Page 66 of Lula Dean's Little Library of Banned Book
“But I was worried—”
“You see?” Melody called out and the hands in the crowd began to fall. “My son was terrified by what he read in this book. We should be the ones teaching our children what they need to know—not outsourcing it to authors who don’t share our values.”
“I was worried that those pads under the sink meant you were sick,” Beau said. “Nobody would tell me what they were for. I thought you might be dying.”
Half the hands that had been held high flew to their owners’ hearts. Mara Ocumma seemed stricken and Crystal Moore looked ready to burst into tears.
Melody turned away from the crowd and crouched down in front of her son. Just the thought of her being unwell had drained the blood from his face. It was a fear she knew well—one she’d hidden in the darkest part of her soul. One that often broke free at night and woke her up with a start. She knew what Beau’s dad would say if she were to ever get sick—the same thing her father had told her. The two men shared the same values. Women were tolerated as long as they satisfied you and fed you and hid everything about themselves that you might find objectionable. Melody had been walking a tightrope her entire life—the same one she’d seen her own mother fall off. And she’d been on the verge of passing her father’s beliefs to a new generation.
“I’m not sick,” she assured her son. “I promise you, sweetheart, I’m fine. Having your period is perfectly normal.”
“I know,” Beau said. “It’s just part of being a girl. That’s what I learned from the book. I also found out that girls can be funny. Underneath it all, they’re just regular people.”
Melody heard titters from the crowd, along with a few sniffles. She stood up. It was time to go. She clearly wasn’t cut out for politics. Her career had lasted all of five minutes.
“So why was the book banned?” Beau wasn’t ready to leave. “Did I miss something?”
The crowd remained silent, waiting for Melody’s answer.
“No,” she admitted. “You didn’t miss anything. If it helped you, I’m glad that you found it.”
“It’s a wonderful book,” Crystal Moore agreed. “Everyone should read it. Girlsandboys.”
“I can’t believe the committee had it on their banned books list,” said someone in the crowd.
“What the hell were they thinking?”
Melody Sykes took her son’s hand and led him back to their house. She’d always assumed most people saw things the way she did. Her father used to say they belonged to a “silent majority” that represented the best of America. Now Melody was beginning to wonder if there might be a much bigger group who’d been holding their tongues—people who minded their own business until push came to shove. It was starting to look like the book-banning business may have shoved them a step too far.
Chapter 28
Nickel and Dimed
No one had asked Lindsay Underwood to come home. She was supposed to be starting a summer internship that week, but she needed to be with her mom. The shit had hit the fan in Troy—and splattered across the entire country. The reporters camped out in her parents’ yard weren’t just from Atlanta stations. All the major cable news channels were there as well, along with every freelance journalist, Reddit detective, and TikTok content creator looking for a new spin on the story. Logan Walsh had been plotting a massacre at the time of his death. The Wright-Wainwright reunion—a newsworthy event on its own—had been the target.
Lindsay parked several blocks down the street and cut through a dozen backyards until she reached the one with the wooden swing that her father had built when she was five and her mother still couldn’t bear to cut down. The plan was to slip in unseen through the back door. Like all of Lindsay’s plans these days, this one went terribly wrong.
“Lindsay!” A reporter popped out from behind the oak, where she’d been waiting to ambush anyone sneaking into the house. She waved at her prey like they were BFFs and it wasn’t at all weird she’d been stalking her. “Do you have a sec to chat? Do you have any comment on the death of Logan Walsh?”
She flinched when she got a good look at Lindsay, who’d cried the whole drive down to Troy. “Oh my God. Are you okay?”
The answer was obvious, so Lindsay ignored the question. “Sure, I’ll give you a quote,” she said. “When I was in elementary school, I used toget bullied because I wasn’t like other kids. Logan Walsh was three grades ahead. On several occasions, he stepped in and stood up for me when no one else would. I’m not saying that as proof that Logan was a good person or deserves any sympathy. I think we know how he turned out. I’m saying that all of us should be doing a whole lot of soul-searching these days. What turned a kid who would stick up for an outcast into a man who was planning to kill half of this town—my own mother included? And what are we going to do to stop other disturbed young men from turning into monsters? Even if you don’t give a damn about them as people, your safety—all of our safety—depends on the answer.”
Lindsay turned her back on the reporter, who clearly hadn’t been expecting that kind of answer, and marched into the Underwood home. When the door was closed and locked behind her, she stood inside the mudroom and tried to breathe. According to theJournal-Constitution,Logan Walsh had turned a hand-drawn outline of Jackson Square into a tactical battle map. He’d loaded two bags with long rifles and ammunition. He was composing a manifesto on his laptop. Although it remained unfinished, it left no doubt what had been done to him as a child—and what he’d had planned for Jackson Square. And sitting right there on his desk, along with two Nazi flags and a half-full beer, was a copy ofTheCatcher in the Rye,the discarded jacket ofManhoodfolded up beneath it.Logan Walsh had borrowed one of the books that she had left in Lula Dean’s library.
Lindsay had fucked up the night she restocked those shelves. She’d kicked over a rock that had long sat undisturbed. Then she’d left town before all the horrible creatures crawled out. Nazis, rapists, and killers—not to mention hypocrites and opportunists. For a while, it felt good to see them exposed. But she should have stepped in when Bella Cummings got hurt. Maybe there would have been time to keep that book out of Logan’s hands.
Books don’t turn people into murderers. Lindsay knew that. She believed it with all of her heart. But what if Logan had foundThe Catcher in the Ryeand remembered that it had been linked to at least three famous shootings? What if that memory had planted the thought of murder in his mind? Andwhat if his plans had succeeded? What if he’d killed the Wright family and her mother and father and God knows how many others? Wouldn’t she be at least somewhat responsible?
Lindsay thought of the Logan she knew when they were little. Why hadn’t anyone helped him like he’d helped her? How much responsibility did she bear for his death? Or for the pain and suffering of the postman and the veterinarian who’d watched Logan blow his head off?
It was time to come clean. That’s why Lindsay had returned to Troy. She’d almost been relieved when she’d driven past Lula’s house and seen the crowd outside. Her ruse had been discovered. She was going to confess. But first she needed to apologize to her mother.
Beverly Underwood was sitting on the living room sofa, surrounded by the entire Wright family. A man with a notepad appeared to be interviewing them as a photographer snapped pictures. Lindsay had almost forgotten the reunion was only ten days away.
“Lindsay!” Beverly cried out. “What on earth? You didn’t say you were coming!”
Lindsay tried her best to smile. “I thought I’d surprise you.”
