why do you care so much?

  MERIT: I’m surprised, Steven. I thought if you got on a call with me you’d at least recognize my voice.

  [Long pause]

  BELL: Who the hell—Logan. Hannah Logan.

  MERIT: Merit is my middle name. I started using it after your PR team followed me to college and I had to transfer. Twice.

  BELL: . . . Christ. This whole thing was a setup.

  MERIT: That sounds a little . . . how did you describe Cassie again? Dramatic. Steven, I know you have five decades of experiences telling you that everything is about you, but that’s not actually true. I’m here for Cassie. But I couldn’t miss the opportunity to tell you directly that you are scum.

  BELL: You thought you were in love with me.

  MERIT: And you took advantage of the situation. I was seventeen.

  BELL: It doesn’t matter. You can’t touch me.

  MERIT: All I have to do is tell my story. And you started it by joining me today for this interview. The only name I’ve never named on here is yours. But that will change, next week, unless—

  BELL: Unless what?

  MERIT: Stop intimidating the Queens and Vivian Hughes. Drop the reward for the muralists. If you keep going after them, I’ll tell my story publicly. I’ll release the second half of this interview. When I was a teen, I was scared into silence. And I know you tried to do the same to Cassie. I’ll be damned if there’s no accountability for you again.

  BELL: No one will believe you.

  MERIT: Eight years ago that was true. No one believed me. But with everything we know about Cassie—the way you ignored Nico’s violence, tried to shut Cassie up . . . I think now they would believe me. Do you really want to take the chance?

  BELL: . . . I’ll drop the reward. You’ll keep your silence.

  MERIT: For now. It won’t matter soon, anyway.

  BELL: Why’s that?

  MERIT: Because that lawsuit is going to destroy you, even without my help.

  [Phone call disconnects]

  Mural 7

  TITLE: THE FATES

  LOCATION: THE BARN

  Cassie

  Vivian and Beck

  come back to me

  a little bruised

  and a little broken

  and I can’t help but think,

  Now that makes

  three of us.

  Suddenly

  the only thing I want

  in this

  whole,

  wide,

  terrifying

  world

  is to keep my friends safe.

  Beck gets Betty started.

  She’s hurt,

  but she’s moving.

  Not unlike Beck herself,

  who climbs into

  the passenger seat

  for once, letting V drive.

  Vivian, I say,

  trying to get her attention

  while she drives.

  Vivian, it’s time.

  I have to go.

  No, says Vivian.

  She answers too fast.

  like she knew

  what I was going to say,

  and she keeps her eyes

  on the road.

  Beck turns to me.

  Now? she asks.

  But I just lost him.

  You found someone, too,

  I tell her, my eyes

  going back to Vivian.

  They’re both quiet

  for so long

  I think they’ll just ignore me.

  Where? Vivian asks.

  The sunflowers, Beck says,

  answering for me.

  Answering like she’s known

  for some time, too.

  Like she’s been watching me

  watch those flowers,

  like she knew

  I was listening

  to something inside.

  We drive through town

  and the remains

  of the festival

  are still there.

  Sunflowers

  on sunflowers

  on sunflowers.

  On signs

  and lampposts,

  painted onto

  storefronts

  except the one

  that’s boarded up still,

  because someone

  threw a brick

  through the window.

  August is the only time

  that Bell talks about flowers

  instead of guns,

  and I think it’s the perfect time

  to say goodbye.

  We park on the edge

  of Beck’s grandpa’s

  property.

  Now Beck’s property,

  I guess.

  Right up against the field.

  It’s too late and too early,

  that witching hour of

  dark, while you wait

  for the sun.

  So we wait together.

  Vivian and Beck

  climb into the back seat,

  one on either side of me.

  Why do you think this happened?

  Vivian asks, like it only just now

  dawned on her to ask me.

  I think we were wrong,

  I tell them,

  The unfinished business?

  It wasn’t vengeance.

  Then what the hell was it?

  asks Vivian.

  It was you.

  You needed to find

  your way back to this.

  I gesture to the three of us.

  Maybe you two just

  really needed me

  for a little longer,

  I say.

  And now we don’t?

  Beck asks.

  No, I tell her.

  You’ll have each other.

  The sky slips through

  its colors, first pitch-black

  and heavy with stars,

  then a grayish blue, then

  finally, the first pink streaks of light.

  This could be any morning,

  the three of us

  piling into Betty together.

  The same as alw
ays.

  And when their arms

  wrap around me,

  I feel them.

  The weight of their bodies

  press up against mine

  like I’m solidly here

  for just a moment more.

  Hey, Beck, I say.

  What? she whispers,

  leaning her head

  on my shoulder.

  The same as always.

  I changed my mind,

  I whisper back.

  I think the real reason

  I came back

  was just to crash

  your crappy van.

  Beck laughs, and her laugh

  starts mine,

  and mine gets to Vivian,

  the same as always.

  And even now, after

  all the hurt,

  or maybe in spite of it,

  the three of us are

  just as we began:

  made of laughter

  and light,

  our summers

  endless before us.

  And we’ve gathered

  all the roses

  our arms can bear.

  Beck

  THE VERY LAST MURAL WASN’T FOR anyone but them.

  It was the three Fates. Beck painted it on the side of the barn in the last week of August. Those last days spent painting were long and lonely. But she wouldn’t be lonely for long.

  Beck had designed this last one for Vivian. It was the three of them together. And crossing in between them, tying them together, were the strands of fate, being woven into a tapestry all their own. Beck liked the idea of it—of invisible strings tying her to the people she loved most. Keeping them close, even when they were so far away. Even when they were out of sight.

  She painted Vivian’s braids, and that constantly furrowed brow. She painted her leaning over the tapestry, examining their work. Ever critical. Ever put-together. Beck painted herself with her red curls all over, and with the strands twirled around her fingers, tangled a bit. Doing her best to keep up. Trying.

  And then Cassie, with the string in her hands and flowers where her hair ought to be. Every kind of flower Beck could think of, gathered like a massive crown around her head and shoulders. And one last string, weaving between the three of them. Tying them to each other.

  Beck heard tires on the driveway and stepped down from her ladder as the car came into view. Merit Logan climbed out of her car. She walked up beside Beck, hand over her eyes to block out the brightness of the sun so she could see the mural clearly.

  “That’s the best one yet,” she told Beck.

  They walked into the garage together, and Merit pulled out her phone. She’d promised Beck that she could listen to the interview with Steven Bell before it aired.

  “Are you going to post the whole thing?” Beck asked when she finished listening.

  “Unsure,” Merit said. “I might let him sit with the threat of it. See what he does next. I just want to give the Queens and Vivian some protection while this lawsuit gets off the ground.”

  “He dropped the reward,” Beck said.

  “I heard.” Merit smiled. “It’s something. But I’m leaving Bell to finish my last few episodes of the season. A few more interviews, but I don’t need to be here anymore. And I guess you don’t either? Vivian told me you’re leaving.” Merit tucked her phone away. She gestured to the shop. “What about this?”

  Beck shrugged. “It will be here. It’s mine. If I need it. But right now, I need something else.”

  “You need to move on,” Merit said.

  “I’m going to the city. I got a job. I’ll apprentice at a tattoo shop there for a while. See where that leads.”

  “And Vivian?”

  “We’re getting a place together,” Beck said. “She couldn’t . . . she didn’t want to be in a dorm.”

  “You both are going to do amazing things,” Merit said.

  “Thanks,” Beck said. “And thank you for . . .” Beck trailed off. She’d never been good with this kind of thing.

  “I should thank you,” Merit said. “It’s the closure I needed. You want to hear something ridiculous? I originally came back here because of Cassie, because I thought—don’t laugh—I thought she was haunting me.”

  Merit held up her hand when Beck did laugh softly. If only you knew, Beck thought.

  “I know. Ridiculous. Anyway, I swear I could see her in my dreams. A young woman, with long dark hair. Asking me for help. But this past week? I could finally see that face in my dreams. And it was me. She was the younger version of me. That one I’d hidden away from the world. Whose trauma I thought I could bury and forget. But that’s not how trauma works, is it?”

  “No,” Beck said. “I don’t think it is.”

  “I thought I was here to help Cassie. To tell her story. But really it was to tell mine, too. I needed to talk about Bell.”

  They walked into the sunlight together, facing the sunflower field. Cassie’s field, as Beck thought of it now.

  “And now?” Beck asked Merit.

  “I’ll post this interview tonight. I don’t even need the second half of it yet—he went to the hospital. Tried to scare Cassie. Had the sheriff answering to him. That’s enough. For now.”

  “Good. Take the bastards down.”

  “Take care of yourself, Beck. And take care of Vivian.”

  “I will,” Beck said, and she knew she could do that. That’s who she was. She took care of people. Even if it couldn’t be forever.

  After Merit drove away, Beck retraced her steps, back into the garage, and set Betty’s keys on the workbench. They’d discussed taking the van to the city, but it felt so empty now, without Cassie’s voice echoing through it.

  Beck heard a car pull up outside, and the chirp of a horn.

  She hung the Closed sign on the door on her way out. Beck threw her bags into Vivian’s back seat and climbed into the passenger seat. She didn’t look back at the farm or the barn or even Betty as they drove away.

  It was like the stars on overcast nights. It was like Cassie stepping into those sunflower fields one last time.

  Everything she loved was still there, even if she couldn’t see it.

  Vivian

  “NOW WHERE ARE WE GOING?” BECK asked when Vivian turned in the opposite direction of the highway.

  “One last stop,” Vivian said, smiling at Beck’s impatience to leave Bell—something she never thought she’d see. But it had been Beck’s idea for them to leave together.

  The lawsuits could take years, Beck had argued. And Vivian didn’t want to be around every time there was a development that left the town on edge, did she?

  So Vivian said yes, and called her college, accepted their offer to take a class at a time while she went to therapy to help her deal with everything. One little step at a time. And Matteo would be in the same city as them. They’d have a familiar face, a friend in the crowd. It was a chance to start again. And they all really needed that.

  Vivian’s hand brushed the bandage on her thigh as she drove. She’d insisted on being Beck’s first tattoo in her apprenticeship. They’d chosen a familiar design—Beck was still learning, and the tattoo had to work around the scar tissue on her leg. It was the same thing Beck had painted on Cassie’s leg last summer—a sunflower in full bloom, and underneath it, Cassie’s favorite words. Collige Virgo Rosas.

  “You wanted this to say ‘YOLO,’ right?” Beck had teased her over the buzz of the tattoo needle when she did it.

  Vivian turned down the side road that led to the lake.

  Before they were allowed to swim without supervision, they’d meet at the massive willow tree that grew on the hill overlooking the water. Vivian’s mom and Cassie’s parents would drop them off in the morning, and not come back for them until nightfall. They were free to roam all day. Their summers had always been like that—entirely their own.

  The willow was a monster these days, overgrown and unkempt, curling in upon itself. It
s long solitude evident in the tangled-ness of its branches.

  But this tree wasn’t always so lonely.

  They used to spend hours in its shade, summer warm on their skin and lips tart from the green apples they’d stolen from the Warrens’ orchards nearby. If they sat long enough, and still enough, they could track the way the sunflowers craned their necks, following the sun as it set.

  Back then, the willow’s branches would move in the wind like seaweed in waves. Tug and release. Back and forth, the ends tickling their bare legs. But today those branches were snarled in a way that made it hard for Vivian, pulling Beck along with her, to climb over and between them to get to the tree.

  She put her hand out and ran her fingers along the surface of the tree, searching for the heart of the thing. It took a while; it was nearly invisible after so many years, covered by time and the tree’s other scars.

  “Remember, we would sit just there, facing west to look out over the fields and the lake.”

  “I remember,” Beck said.

  They’d stay until the bluest of days collapsed into pink.

  And then they’d wait while the whole universe appeared above them in the dark, in fistfuls of stars at a time, until they were overwhelmed by the number of them. They thought it was all for them.

  Beck reached into her overalls and pulled out a pocketknife. “Here, you do the honors.”

  When Vivian’s fingers found the carved heart, she brushed over the letters of their names inside of it. She could hear Cassie’s voice with each beat of her own heart, her pulse so strong in her fingertips that it was like the weathered shape on the tree was the thing throbbing. She took the blade from Beck, thanking her softly. She sank the knife into the willow’s bark and pulled down. Cutting was easier that direction, and she wasn’t trying to take her fingers off.

  They must have been ten or eleven years old when they first carved the heart and their names into the tree, and Vivian didn’t remember it being this difficult to cut. Then again, it would have been Beck who did the carving. Vivian wouldn’t have dared.

  The tree was younger then. Maybe it used to be softer, its bark more supple.

  They were softer then, too.

  She finished retracing the heart and their initials, and Vivian tried to recall the exact day they’d put it there, but they all ran together in her memory now. It would have been a bright, sun-soaked day. Any one of a thousand they’d shared together.

  “All right, we should go,” Vivian said, returning the knife to Beck. “We need to pick up our keys to the apartment before the office closes.”