make the turn up Cracker’s Neck Road. I try to remember what Spec told me, try to stay calm, but my body has other ideas. When I told Jack I would meet them at home, we were both furious, but I think he was still a bit taken aback by my tone of voice. And now that I’ve seen the pile of coal, my mood is even worse. I park my Jeep and take a moment to sit and breathe before going inside.
“Etta. Come down here. Now.”
Jack stands back from the stairs, signaling that he wants to have a private talk with me. I raise my hand to stop him. I don’t even put my purse down. Etta appears at the top of the stairs and grips the banister in fear.
“I just came from Miss Benton’s house.”
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Really.”
“I really am.”
“Have you told Miss Benton?”
“The principal called us into the office before band practice, and Miss Benton came, and we all told her that we were sorry.”
“So it’s all better now?”
Etta shrugs.
“Answer me.”
“No.”
“No, what?”
“No ma’am.”
“Come downstairs.”
Etta gingerly makes her way down the stairs. I go into the living room. Jack and Etta follow me. I motion for her to sit. “How did this happen?”
“Me and Misty—”
“Misty and I.”
“Misty and I were in the library, and she told me that when her dad was in high school, he called Westmoreland Coal and had a ton sent to Mr. Bates, his biology teacher. And we thought it was funny.”
“Oh, it’s funny. Did you see what you did?”
Etta shakes her head.
“Do you know that Miss Benton just moved here and she’s all alone? Can you imagine how she feels?”
Etta looks at me. Clearly, she hasn’t thought about Miss Benton.
“First of all, you’re going to clean up the mess. You and your pals.”
“She knows that.” Jack looks at her sternly.
“And you’re not going to New York.”
Etta looks up at me. “What?”
Jack almost says something, but I don’t give him a chance. “You heard me. You’re not going to New York.”
“But it was a joke!”
“I hope you had a good laugh, because that’s all you’re getting out of it. Go to your room.”
Etta gets up slowly and walks to the doorway. I can tell she wants to say something, but she thinks better of it and climbs the stairs to her room.
I collapse onto the couch. Jack sits down next to me.
“How could this happen?” I ask him.
“They’re kids.”
“That’s no excuse. I’m really worried about her.”
“Why?”
“She runs with all these older kids. That’s not good.”
“You mean Misty?”
“Misty, the kids in the band.”
“She carries the banner.”
“Still.”
“She’s really sorry.”
“Too bad.”
“No, she really means it. She cried at the principal’s office.”
“What is it, Jack? Do you think I’m overreacting?” Jack doesn’t answer me. “I went to see Kate Benton, and she was devastated. I bet she moves out of town over this.”
“Why?”
“God, Jack, don’t you get it? She’s all alone over there. She moved here on a lark, thought it would be interesting to live in a small town, and look at this. She’s a joke to those kids. How would you feel?”
“I’d take control of the situation. You have to when you work with kids.” Jack leans back and puts his feet on the coffee table. This nonchalant movement infuriates me further. I want to shake my husband, wake him up to what this
is,
show him that it’s not just about a cruel prank, it’s deeper than that. It’s about Us and Them, Ferriners and Natives. How do I explain that I’ve been a ferriner all of my life, and that I relate to Kate Benton? My daughter will never have the experience of being an outsider. With her MacChesney name and her lineage, she is one of Them. I can’t get into this with my husband. He is one of Them too. He doesn’t see it, doesn’t think it’s important. So instead, I blast him for his indifference.
“You know what?
You’re
not taking control of this
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