I'll Stop the World (81)

She mentioned being in jail once, and when I expressed my surprise that she’d ever been arrested, she just gave me a sad smile and said, Son, jail is just part of growing up for some of us. But she didn’t say any more after that, and as curious as I was, I haven’t gotten up the courage to ask. I don’t know if that makes me kind, or a coward.

It’s simultaneously inspiring and depressing, hearing about Mrs. Hanley’s experiences and knowing how much energy she’s spent working for change. Alyssa is always attending these protests and rallies for gun control, racial justice, health care, climate change, you name it—I’ve even participated in a few walkouts at school myself, although I think most of us were just using it as an excuse to get out of class—but I’ve never really paid much attention to all that. I always figured that whatever happened, my life would probably stay pretty much the same. Alyssa says I’m missing the point, that it’s not about me, but I just figured that she and I were wired differently. That she was built to care too much, and I wasn’t, and that was fine.

Listening to Mrs. Hanley talk about the things she’s lived through, though, I feel like I’m starting to get it. She thinks that Rose’s stepmother’s campaign for mayor is a sign of better things to come, but decades from now, people like her will still be protesting, getting arrested, getting killed—while fighting for many of the exact same causes. Too little has changed, probably because too many people like me are content to just sit on our asses and assume that everything will sort itself out. And if it doesn’t, that’s no big deal either, because we’ll be fine either way.

If I ever make it back, I owe Alyssa an apology for being a lazy, privileged asshole.

Mrs. Hanley finishes saying grace, releases my hand, and I dig into my meal, trying not to think about all the ways the future is going to do its best to screw over this kind, determined woman. Every bite is amazing, and before I know it, I’ve polished off my whole plate and am going back for seconds. Mrs. Hanley chuckles to herself. “See, I told you it wasn’t too much.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I grin, helping myself to another piece of cornbread.

“So,” Mrs. Hanley says, her tone suddenly serious as she folds her hands in front of her plate, “tell me why you stomped in here tonight looking like someone just drowned your puppy.”

My appetite shrinks to a pinpoint, but I stick a bite of ham in my mouth anyway, chewing slowly while I try to come up with an answer that isn’t a lie. I’ve been lying to pretty much everyone except Rose since the moment I got here, but I try to lie to Mrs. Hanley as little as possible.

When I swallow, she’s still patiently staring at me, and I haven’t come up with anything good, so I opt for vague. “Rose and I had a fight.”

“Ah.” She leans back in her chair, moving her folded hands to her lap. “About what?”

I might have said that no one here cares about her and that she’s barely even a person. “We just disagreed about this . . . project we’re working on, and things got a little heated.”

“Mm-hmm.” She twists her mouth, making it clear that she knows there’s more to the truth than that. “And what is this project, exactly? Does it have anything to do with why you suddenly showed up to visit your pen pal in Stone Lake without even letting her know you were coming?”

“I-I don’t . . . ,” I sputter, scrambling to come up with an answer that makes sense. Mrs. Hanley has never even hinted that she didn’t buy my story, and every explanation I can think up to account for the holes in my tale would involve massive lies. I can’t risk it; big lies mean more to keep track of, which means more opportunities to slip up.

But that leaves me with only one option, which might be even worse.

I flip a mental coin. And then decide—screw it.

“We’re trying to figure out who burned down your garage, because we think that whoever it is will do it again, and that people will get hurt next time.”

Mrs. Hanley raises an eyebrow. “And why do you think that?”

“Call it a premonition.”

She purses her lips, considering me thoughtfully. I assume she’s not buying it, but instead of calling me out, she asks, “So what was the disagreement?”

I sigh. What’s that expression? In for a penny, in for a pound? “We’ve got a suspect, but neither of us know if he’s the right suspect, and we don’t know how to even begin figuring that out. We’d look for someone else, but we have no other leads. The police said it’s a dead end, and you’ve already told us everything you remember from that day. We’ve got nothing to go on.”

Mrs. Hanley pulls in a long breath and blows it out slowly. “Tell me about this premonition you say you received. How do you know it was real?”

That’s one line I can’t cross. She’ll think I’m crazy and may not want a crazy person living in her house. I can’t risk her throwing me out. “I just . . . know. I can’t explain it.”

“And this premonition is why you came to Stone Lake?”

“Rose thinks so.”

“What do you think?”

I spread my hands, knowing I’m treading dangerously close to the edge, but unable to stop myself now. “I don’t know. I was home, and then the next thing I knew, I was just . . . here. I didn’t plan it. It just sort of happened. And then once I was here, I couldn’t go back. Not until I figure this out.” I shrug helplessly. “Except I’m failing miserably at that. And now Rose probably won’t even talk to me anymore.”