Footloose (12 page)

Chapter 20

Shaw Moore's thoughts weighed heavily on him as he sat alone in his study. He'd voted his conscience this afternoon. He did what was best for the town. It was a tough decision, but he couldn't back down, no matter how his daughter felt about him because of it. He was getting used to the disappointment in her eyes.

Afterward, he came home and retired to his study, where he'd been ever since.

This was the place he typed up his sermons, the inspirational speeches he used to guide his congregation. To teach them the best way to live their lives. But what if he was wrong? What if he was as lost as his flock?

A shadow crossed into the light from the foyer. Vi was in the doorway, in her nightgown. It was later than he thought.

“You look tired,” she said. “Come to bed.”

Sleep would not affect his weariness. It was deeper, in his soul. “That's the second time I've sat in that council chamber and broke my daughter's heart. I'm losing her, Vi. Maybe I've already lost her.”

His wife was about to say something, perhaps something to soothe him. But a knock on the front door caused them both to tense up. The last time someone knocked late at night, their world had been destroyed.

“Who could that be?” Vi asked.

Shaw tried not to hurry behind her as she stepped out of the room to open the front door. It was Roger Dunbar. Not quite the last person Shaw expected to see at that hour, but not the first, either. Roger stepped inside. He clearly had something on his mind.

“Hey, Shaw,” he said. “I know it's late, but I thought you and I should talk.” He finally noticed Vi had opened the door for him. “Sorry for the intrusion, Vi.”

“What's wrong?” Shaw asked. His mind jumped to any number of potential problems. No telling what the teens from the council chamber were up to tonight, how they were reacting to the vote. He was trying not to condemn Ren McCormack without proof anymore, but he couldn't help but worry about any boy interested in his daughter.

Shaw wished he knew for certain that Ariel was still in bed.

“I can't help but be disturbed by the council vote,” Roger said. “I think we need to circle the wagons first thing next week so we can get our priorities straight.”

This didn't make any sense to Shaw. The votes had gone their way. Roger's voice had rung out the loudest. The ban on dancing would continue. “They voted in our favor, Roger. What more do you want?”

“It wasn't unanimous,” Roger said, as if his reason for concern were obvious. “Not by a long shot. That's what troubles me.”

“Maybe that's because Ren was making some sense,” Vi interjected.

Roger turned to her. “I'm sorry, Vi, but that's where you and I have to disagree. That boy wasn't here three years ago. He doesn't know how ugly it got in this town before we united behind these laws.” He focused back on Shaw. “Laws that you recommended, Shaw. And rightly so.”

Shaw wasn't so sure about that any more. “But he makes a compelling argument,” Shaw said. “Perhaps some of these restrictions are hurting more than they are helping.”

Roger refused to relent. “You get to see these teenagers once a week, on Sunday. I deal with them every day. Let me tell you, these laws work. Young minds are highly impressionable. We have to be firm. It doesn't take long for corruption to take root.”

“And how long is that, Roger?” Shaw asked. “About as long as it takes compassion to die?”

The conversation was growing unexpectedly tense. Roger's anger rose. “I can't believe you are wavering on this.
Especially
you!”

“I'm not going to stand here and argue with you, Roger.” Shaw tried to maintain his composure, but it wasn't easy. He was having a difficult enough time with this issue on his own; he didn't need Roger adding to his burden.

Vi placed a hand on her husband's shoulder. “Perhaps both of you should sleep on this and talk in the morning.”

But Roger wasn't ready to let it go. “You're not the only one who lost someone on that bridge, Shaw.” Reverend Moore was stunned. Roger had just crossed a line from which there was no return. “I stood shoulder to shoulder with you when everyone started blaming Bobby for that accident. You lost a son. I lost a daughter. And we still worked to bring this town together. I'll be damned if I'm going to let some cocky kid undo all that we made right.”

Roger stormed out of the Moore home, slamming the door behind him.

Shaw stood rooted to the spot. How many people would throw his decisions back in his face? How many times would he be told he was wrong for doing what he thought was right?

He looked to his wife. If she ever turned on him, his life would be over.

Vi took his hand. “Come to bed.”

Shaw let her guide him upstairs, turning out the lights as they went. She'd planned to take him to their bedroom, but he wasn't ready to go yet. He needed to see his daughter. To know that she was safe.

He tapped lightly on the door, but there was no answer. No light shone through under the door. He didn't want to disturb her privacy, but he needed to know that she was there.

Quietly, he turned the knob and pushed the door open a crack—just enough so he could see her lying on the bed, looking so peaceful as she slept. He silently swore to Ariel that he would do right by her. Somehow, he'd figure out what it was that was wrong between them and find a way to heal.

Chapter 21

Ren was back at work, unloading mulch bags from the delivery truck and stacking them onto a pallet. He kind of enjoyed the repetitive work right now. Moving the heavy bags helped him work through his disappointment.

The odds had been against him when he walked into the council chamber. True, he did change some minds. The vote to repeal the law came close to carrying. Just not close enough.

His uncle tried to convince Ren that he'd started something. He got people talking, got them thinking. This was only the first step. Maybe by the time Sarah and Amy were in high school, the rules would make sense again. But Ren wasn't sure he'd still be in town to see it—even though he now had more reasons to stick around than he used to.

“You know you were railroaded,” a voice said from behind him.

“Huh?” Ren was so lost in thought that he hadn't even heard Andy approaching.

“Shaw Moore walked into that meeting with the votes already in his pocket. You didn't have a prayer,” Andy said. “So what happens now?”

Ren resumed his task. He didn't want to talk about it. “It's over. Nothing happens.”

“What if it's not?” Andy asked. “What if you have your dance over in Bayson?”

Ren dropped a bag onto the pile and went back for another. “The point was to do it in Bomont. Bayson's what, thirty miles away?”

“Nope,” Andy said as he walked away from the truck. “You're standing in it.”

Ren dropped the mulch bag and followed Andy toward the road.

Andy pointed to something off in the distance. “You see that water tower? That's Bomont. But everything east of that is Bayson. That means the cotton mill. I figure if Bomont fire trucks can't come this far east, then neither can the long arm of the law.”

Ren immediately recognized the flaw in that plan. “But what about the long arm of Reverend Moore?”

“Find a way to convince him that it won't be a ‘spiritual corruption,' and maybe he'd think about it,” Andy said, then headed back to work.

Ren attacked the mulch bags with new energy, finishing the job in half the time it would've taken before. Andy let him leave early, since the job was done and it was clear that Ren was now a man on a mission. A quick trip by the house to clean up, and Ren was soon on his way to the Bomont First Christian Church. According to Ariel, her daddy was there for the evening.

The lights were on in the church. He slipped in quietly, sitting in the shadows in one of the back pews. Reverend Moore was up at the pulpit, working on one of his sermons.

The man's voice echoed over the empty rows. “ ‘I beheld and heard an angel flying through the midst of Heaven, saying with a loud voice, “Woe to the inhabiters of the Earth.” And I saw a star fall from Heaven unto the Earth. And to an angel, a key was given. A key to the bottomless pit.' ”

When Reverend Moore looked up from his text, he saw Ren's silhouette. It was almost as if the presence scared him. “Who … who's there? Show yourself.”

Ren moved out of the shadows. This wasn't starting off well. “It's me. Ren McCormack.”

The reverend seemed relieved, yet somehow disappointed. “Sometimes when I would work on my sermons, my son would sit right there in the back. I don't know what happened there.”

“Yeah. With me it's grocery stores,” Ren said.

“Pardon?”

“There's a lot of mothers in grocery stores. You get enough of them calling after their kids, and pretty soon you're going to come across one that sounds just like yours.” He took a breath. “Sometimes I think I really hear her. I turn around, but …”

“I can't remember the last thing I said to my son,” Moore admitted. The two of them had found something to bond over: the tragedies in their lives. “I can tell you what it wasn't. I know I didn't say ‘I love you.' ”

“It's not so easy when you've got time, either,” Ren assured him. “You think you can say all the things you want to say, but … death is on its own clock.”

“Yes, it is.” For the first time, Reverend Moore looked at Ren with something like respect in his eyes.

It was now or never. Ren wasn't going to get a better moment. “I know the council voted against us having the dance. But that's not going to stop it. Andy Beamis has given us permission to hold it at his place.”

The reverend was impressed, in spite of himself. “That's clever. His cotton mill isn't in our county.”

“With your permission, I'd like to take Ariel,” Ren said. “To the dance. I would never, ever do anything to hurt her or disrespect her. And I sure as hell wouldn't let anybody else … sorry. Didn't mean to swear in your church.”

The reverend's smile lightened the mood slightly. “You wouldn't be the first.”

“This dance means a lot to me,” Ren explained. “But your daughter means more. So if you won't let her go, then I won't go, either. I know you've got to do what you've got to do, but … thanks for listening.”

Reverend Moore heard what Ren was saying. He appeared to be rather touched, actually. “Thank you for … well, thank you.”

Ren left the church without waiting for an answer. He didn't want to push it. He had said his piece; now it was best to let the reverend think about it. But he had hope. He most certainly had hope.

Chapter 22

Ariel didn't know what to do about her father. Things were bad between them. They had been since he slapped her—before that, even. The two of them managed to call a truce and move past it, but the house was filled with tension. It only got worse after he voted against the dance.

They weren't fighting, exactly. No screaming, no cursing; no nothing. They barely acknowledged one another's presence, aside from his repeated apologies for what he did. She wanted to apologize as well, for acting out, but she wasn't quite sure what she'd be apologizing for. She mostly felt like she should apologize to herself.

She and Ren shared a glance across the church aisle. At least that part of her life was working out pretty well. For the first time in forever, she was with a guy who wanted to be with
her
, not with the preacher's daughter. Or maybe he wasn't the first, maybe she just needed to give people a chance. Regardless, she couldn't have picked a better one to start with.

A silent question passed between them. Something was wrong with Reverend Moore here, too. She wasn't the only one who noticed his extended silence. Everyone was looking at him.

Reverend Moore looked out at his congregation, almost as if he were surprised they were in front of him. “I'm standing here before you today with a troubled heart,” he finally said.

“I've insisted on taking responsibility for your lives,” he continued. “But I'm really just like a first-time parent, one who makes mistakes and learns from them as he goes along. And, like that parent, I find myself at that moment where I have to decide. Do I hold on? Or do I trust you to yourselves? Do I let go and hope that you've understood my lesson?”

His eyes fell on Ariel. This message was as much for her as it was the congregation. “If we don't start trusting our children, how will they ever become … trustworthy?”

Moore turned his attention to the other side of the aisle, where Ren sat. “I'm told that the senior class of Bomont High School has secured the use of a warehouse in nearby Bayson for a senior dance. Please join me in prayer that our Lord will guide them in their endeavors.”

The silence that usually followed the reverend's call for prayers was broken by mumbles and whispers among the congregants. Rusty was busy chattering in Ariel's ear, but she didn't hear a word. She sat there, beaming with pride, focused on her two heroes: Ren and her father.

•  •  •  •  •

The skies were clear and the sun shined brightly as a dozen ATVs and motorcycles crested the hill ahead of them. Ariel sat beside Ren in his VW Bug. Rusty had gone with Willard in his truck. Everyone could hear Willard's joyous hooting over the engine noise. They were the first wave in an army of volunteers heading out to the Beamis Cotton Mill.

Back in town, a surprising number of cars and trucks, all painted with school spirit signs reading
BOMONT SENIORS
and
GO PANTHERS
, passed by the principal. His students, and more than a few of their parents, were packed inside. Roger Dunbar watched as the Warnicker family pulled out of the car lot and headed out of town, probably going to catch up with their nephew.

Everyone was loud and raucous, honking horns and cheering out their windows. It was the kind of celebrating that usually only happened during a football game. It had been a while since the town had come together this way in unbridled excitement in the middle of a normal day. Part of him was afraid someone might cause an accident, not paying attention to where they were going. But another part of him was starting to wonder if things could be like this more often.

Officer Herb watched as the cars sped past him on the road out of town, just slightly above the speed limit. Enough that he could stop them, but not enough that he should. It didn't take a genius to realize he'd be shouted down if he pulled anyone over. They were driving safely enough. Staying within the law. As long as nobody caused any harm, it was better to let them be.

A few miles down that very road, Andy Beamis opened the large barn doors to the mill's storage area. This was the place where things were dumped and forgotten. It was a big, cluttered space that needed a lot of attention if it was going to be ready for the dance. The large number of Bomont residents spilling in through the door had a real job ahead of them.

Someone cranked up the tunes and they all got busy cleaning. An assembly line of students passed the junk from hand to hand to clear out the building. Parents swept the floors. Even little Sarah and Amy Warnicker were at work, polishing the windows until sunlight came streaming through.

It took the better part of the day for all those people to get the large section of the mill emptied and cleaned, but the work had only begun. There was nothing festive about the wooden beams and peeling paint. That was going to take some more attention.

Etta pulled out some old lights she'd taken from her grandma's backyard patio. The woman had been thrilled to donate to the cause, telling her granddaughter about her senior dance many years ago. The lights weren't very fancy—just lightbulbs strung together in mason jars. But at night, they'd help make the old mill look magical.

Woody and his friends were on ladders, hanging curtains to hide the rattier parts of the mill and provide some private spaces for quieter conversation. The parents kept an eye on what they were doing, making sure that everything stayed open to the dance floor. No secret dark corners where anyone could get into trouble. Just because they supported the dance didn't mean they'd abandoned all their concerns.

Ren took it all in, surprised at how good it felt. It was just a dance. But somewhere along the way it had become more important than just having some fun. He did this for Bomont. He did it for Ariel.

She and Rusty were over in the corner with Rusty's little cousins, blowing up balloons. Well, that wasn't quite right. There were spending more time on breaks sucking in the helium to make funny voices. Rusty in particular was having fun with cartoon voices, entertaining the girls. But Ariel … she looked relaxed for the first time since he'd met her. Just having fun. Not a care in the world. It made her even more beautiful in Ren's eyes.

He had to laugh when the four girls started singing along with a Katy Perry song, sounding even squeakier with their helium voices than the pop singer did at her highest pitched.

“Hey, Willard!” Ren motioned for his friend to follow him over to the exhaust chute that kept the air circulating through the room.

“What is it, man?” Willard asked. “They need me on the disco ball.”

“Just a sec. That can wait. I need your help.” Ren pointed into the exhaust chute. “Check this out for me. Tell me what you see.”

Like the naive guy he was, Willard did exactly what Ren asked. Once his head was lined up with the chute, Ren flipped a switch, sending a strong blast of air at Willard's face that blew his cowboy hat right off his head.

“Well, shit-howdy!” Willard exclaimed as the air blew him back. It gave Ren a great idea for later that night. Willard smacked him on the shoulder and got back to work. One last finishing touch to go.

The place looked better than Ren ever thought it could. He almost couldn't tell they were in an old mill, which was exactly the point of their hard work.

A cheer rang out as Uncle Wes came through the barn doors carrying a large cardboard box over his head like a trophy. He opened the box and pulled out a large disco ball. The mirrored ball passed from person to person all the way up to the table Willard stood on. He hooked it onto the ceiling, then struck a pose like John Travolta in
Saturday Night Fever
, cracking everyone up.

The work was done. The place was ready for the dance later that night, but no one was quite ready to leave just yet. With the music cranking, Ren grabbed his little cousins and started dancing. Ariel was quick to join them, pulling Rusty onto the dance floor with her. Wes and Lulu were next, showing the kids how it was done.

Soon everyone but Willard was on the floor, yet even he was tapping his toe to the beat. It was the first time in a long time any of these adults danced with their kids, and Ren still couldn't quite believe that he was the one who had made it happen.

•  •  •  •  •

Things were more somber back in Bomont. Shaw Moore was outside his home on the rusted swing set again, staring at the empty swing beside him. He remembered back when Bobby and Ariel would play out here, screaming for him to push them higher and higher. Back when their daddy could do no wrong.

Shaw had done a lot wrong lately. Always with the best intentions, but best intentions are what they said lined the road to Hell. It was time he made amends with his children.
Both
his children.

After a quick stop, Shaw found himself at the Bomont cemetery, walking past the tombstones of the town ancestors. He headed for the newer section of the field, where the stonework was still fresh and the grass still dotted with flowers. He carried his own bouquet in his hands—wildflowers, to match the wildness he used to appreciate in his kids.

Shaw stood before the grave of his son.
ROBERT MOORE, 1990–2007. OUR BELOVED SON AND BROTHER
.

He placed the bouquet beneath his son's name and said a little prayer asking for forgiveness. But not from God—he needed absolution from the child whose memory he had honored the wrong way. Shaw promised his son that he would do better. He would start by delivering the other flowers in his hand: the corsage for his daughter.