[Finding Emma 03.0] Megan's Hope (9 page)

BOOK: [Finding Emma 03.0] Megan's Hope

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STILLWATER RISING

Book One

(an excerpt)

Charlotte Stone

Sweat dripped down Charlotte
’
s face as she bent over, hands anchored on her knees while she struggled to breathe. She
’
d killed it today, and it felt good. Great even. She reached for the towel at her feet and wiped her face and neck before standing up straight and stretching. The sounds of the buff fitness instructor on the television screen congratulated her for an excellent workout as Charlotte reached for her water bottle and gulped it down.

She needed that. She
’
d let her workouts slide in the past few weeks, and it showed. Her patience was thin, her energy low, and she was starting to get fidgety. But after this workout, she felt good. Sore, but good. Energized even. As if she could handle anything that came her way.

She made her way up the stairs, taking two at a time, not ready to let the burn leave her yet, and poured a cup of freshly brewed coffee. She
’
d bought new beans yesterday and ground some up before heading down for her workout. The aroma of those beans still filled the air, and she knew it would be a good cup of coffee. Exactly what she needed.

She picked up the mail she
’
d set to the side yesterday and sorted through the abundance of letters that still came in. Letters from various students and families from Stillwater

Elementary, and even from people who didn
’
t live in their town but had been moved by the tragedy, as if it had touched them personally. All letters Jordan rarely opened, let alone read. She flipped through all the envelopes and set aside the three addressed to Jordan with

childish lettering. She didn
’
t understand his hesitation when it came to opening them. Stacks of similar letters filled a shoe box in her office, so many letters praising Jordan for his heroic acts and describing how his selflessness saved countless lives. She still teared up when she read the ones from the younger students thanking him and calling him their hero.

He was a hero. She knew it. The town knew it. The world knew it. But sadly, she didn
’
t think Jordan realized it.

The sliding door off the kitchen opened, and a cool breeze wafted around her ankles. Charlotte set the letters down and glanced over her shoulder to see her husband standing at the door, his back to her, while he banged his running shoes together to get rid of the sand. His navy running shirt and shorts were drenched and so was their dog, Buster, who plopped down on their back deck with his tongue hanging out.

“
Looks like you two had a good run.
”
Charlotte took a sip of the strong coffee before she set her cup down on the counter and poured some for her husband.

“
You should come out some time with us,
”
Jordan offered his obligatory request, same as he did every morning.

“
Maybe next time.
”
The words were automatic, but they both knew she
’
d never join him. Running was his thing. Not hers.

Jordan grabbed his coffee, placed a kiss on her cheek, and made his way to the guest bathroom where he always showered off. Charlotte hated to clean a trail of sand throughout the

house, so when they built the guest addition to their home a few years ago, she made Jordan start cleaning up in there after his runs.

While he headed downstairs, she went upstairs to their bedroom and had her own shower. Afterward, with her hair still wet, Charlotte took her coffee into her office. She needed to get a head start on today. She planned to go to the elementary school, where Jordan served as principal, and then spend the day there with the students and any parents unwilling to leave their children alone.

Not that she blamed them. Her hands shook slightly as she sank down in her desk chair and reached for the Stillwater News, the town
’
s weekly paper that was little more than a gossip column for the town. She
’
d been worried about the front-page article and even asked Arnold Lewery, the editor of the paper, to let her take a peek at what he
’
d written, but ever since the media had swarmed their town and refused to leave, Arnold had become tight lipped about what he featured in the paper.

In the beginning, almost every article he wrote, whether it was a piece about one of the families affected by the event or a new development, he
’
d been scooped by one means or another. Their town had become overrun with media within hours of the shooting, and you still couldn
’
t walk down Main Street without a microphone being stuck in your face or the knowledge you might see yourself on the evening news.

They
’
d managed to hold a few special town meetings without alerting the media presence, and it became quite evident that everyone, including Arnold, expected her to fix the mess they were in with the media and to shelter them from prying eyes.

“
Staying Strong
”
read the title on the front page. Charlotte was pleased to see the image she
’
d submitted via e-mail to Arnold last week. She was glad he used it. There
’
d been too many

images of the school ensconced with police tape, memorial flowers, and weeping parents. This photo, taken last year right before the annual summer parade, featured welcome banners, balloons, and children
’
s play centers set up at the school for the summer party. Starting at Stillwater Elementary, the parade always made its way down Second Bridge, across Main Street, and then up First Bridge until everyone joined together back at the school for the festivities. She hoped the image would help the town remember the good things about Stillwater Bay and not the sad, horrific event that had torn them apart.

She knew not everyone was on board with the school reopening. She
’
d had more than enough parents complain and demand that the school stay closed, and while she attempted to understand their pain and knew they only spoke out of fear, she had to look past the emotional impact of the school shooting back in May and look to their future.

She was determined that today was the first of many steps their town needed to take to move forward past the ugliness of what had happened.

Charlotte flipped through the paper, reading the letters to the editor and the small-town gossip, and almost missed the short article written about Julia Berry, the mother of the shooter. She set the paper down on her desk and leaned back in her chair. Her heart went out to Julia. If anything, what had happened was as much Charlotte
’
s fault as anyone else
’
s, including the mother of the sixteen-year-old shooter.

From day one, everyone knew Jessie Berry had bad blood in him. He was that boy who was always in trouble. The moment he stepped foot into a store, all shop owners knew to keep their gaze on him. She
’
d lost track of the number of times she learned from the town sheriff
’
s weekly updates that Adam Berry had been escorted home in the middle of the night after deputies found him hanging around the local cemetery. Who lurked around a graveyard in the

middle of the night? It wasn
’
t natural, people said. No matter what anyone did, how they reached out to him, it never seemed to matter.

Since the shooting, Charlotte couldn
’
t shake the feeling that all of them shared responsibility for failing to help Adam. The blame couldn
’
t be directed at any one person, no matter how much the media tried to do just that.

She glanced down at the article again:
“
One Bullet, One Boy and One Mother.
”
A shiver ran down her spine as she read the lie in that headline over and over and over.

***

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