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Her sassy tone made the crowd laugh.
“When the Senior Home nearly burned down, my journals were the only thing I cared about losing. Anyway, back to my story, which is really Rosalind Stanley’s story. Her last name used to be Kleech, anyone remember that name?”
It seemed to stir up something; Brenda noticed some shuffling feet in the crowd.
“That’s right. The Kleech family used to be big around here. They owned the general store, a lot of lakefront property. They had a couple of kids. All of them boys. One of them was called Everett.”
E.K. The initials on LadyBird Rock. Brenda caught Galen’s glance, making sure it rang a bell for him too.
“Everett never acted like the other boys. We all knew something was different about him. For one thing, he was a wonderful artist. The watercolors he made of the lake would make you cry.”
Watercolors. Was she talking about Rosalind’s artwork? Had Everett left his work to Rosalind?
“Everett was a kind soul, too. Dreamy. He’d give you the last penny in his pocket if you needed something.”
The hallway was so still Brenda could hear the thump of Galen’s heart. His arms were wrapped around her as she leaned her back against his chest.
“One day Everett went to his mother and told her a secret. Something didn’t feel right, and he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore. His mother kicked him out of the house. The whole family turned against him. Wouldn’t allow him back in for nothing. Threatened to shoot him if he set foot on their property. After that, Everett slept where he could. Sometimes it was a fishing shack, sometimes a friend’s floor. He became very depressed. He decided this life wasn’t worth living anymore. So he made his plans.”
Brenda could hardly breathe. Had Everett thrown himself off LadyBird Rock? Where did Rosalind come into this story?
“He left a watercolor behind as a kind of last gift to the world. It showed all of Lake Bittersweet and it radiated pure love for this place. It was beautiful, a masterpiece. Off to one side, you could see some mountain ridges and a halo around one particular spot.”
LadyBird Rock. Brenda knew it before her grandmother even said the words.
“He’d been staying with a friend who figured out what he was up to. That friend put together a tracking party. They tracked him all the way to LadyBird Rock, where he’d planned to throw himself off a cliff. But for an artist like him, it turned out not to be so easy. Thing is, it’s spectacular up there.”
Murmurs of agreement rose from the listeners. That was what they’d all become—listeners. Spellbound by CeCe’s simple storytelling. The healing power of storytelling, thought Brenda. Whether it’s a cave, a campfire, or a principal’s hallway. Never fails.
“He couldn’t do it, at least not until he’d absorbed every color in the sunrise sky, and mapped out every curve of the valley. He sat and looked and listened and became one with nature up there. That was how the tracking party caught up with him. His friends cried with him, told him they loved him and didn’t want to lose him. He said, but that’s the thing. There is no him. I’m a her.”
Someone gasped. Someone else coughed. No one moved.
“A tribal elder happened to be part of the tracking party. Everett’s friend had brought him along because he’d suspected the truth. Now in their community, they didn’t see things the way we did. This elder told stories of how it used to be before the Europeans came, how there were several shades of man and woman and in-between and crossover. Everett listened and decided to live. And that was how Everett became Rosalind. When she came down that mountain, she was a girl, although in her heart, she always had been. She told me she painted something on the rock up there that was meant to be an epitaph. But it turned into a kind of birth announcement instead. E.K., then an arrow, then R.S. So you’re probably wondering why I’m telling you this story. It has nothing to do with Brenda, right?”
A few people cleared their throats, as if waking from a trance.
“That’s right,” someone said.
“No, that’s wrong.” Granny gave him the scolding finger. “Lake Bittersweet learned a lesson that day. We almost lost one of our own. It opened our eyes. Opened our hearts. Rosalind never lacked for a place to stay again. She finished high school and went off to art school. She sold that amazing watercolor to a collector and donated all the funds to our library. Over the years, she sent more donations. Until she died, she was one of Lake Bittersweet’s biggest philanthropists. She gave away all her money, leaving only enough for end-of-life care. Sadly, the rest of the Kleech family decided to move away. This wasn’t the right place for them.”
An absolute hush had fallen over the crowd.
“So that’s why I’m telling you this, because you might not remember Rosalind’s story, and how it changed this town. Or maybe you aren’t even from here, and you’re just trying to make trouble. Maybe you don’t see what Rosalind has to do with Brenda. Here it is. This town stands by the people who are part of it. My granddaughter Brenda is part of Lake Bittersweet. She’s been teaching kids for nearly two years now. She’s a kind-hearted soul who also has an imagination she likes to express in books that are meant for adults. For adults. Doesn’t everyone here do things that are adults-only? How do you think your kids got here?”
Someone snorted out a laugh. Brenda glanced cautiously around the crowd, and saw that most of them were smiling now. A few were checking the time because they probably had other things to do besides worry about her pen name. A few people had already left; the crowd had thinned.
“I’m almost done,” CeCe announced. “I just want to say this. Sometimes we are called upon to open our hearts just a little bit more. That’s a good thing. Now I have a question.” She spread her arms wide. “How does a mosh pit work?”
“Mama, don’t you dare!” Laney darted forward to catch her, ready to be CeCe’s landing pad in case she actually launched herself into the air.
And that was the thing about her mom, Brenda realized with a start. She rarely got the joke, and she always tried to boss her family around. But she’d also—always—try to save them, whether or not they needed it.
That must be why her mother always tried to keep her close, like a mother duck corralling her duckling. Fear, that was what it came down to.
In that moment, Brenda made a decision. She, for one, wasn’t going to let her life be ruled by fear. Including fear of her mother. Not anymore.
Through the thinning crowd, she caught the eye of Principal Roscoe. He shook his head at her and mouthed something. She cupped her ear to show she couldn’t hear. In the next moment, her phone buzzed.
