Page 17 of Making a Mountain Man

Her brow furrowed. “It’s going to be okay, Wes.” She wrapped her arm over my chest and pulled herself flush against me. “It won’t be like when the story hit before.”

I nodded, knowing that was what she wanted. In my head though, I was creating a checklist of things I needed to do. It was deja vu of the year before except now I was leaving more behind than I could ever replace. My fiercely loyal friends at the seniors center and the one girl who I never thought I’d get to reconnect with.

Chapter 15

Jill

After we’d had sex and a little nap, I asked Wesley a few questions so I could round out my article. He answered with as few words as possible and when I asked if he wanted to read the article, he declined. That was the reddest of red flags. I was pretty sure he trusted me to write a fair story, but not enough to stop what was inevitable in his head. He was already mentally checking out. Steeling himself for what was to come. When he had to put his whole life in the back of a truck and start over.

I still believed that I as a journalist could make a difference in the world. A positive difference, that is, even after what happened to Wesley. The difference was I had found something that was more important: being happy. And being happy meant being with Wesley. I couldn’t let him go, yet he was already slipping away.

“I should head home and get this editedso it can be printed in the paper on Sunday,” I said, sliding my laptop into my bag.

Again, he only nodded. I didn’t bother trying to reassure him again. He had always been a practical, hands-on kind of guy. The only thing that would change his mind about the storm that was coming was for him to see it dissipate before it hit.

I walked to my SUV in the driveway and turned to face him as I opened the door. He was leaning against the door frame of his cabin wearing only a pair of jeans. The light from his kitchen illuminated his thick frame from behind. How the hell this simple, hardworking guy had ended up as public enemy number one I could never understand. Well, I could understand actually, and that was why this story was so important. I was glad that going viral had brought him back to Springwood - back to me - but now I had to use the same power that had brought him here, to keep him here.

The next day was a blur of researching, editing and polishing my article. When I had finally submitted it and Heather had assured me it would be in the Sunday paper, I had nothing left to do but wait. There was no way I could just sit at home, so I got in my SUV and somehow it steered towards the seniors center. I needed to talk to someone, and Agnes, Bill, Henry and Franny were the ones who came to mind.

“The knight can’t move like that,” I heard Henry exclaim as I walked through the door of the seniors center. Henry and Franny were staring at each other across a chess board while Agnes and Bill watched. They fell silent when they saw me. I felt the urge to fidget under their stare and wondered if coming here was a mistake. They were protective of Wes in a way his parents never had been and I had betrayed that trust.

Finally, Agnes stood. “Come have a seat. You can play the winner of Henry and Franny.” The tight feeling in my chestunraveled, rivaling the relief of taking off a tight bra at the end of the day. I sat at the table. “You did a good thing, hun,” Agnes said, sliding a plate of cookies across the table.

“I just hope it’s enough.”

They all nodded in understanding and turned back to their game.

Sunday morning arrived and I’d slept like shit. Being over forty, that wasn’t a brand new experience, but the reason was. It was one article, but Wesley’s future rested on how it was received. In a way mine did, too. I was dying to know how people would react but it wasn’t like I could hand out a survey. The only way to know was to go out and see if anything had changed. There was no way I was going to do that alone. Wes needed to see for himself.

I took longer than necessary fiddling with my hair. It was short and stick-straight, so there wasn’t much to do besides make sure it was still on my head where I left it. After applying mascara, then washing it off and putting it back on, I could admit to myself I was stalling. The work was done. All that was left was to see where everything was going to land. I grabbed my purse, got in my SUV and started the drive up Strawberry Hill.

I parked in his driveway and for once, he wasn’t puttering around outside, nor did the door open to greet me. The cabin windows were dark. The place itself looked like it was in mourning. Even the sky was overcast, leaving the air feeling thick and muggy.

I started towards his front door, the thunk of my SUV door closing seeming too loud in the stillness. My footsteps echoed against the wood of his front porch. This was it.

I took the deepest breath I could and knocked on Wesley’s front door.

Chapter 16

Wesley

Ihad promised myself that I would only go into town if I was bleeding to death. That only lasted a few minutes after I woke up. Begrudgingly, I headed to the closest gas station and bought a copy of the Sunday paper. I hadn’t intended to get my hopes up, but seeing Jill’s name on the front page under the titleThe Harms of Cancel Culture Hit Homemy heart did a little flip. I threw the paper on the passenger seat of my truck and forced myself to drive all the way home before I started to read.

I scanned through the background information she provided about memes, the internet, infamy and bullying before my eyes landed on my name and my mouth went dry.

Local resident, Wesley Monroe, found himself on the wrong side of the world when he posted a simple selfie to a dating site in 2024. A poorly placed piece of graffiti resulted in him selling his business,changing his name and moving four hundred kilometers away.

The world decided he was guilty, but even if he was, did the punishment fit the crime? Isn’t a life sentence a little steep for a bad picture?

I scanned the rest of the article right through to the end then started it over again. It was a great article with lots of thought provoking information and statistics. The article would have stood up well without using me as an example, but dropping my secret would hopefully insulate me from future negative stories.

If it worked that is.

Just as I was contemplating this little beam of hope, there was a knock at my door.

I answered it on autopilot, knowing who it was and why she was here.

“Ready to go?” she asked, gesturing towards her SUV. We hadn’t made plans for the day, but I knew what she meant. Nodding, I grabbed my wallet and keys and headed down the driveway.

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