“I’ll figure something out, but your safety comes first.” He’s using that tone I recognize with him. He’s already made up his mind, no matter my opinion on the subject. “So, it’s agreed. You’re on sabbatical.”
“Fine.” The word sticks to the roof of my mouth, reluctant to be released despite the fact that he’s probably right—me being there isn’t good for anyone’s career. Not his, and not mine. “I’m on sabbatical. But it’s not paid. I have money I can live on in the meantime.”As long as the sabbatical is short term.I try to enthuse my response with the appropriate amount of excitement, but it’s hard to do that when the life I’ve been rebuilding is being yanked from under me.
And I’m worried. Worried Troy will do the job himself, along with everything else. Worried it will be the thing that finally breaks him.
* * *
“PushingLimits had to pull out of the festival lineup,” George Cromwell tells the twelve festival committee members who are at the emergency meeting.
A few muttered curses fly around the library conference room.
“Their drummer was in a car accident and is out of commission for the next month. They made a donation to the festival to make up for the inconvenience.”
“But we still stand to lose a lot of money if some or all of the ticket holders demand a refund,” Troy adds, appearing stoic to everyone but me. The strain is there in his features, recognizable if the others know what they’re looking for. It’s murky beneath the surface, but it’s still there.
“Shit!” The word shoots from Jason Barnes’s terse lips, his volume low but the intensity no less powerful. His cold gray eyes dart to me, and my stomach twists at the distrust in them. I shift in my seat and fiddle with my pen.
“You’ve got to admit that having Savannah Townsend participating in the festival planning isn’t ideal.” Stephanie Ross’s tone holds a lot less venom than Jason served up, but it still has a biting edge to it. Both are looking pointedly at me, leaving me itchy, raw, defeated, like I’m waiting for my turn in a witch trial, my death sentence already decided, the noose knotted around my neck.
“Savannah Townsend isn’t participating in the festival planning.” Troy levels his turbulent gaze at Stephanie and then Jason. His voice is stiff like the wind swaying the trees outside the window. The trees they want to hang me from. “Savannah Townsend doesn’t live in Maple Ridge.”
Stephanie’s brow wrinkles into a confused frown. “Sure she does. She’s right there.” She nods at me.
“That is Jessica Smithson.” Troy’s tone is firm, a silent warning for them not to venture into the territory they’re headed for.
“That’s the name I go by now,” I tell them, shame turning my body hot and cold.
“And Jessica didn’t cause the drummer to have the car accident,” he reminds them.
“The good news,” George says a little too brightly, his voice loud in an attempt to gain control of the meeting. “The good news is, all the costs are covered by the sponsorships. We won’t fall into the red. But we also won’t make as much money as we might have otherwise made when Pushing Limits was part of the lineup.”
All eyes turn back to me.
“Why didn’t you leave your husband if he was abusing you?” Stephanie asks, the bite of accusation in her tone masking any sympathy she might have otherwise felt for me.
The shame deepens, its icy fingers clawing inside me.
I touch the tattoo on my arm, the reminder of the most beautiful thing that came from my marriage. My beautiful little girl wouldn’t exist if not for it.
“We’re not here so you can judge Jessica.” Troy’s voice is calm, but the twitch in his jaw muscle betrays his anger at how the situation is spinning out of control, how I am now the target for their frustration.
The original reason for this meeting seems to have been quickly forgotten.
“We’re not judgin’ her,” Jason Barnes grumbles, his voice prickly, ignoring how he showed up at the marketing-committee meeting two weeks ago and blamed me for the reporters that were outside the library. “But you have to realize the risk she poses to the festival. The media will be coming to it. And we all remember how it was two weeks ago with the reporters in town ’cause ofSavannah. Havin’ her involved in and at the festival will take away from what we’ve been workin’ hard to achieve.”
“And who’s to say Pushing Limits canceled because their drummer is injured?” Stephanie adds. “Maybe it was a convenient excuse after they heard Savannah Townsend is involved with the festival. They don’t want the bad press associated with that.”
Jason nods, his expression darkening. “Stephanie’s right. Savannah will steal the media’s attention away from the purpose of the event.” His gaze shifts to each person here, except for Troy and me. “It will end up being all about her”—he points at me—“and how she was wrongfully convicted of killin’ her husband.”
I look at Troy. Really look at him. He once pointed out the dark circles under my eyes due to my lack of sleep and the nightmares. Those same dark circles now plague Troy’s face.
He’s been working so hard on this festival—all the people here have been working hard on it—so no one else loses a friend the way he lost Colton, the way Olivia lost her husband, the way Nova lost her father.
My presence in Troy’s life is hurting his business and the festival. It’s even causing a rift in his family because his mother doesn’t trust me.
There’s nothing left for me to say, pain and frustration spreading through me like a deadly mold, other than…
“I respectfully resign from my volunteer position.” Emptiness leaks in with each word, but it must be done. I turn to Troy. “They’re right. If I’m involved in any way with the festival, my past might overshadow what you’re trying to achieve.”
